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Bow And Arrow Rack

 

November Bow-hunt

Bow And Arrow RackIt was a bright and mild November afternoon when I pulled the truck out of the driveway and drove the four miles or so to the ground blind that dwelled several yards into the woods. My laced boots crunched the carpet of orange and brown white oak leaves. I unzipped the entrance to the blind as quietly as I could manage with full hands; mindful of the not so distant sounds of movement coming from a nearby thicket.

I settled into the little foldout chair, carefully setting the bow and full quiver down close at hand. The bow was a brand new PSE that I had purchased with money earned from behind the wheel of Cub Cadet that summer. For a few hours or so I entertained myself by watching the acrobatics of what seemed to be a colony of grey squirrels. As the light and my hopes began to fade, I heard the trademark gentle walk of a deer coming from a few yards behind me. Scarcely daring to breath and with shaking hands I nocked an arrow to the string and tried vainly to slow the beat of my heart.

The deer's previously silent walk suddenly became thunderous to my youthful ears. For what felt to be a lifetime the deer finally crawled to the front of the blind where through the window I surveyed the young doe with covetous eyes. I stared intently at the small brownish gray spot that nestles just behind the shoulder. With trembling arms drew the bow to full draw. As I peered through the small peep sight I noticed a change in the animal. She appeared tense and nervous, some inner instinct honed from centuries of preyed upon ancestors seemed to warn her of the impending shot. Sighting quickly from fear of her leaping away, I put the top pin just behind the shoulder and squeezed the release.

I saw the tiny orange and green vanes disappear in the hair slightly farther back than I would have liked. As the doe bounded away, she seemed almost to stumble as she turned to make good her escape; just a slight bending of the front right leg. I sat there sucking in air with adrenaline fueled vigor, my body shaking as if afflicted with a fever. The next thing I knew I was in my truck driving back home to get dad; there was a blood trail to follow and night was nipping at my heels. After a hurried and breathless account, we were on our way back to the blind. I practically jumped out of the passenger seat and grabbed the flashlight. My sprint to the woods was immediately halted by dad, he patiently told me to just take things slow, of course taking things slow was the very last thing I wanted to do at that moment. But remembering that I was arguing against years of experience and countless of followed blood trails some fruitful and others not; I heeded his advice. With painstakingly slow steps we entered the woods.

Sure enough a few yards in front of the blind we spotted a respectable splotch of dark burgundy shining wetly on the ground. And lying just a dozen yards further was the doe. With silent emphasis dad pointed to the wound in the deer's side. The broadhead had just barely nicked the liver, but much like Mercutio's wound it had sufficed. She was no buck with a splendid rack but she was mine. My first of what I hope to be many deer taken with a bow.

By jordan hunt - Im a simple guy that was born a few centuries too late. i enjoy hunting, blacksmithing, fishing, and just being outside.