Deerbuster.com


	I was at my stand early, an hour and a half before first light. I deer walked into the woods, trying to sound NOT like a man. While standing at the base of my Screaming Eaglet stand, about 12 feet up a slender triple trunk tree, a deer walked up to me in the darkness no more than 10 yards away. I was behind the tree and just stood motionless till it egressed. I don't know for sure if the animal was suspicious about me because I couldn't see it but with the low light ability of a Whitetail, I'm sure it could at least partially see me. After that excitement, I quietly inserted the bolts that I use for my bottom first five steps into the tree. I had forgotten my rope (always forgetting something early in the season) so I had to carry my Black Widow recurve bow, Sam, up the tree over my shoulder. That's one advantage of traditional I mused. The decision to give traditional equipment a try was made in the summer time, during which I attended traditional 3D shoots often. I was ready, I thought. After having that pre- dawn deer so close, I had a lot of confidence that the stand was a good one. It was located in a bottle neck delineated by a deer fence at the back of a New Canaan property and a road. I was not surprised at all to see a deer head, complete with rack, bobbing through the undergrowth in my direction. The buck was about 30 yards and approached from the 7 o'clock direction, as related to the direction my stand faced. Good thing for me that I was standing with my left shoulder on the tree looking in the nine o'clock direction because he was inside 30 yards away when I could first see him. He slowly and casually walked through the stream that was both my route into the stand and the separation of two cover types that made this stand a Transition Zone as well as a funnel. He crossed the stream and walked right where I had walked. It was apparent that my scent control efforts had paid off because there was no residual odor that he could notice even though I had passed through the same trail he was on. My Eaglet stand made not a squeak or a groan as I jockeyed my feet around, trying to anticipate the direction he'd take. Finally, he committed to feed on growth, only 8 yards from the base of my tree. As I drew the bow, I concentrated on bending at the waist for the shot to maintain a T form. But I had forgotten something. The shot went high. I missed. Buck fever, choking, failure to pick a spot, rushing, failure to pick a spot( again ), call it what you will but I missed. The buck wasn't spooked that bad and I knew it. He trotted in a circle and paused. Now, an older buck would have bolted clean out of there. Even though this dude was no skipper, he may not have been shot at much. He never looked for me in the tree tops like some smart old does have done before. Next shot, at 15 yards, I concentrated on his ribs. Good shot too, but the now wired buck jumped the string enough to cause a second miss, also high. Just before taking the shot I noticed that the first miss had shaved a strip of hair off his side. Maybe I concentrated on that instead of his heart. Oh well, he's gone for good now.....or is he? Once again he circled and this time crossed back over the stream. But he headed towards the preserve along the far bank of the water and gave me a walking shot at 18 yards. High again. Three misses. I was sort of relieved when he vacated to leave me in my misery and adrenalin. I collected my arrows and egressed, lest another deer come along and take advantage of my now shattered confidence. I had talked myself into that I was going to get that buck before he even passed by my tree stand. I think I was looking at his spine for that first shot, which was quartering away. After that his heightened nerves and alertness made it difficult to kill him with a recurve shooting around 180 feet per second and just enough yards to be sure his chest wasn't where he was when the sound reached his ears. Excuses excuses. I missed and I don't really care. He was ( is ) a nice buck and perhaps I or another bowhunter will get a shot at him another time. I would not have preferred to take him with a compound and use one of my precious buck tags. Good buck, but not a whopper.
REDEMPTION I harbored sad feelings about missing that buck opening day but I resisted doing what I'd done several years before. It was 1994 and on opening day I wounded a doe with my recurve. I switched back to the compound almost right away. I wasn't going to give up that easily a second time. On the 22nd of September the moon time was right for an evening hunt and even though I was late getting out of work, I gave my island stand a try. It was the only location close enough to get to in time to hunt. Even as I was changing into my scent lock ghille suit in the parking area, I spotted doe deer moving about in a neighboring property and apparently headed my way. The best way for those deer to use the available cover and get to the crab apples was right past my stand. Therefore I hastened to my stand ( so much so that I forgot my safety harness ) and deer walked into the spot. Upon climbing I realized my omission, but decided not to go back to the car now and risk bumping into the oncoming deer. The lead deer was a large doe and she was suspicious. Had my disappearance gone unnoticed? She picked her way along, seemingly examining and sniffing every leaf and twig along the way. I tried to concentrate on her heart, to psyche my self for the shot. For long moments there was a substantial branch across her vitals and I waited. Finally, she stepped into the clear, quartering away. And you know what? I think I forgot to pick a spot again. Luckily, I still got a hit. I had been practicing short shots since my opening day fiasco when I missed the same buck three times. I had more confidence in the long bow than the recurve lately, partially because it's quieter. Both the switch to the Black Widow LBS ( named Sixty-Six for it's length ) and the practice. The shot was true and entered between the last two ribs, just on my side of the spine and angling forward sharply. She didn't seem to jump the string at all, thanks to the quietness of Sixty-Six. Penetration was mediocre and I wondered about the lethalness of the hit. The other deer in the group turned out to be a button buck and a doe fawn. They stood around confused, while the alpha doe bolted into the thick stuff in the direction of the island. I think when she got to the open grassy area she stopped to survey her back trail and check for pursuers and her offspring. The junior deer stood about my position for a good five minutes and then picked their way along the trail of the wounded doe. I was sure of a few of things. The shot was at 5:45 ( I'd only gotten on stand at 5:15 ) and I got down at ten after six. I stalked towards where the island isthmus was and spotted the two fawns behaving strangely. They seemed to be doing something with their snouts near the ground, but not feeding. It's got to be her I thought. I deer walked in their direction and they must have heard me because they took an intercept course to join me. They were fooled by my walking, although they're an easy audience. They passed by me to the downwind side only 10 feet away. I considered shooting the button buck, who was quite sizable for his age. The ghille suit was perfect camouflage for the windy oceanfront thick stuff as I could see my mock leaves fluttering in the wind. Those two youngsters looked right past me. I ignored them after they went by and stalked my intended deer. As I got closer to the spot where the fawns were acting bizarre, there lay the doe. My Steiner binoculars revealed her to be lifeless, but I stalked slowly just in case. Close observation confirmed her condition and I smiled inside. Redemption! I stuck with it and now I had taken my first deer with traditional tackle. A long bow. The usual post mortem revealed minimal damage to the thoracic contents, even though the broad head made it to the chest. The real devastation was in the abdomen. The Inferior Vena Cava - the largest vein in the body, was cut. That deer died within a minute of the hit. No wonder she just went 60 yards and died watching her back trail. I saw the juvenile progeny for the last time as I irrigated the does abdominal cavity with the property owners garden hose. First blood!