I watched him trot off. Never more than a casual parting. He didn't seemed alarmed. He turned downhill and I never saw him again.
I climbed down to go to the spot where he was standing. I looked for my arrow. I couldn't find it. I was not very far in the woods so I quietly walked back to my parents' house and was quivering quite visibly. I waited for nearly an hour and returned to the spot again.
This time I saw it. My arrow was stuck deep into the loamy leaf covered ground. No blood. Blood isn't that color. My fears were realized. I went to the spot I last saw him and could find no blood. I went back to the house, now shaken up by what no bowhunter wants to experience. I went back to the house and this time waited two more hours.
I returned and began scanning the area I last saw him once more. This time I found a good spot of blood. Dark blood. Then began a track that lasted nearly two hours that ended with the last speck of blood visible to me coming into a field of ragweed. I was now well on another person's property. Even the weeds gave no sign of where to go or what direction to guess. I had tracked him for about 300 yards. I could feel chiggers crawling all over me from the ragweed. I stayed in the woods and field for nearly another hour trying to find something, anything to help me decide to press on. I couldn't. Sadly, I was at a loss of what to do.
I returned to the house and shed my chigger infested clothing and took the hottest shower I could stand. Depression set in and it's an evil but inevitable feeling when a morning of hunting goes this way. I apologized to my aged father who taught me my hunting ethics so long ago. I could tell he was not happy with what I had to tell him, but he tried, even if knowingly in vain, to say things of encouragement.
After the shower and nothing to eat I contemplated leaving and giving up the opening day's hunt. At 4:30pm I decided to go back into the woods for a chance at redemption. Maybe God would let me know, somehow, that even with my failure that morning I could still find a positive note for the day.
I suited back up in the camo brush clothing and hit the trail to the stand. I got about 20 yards into the woods and was busted by a doe. She and her fawn ran off. I thought that my hunt was over before it even got started again.
I got settled back into the stand and as I sat in the stand until it was nearly dark I thought I had blown it big time and my one chance was used up. My faith in myself and my shooting abilities were questioned all day long and sitting in the stand I could only think about the shot over and over from that morning. "If only I would have....." constantly played in my head. The sun was getting real low. It was now about 7:30pm. Visibility in the thick pines was getting low. I could still see my shooting lanes well enough to shoot for a while longer.
Then, as if on cue, she came from nowhere.
A nice summer red/winter grey mature doe came up the trail I had set my stand to watch. She came from the place I had wanted her to come. She walked the path as if scripted. She paused and looked around; never up though. She walked right into the very front of my stand. She stood exactly where I had practiced shooting only a week or so earlier with good accuracy. She stood perfectly broadside with her close-side leg forward as if presenting a target. Again, as if on cue to the pre-planned script, a dog in the distance barked. She looked straight away from me towards the distant dog's sound. I didn't even stand up. I uprighted my bow, drew to anchor, picked the spot she gave so willingly and released the arrow.
With a thunk the arrow hit exactly where I was looking. No dipping. No lunging. Just a straight away shot with precision only guided by practice and divine help. She surged into a run crashing through narrow openings in trees and I could see the arrow sticking out of her right side as it raked across the passing trees. She ran straight downhill and just out of sight I heard a crash. She was down!!
I sat for a few minutes, saying a small prayer of thanks, and climbed down to the place she stood. I walked about three feet in the direction she went and saw the first sign of a soon to follow, soon to easily follow, speckled blood trail.
By now darkness was setting in good with the surrounding trees blocking out the day's remaining sunlight. I went to get a flashlight.
I returned to easily find the trail again. By now the woods were dark. I followed the trail without looking ahead. I walked what seemed like 60 yards, but the next morning with woods fully lit up I realized she only went about 30 yards. Her gift was swift. I had been redeemed. I now fought back differing emotions about the morning's failure and the evening's success. I truly believe this doe was a gift.
She dropped the front half of the arrow about five yards from the shot.
The rest of the arrow I found this morning about ten yards away from the shot.
And 30 yards from her sacrificial stance I found her. She will be in my memory always as an act of redemption and faith.
My first traditional harvest with my Bear Super Grizzly I bought 30 years ago for about $45.
Topic: First Traditional Harvest- Failure and Success with mixed emotions (Read 1272 times)
