I had a few minutes last evening to slip into a little woodlot near home. There had been a drizzle all day which made the woods really quiet. I grabbed my cheap little stool and my new to me Talltines and slipped out with about an hour plus left in the day. I knew where a few white oaks were dropping their wares and the deer were hoovering them up.
I am 2 weeks back from the elk hunt of my life. It was a great experience and I dogged a herd bull all week. I finally got him alone from his cows as he was chasing off a satellite bull the last day. I thought I made a perfect shot: up until my Doug fir arrow clipped a little sapling I didn't account for and the Ace standard slammed directly into his shoulder bone. A loud crack and heartbreak for this bowhunter...and a 1.5 mile track job, robbed by darkness. The next day instead of hiking down the mountain to my truck with the bull of my dreams, I was back up top on hands and knees looking for a bull I knew to be not dead but not healthy either. It was a lost cause no matter the 12 hours I had into the search. It was then a long hike out and a long 18 hour drive home, heartbroken. I still am. But even though I can return in October with another weapon I notched my tag with tears in my eyes when I got truckside. Unit 7 WY tag be damned. My elk is on the mountain somewhere I hope keeping the orbit bulls off his cows.
*My healthy bull day two of my hunt. What a stud.
Almost a cruel punishment, or a reward depending the view, I found last years shed at a wallow. I got to bring something home to my little girl who really wanted an elk. Greedily, I passed 10 different cows and 4 orbit bulls at ranges that are obscene. I didn't tell her about those.
*Elk shed is bigger than her.
After returning home these two weeks I have received so much love from my family knowing what those animals mean to me and so much encouragement from my friends (many of them Tradgangers). I want to say thanks as a man and fellow bowhunter.
With that late last week I decided to quit feeling sorry for myself. Quit wallowing in my failures and think about the future. I started shooting again and it happened: I forgave myself and that damn sapling. I decided I was a bowhunter and that the love I have for this way of life is rivaled only by my love of God, family, and country. Time to get on with it.
Fast forward to yesterday. I short still hunt to clear my head from work and life. It was a "soul walk" as my wife would say. As I set my little cheap stool against a blowdown to wait out a bit of drizzle I had a feeling of peace wash over me. I knew what was going to happen before that first deer started crunching acorns. When I saw the family group emerge from the thicket I eased off my stool and tip-toeed in. The first deer in range, 20 yards or so, was a yearling doe. I figured it was time to start collecting some venison and picked a spot on her right side. Quickly the arrow was away but the crack I heard brought back a hauntingly familiar memory, albeit for a short time. She began a death run and crashed in site, sending the rest scrambling back to the thicket beyond.
When I got to her I realized the crack was offside shoulder, and that my shot was good. No sapling, no drama, no heartbreak. As I thanked God I realized the albatross was lifted, I was whole again, washed in the feeling of success that brings me back time and time again to this single string weapon that I love. It sure does make things better, anyway. I won't forget my bull or the feeling of losing something so incredibly difficult to obtain. It will always be there. But this little yearling will always be remembered as a symbol of the recovery I needed to move on. For that I will be forever indebted!
Topic: A little early success in IL (Read 696 times)
