The following events occurred on public land on opening day of bow season.
After having an exhausting and uneventful morning, which involved logging over four miles with a climber on my back, I abandoned the area I had scouted before season in hopes of finding greener pastures.
That afternoon I decided to take my climber and scout a new area in hopes of finding a tree to climb. I probed the perimeters of a deep steep draw that eventually fell to a creek bed, then the lake. About a half mile in, I bumped three deer out of a cedar thicket. I pressed on a couple hundred yard further, where I found a strip of white oaks between the cedars and the draw's edge. It was heavily travelled and I quickly found a tree overlooking a fork in the highly travelled trail.
At about 5:00pm, a pair of fat does meandered my way. I slowly stood,while I had the cover of a few smaller trees, and prepared to draw when the opportunity came. Unfortunately it wasn't meant to be. They turned off the trail and moved back into the cedars before they came into range. Later, as the light faded, a large doe and a yearling came down the same trail. This time they split up. The yearling stayed in the brush and stopped right under my stand. The doe wandered back behind me toward the the cedars, but I timed my draw to her entry into a gap. I bleated and she froze. I judged her at 30 yards and placed my pin straight up the leg and 1/3 up the body. It was perfect. She stood in the dark thicket, light fading, and I watched as my arrow, wrapped in white with white and fluorescent yellow fletchings, flew. I saw that it was traveling in a perfect arc as it rose to it's apex and began to drop. As it fell it aligned perfectly, not too far forward or back. Then things went wrong. Though she stared straight at me, I was obscured by the tree I had climbed. My bow is quiet, but not silent. I watched as she stood and stared, arrow sliding ever closer, and she didn't move an inch. No duck, no flinch, just an ice cold glare. The arrow passed into the dark of the cedars in it's final 5-10 yards and I lost sight of it. To my surprise there was no "thwack", only a muffled thud. She didn't take off in a blaze of terror and adrenaline. Instead she retreated in long bounds and leaps. I instantly knew that something was off. I climbed down the tree to analyze the scene before I lost the light. I found my arrow, sickening in it's neatness and buried halfway into the sandy sloped soil. No blood. No hair or moisture. The fletchings were as perfect as the day I bought them. No blood trail either. I pulled out my rangefinder and measured back to the tree. 33 disappointing yards.
I went on to see two more deer the following morning, but neither ventured within 50 yards of the oak I sat perched in. Oh well, I'll try again next weekend. I may not have taken home venison, but I encountered 9 deer in two days on public ground that I was unfamiliar with. That, in itself, is a victory.
Good luck and happy hunting.
After having an exhausting and uneventful morning, which involved logging over four miles with a climber on my back, I abandoned the area I had scouted before season in hopes of finding greener pastures.
That afternoon I decided to take my climber and scout a new area in hopes of finding a tree to climb. I probed the perimeters of a deep steep draw that eventually fell to a creek bed, then the lake. About a half mile in, I bumped three deer out of a cedar thicket. I pressed on a couple hundred yard further, where I found a strip of white oaks between the cedars and the draw's edge. It was heavily travelled and I quickly found a tree overlooking a fork in the highly travelled trail.
At about 5:00pm, a pair of fat does meandered my way. I slowly stood,while I had the cover of a few smaller trees, and prepared to draw when the opportunity came. Unfortunately it wasn't meant to be. They turned off the trail and moved back into the cedars before they came into range. Later, as the light faded, a large doe and a yearling came down the same trail. This time they split up. The yearling stayed in the brush and stopped right under my stand. The doe wandered back behind me toward the the cedars, but I timed my draw to her entry into a gap. I bleated and she froze. I judged her at 30 yards and placed my pin straight up the leg and 1/3 up the body. It was perfect. She stood in the dark thicket, light fading, and I watched as my arrow, wrapped in white with white and fluorescent yellow fletchings, flew. I saw that it was traveling in a perfect arc as it rose to it's apex and began to drop. As it fell it aligned perfectly, not too far forward or back. Then things went wrong. Though she stared straight at me, I was obscured by the tree I had climbed. My bow is quiet, but not silent. I watched as she stood and stared, arrow sliding ever closer, and she didn't move an inch. No duck, no flinch, just an ice cold glare. The arrow passed into the dark of the cedars in it's final 5-10 yards and I lost sight of it. To my surprise there was no "thwack", only a muffled thud. She didn't take off in a blaze of terror and adrenaline. Instead she retreated in long bounds and leaps. I instantly knew that something was off. I climbed down the tree to analyze the scene before I lost the light. I found my arrow, sickening in it's neatness and buried halfway into the sandy sloped soil. No blood. No hair or moisture. The fletchings were as perfect as the day I bought them. No blood trail either. I pulled out my rangefinder and measured back to the tree. 33 disappointing yards.
I went on to see two more deer the following morning, but neither ventured within 50 yards of the oak I sat perched in. Oh well, I'll try again next weekend. I may not have taken home venison, but I encountered 9 deer in two days on public ground that I was unfamiliar with. That, in itself, is a victory.
Good luck and happy hunting.
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