Anyway, the windage on the shaft was perfect. But the elevation was high (does that alot this season; thought I had that fixed). Only by a bit, but I have never shot a deer before. I have this urge to aim for the mid-line of a deers vital area. I know it's the bottom third, but still.
Turned out the shot was high enough to spine him. The woodsman blew completely through both sides, and his back legs went down. He started to lash out and grab with his front legs, tearing down the hill. By thirty yards, I had another arrow away to finish the job. Of course, I was panicking a bit, and missed.
Now, normally, I would fall into such hysteria that'd this story could have gone down a bad path. But I didn't. Somehow, common sense and an overall calm feeling of needed responsiblity came over me. So, I got within as close a range of the animal as I could.
The first shot was vital, and I suppose I should have just waited to let him die like the books and bowhunter ed say. That doesn't fly with me, or at least, not then. Not that moment. So I muttered something to him. Not some new-age, showy, spiritual gesture. Just a promise that I intended to help him. So, I drew down, focused, and let fly. The arrow caught both lungs and his head arced back like a crane. One second...five seconds...ten, and it was done.
And then I took of down that mountain. 7 years of close calls and no shows, and I had no idea what to do now. I ran, and I ran, and I didn't stop till I was in my car...