kennisondan

Freinds : having had some little obstacles, I had not been shooting the xbow or hunting much..but this year things are better; good enough in fact to perform in some manner akin to the hunting of old with some little changes and limits..but I can get out there... and did

it was a cold morning for this time of year in south louisisna. I had not brought the right clothing, and the one long sleeved shirt I had was worn the day before, and retired until I could wash again. The outfit looked a little like a runaway sporting goods store manequin just threw on some threads and zoomed out the door. The trusty excal was ready to go, a few practice shots and it was like coming home to a favorite meal.. as expected and genuinely wonderful.
I had my fixed heads that worked on pigs (thanks again texas friends, butch and wendy, I will treasure that memory for ever..)and I was ready to give it a try. This season I had already seem more shootable bucks than in the ten years prior all combined..
I rode out on a four wheeler without a front glass and the moist air stung my nose and tightened my face muscles; my eyes teared up and it was the thought that sitting in the cool air waiting for daylight would be so much more comfortable made me smile. I just knew I would have a chance to either make, take or pass on a shot, and I was undecided on taking a doe for my first ever bow killed whitetail..the past would have indicated to shoot what I could, but this special season, of return and of acceptance of the new limits in order to enjoy the old hunting grounds and hunters and my own thoughts that flow only in solitary times of the forests and feilds... this season and this morning were different.. and it was.
In the darkness deer scattered before my red light trained on the ground as I walked carefully and quietly to a tree I had chosen as my back rest and cleared the leaves for my feet the day before.  short stool and a camo leafy suit over a short sleeve t shirt in a different camo pattern, lost net mesh gloves replaced by some netting I cut to cover my hands with flaps tucked into wrist-sleeve elastic.. a beekeeper would have been embarrassed to don the mosquito proof head dress I was peering through and the hummingbird sized bugs tried to get through then tried to just accumulate to the point I would not be able to hear nor see... so a flap-gloved hand would wave in slow motion in the darkness just enough to alarm a bug but not a buck.. \
small deer were nearby but ignored when the sun started to rise.. then like a bunny produced from a leafy magicien's tophat up popped a whitetailed six point 12 to 15 yards away was giving me the eye ... I even looked funny to him, I thought.. The ground stand was picked becuase directly in front the vegetation was cut back in a spot large enough to park a truck in; so I wrongly felt that precluded a face to face encounter; and the brush to the side would let me see buck feet and some body parts before they would see me.. but of course that could never work.. lol.. there we were eye to eye... when he would take a bite and his huge black eyes spared me their buring gaze I dared to move a couple of inches.. when he looked to step I moved inches... Finally, the bow was up, the lumizone crosshair was on the shoulder as he decided he had enough weird visions for the day.. and started the slow walk boogie out of my life and out of my shooting lane.. I touched off the shot..
the sounds were amazing but strangely not as expected there was a rustle of branches and a solid thump...within moments there was great crashing... to my delight my ears said : good job..
what hurt was what my eyes revealed : the arrow traveled the 12 yards like a dart, then about a foot before contact the vision turned ugly.. the fletching was not in line with the flight path it was sent on.. the arrow's rear took an upward angle as the forward tip strained to peirce the flesh we sought.. a half arrow was recalled on the blur that had been my easy target, my first bow buck... a half carbon shaft gold tip lay broken on the ground with about six inches in the buck, but the hit was high... just muscle..
I waited an hour and rested up a little for the tracking I was determined to excel at and that would hopefully lead to my dead buck..
In short the blood trail took time to develop as it had to leak down before dropping off; the recovered shaft at the clean break had red muscle meat and hair beginning dark fading to light.. like what was on his upper torso and back.. I gritted my teeth and pressed quietly on for four hours... the blood trail was good then diminished over distance; at the end I was finding next blood drop .. single drops twenty yards ahead in the thick woods and leaf beds... I worked that for another hundred yards making it three hundred yards of tracking at least, a meandering trail of diminishing hopes and increasing disappointment that it had not been a clean miss.. every step I re played the shot and figure it was either I hit some dried foliage or I had not been able to pull the string back evenly, something I was fighting with due to extreme shoulder problems ... and had not double checked the set of the nock and serving..
one or both resulted in losing a fine game animal... and either one is my fault.. I hate to say that but I am not as practiced or cool or consistent and I let it get away from me..
I BLEW IT.. one considers quitting in disgust; but fleeting thoughts as those give way to learning from mistakes, even the hard to swallow ones... it has been a long time since I could not track it with blood then with just the tracks or finally just fan out and search until I found it...
defeated; having needed to stop hours before and many steps back, I gave it up and found I almost could not walk out to the stand... I rested and went to the bike..
I still cannot beleive I let myself down like that and sacrificed a beautiful animal to my poor skill set at present, and wasted the chance I had dreamed of..
the afternoon proved I had overdone it by quite a margin... the next day seconded the opinion and today I could not work and pain is devouring my night as well.. and the movie in my mind is clearer and starker : the shaft upsetting pointing skyward instead of disappearing; the deceptive noises that sounded like falls.. the blood that stopped flowing, and the horns continue to almost glow in the moments before the sun would illuminate it in all its glory... almost like a dream they glowed.. like a dream we stared into each other's eyes; he afraid of what he could not identify timely as danger... me afraid of being identified, as that danger..
he blasting away like a missile launched from the ferns and downed tree tops... and my own dreams fading to a reality I wish was only a bad dream... but the blood is real, the clipped shaft's hair and flesh told a story of its own that is undeniable..the last sight of the lost buck burns in my dreams nightly and in my thoughts repeating like a film loop... repeating repeating .... I will look for him again.. I pray he survived the bobcat and canine population.. and I know we will recognize each other instantly if we meet again.. and we both will try to do it all differently next time, if there is one..
thanks for reading... obviously there are no pictures worth seeing... blood drops, broken arrows and long faces... do not excite the hunter...
Next time..
I hope to report something different.
dan k