I settled back, comfortable in my
perch...Higher than I normally hunt, easily 20 plus feet, but I'm
safely strapped to the tree. My view is perfectly framed through the
boughs of the cedar. A standing yellow cornfield to my front, an
overgrown, clear cut pasture that hasn't seen cows in years behind me
and a beat down deer trail to my right connecting the two...If all
goes as planned, a willing deer will participate in my hunt...
The evening passes quickly as
I'm rocked almost asleep by the movement of the huge cedar tree in
the breeze. I watch as the rows of corn sway back and forth, almost
hypnotic...The weather is ideal, cool enough for my wool jacket and
long johns, but warm enough for comfort. This is the perfect spot to
be in early October...birds singing and squirrels chattering and
skittering around in the leaves.
The sun has dropped low, that
magic time for deer hunters...the witching hour when the deer are up
and on their feet. I take a look around and something is out of place
in the pasture. As I concentrate on the spot 75 yards away, the
twitch of an ear. Then I catch the glint of an antler in the fading
sunlight...The shine of the buck's wet, black nose reveals itself. My
heart pounds and the familiar excitement takes over...The old buck
had been bedded right under my nose for the last 2 hours! I grunt the
deer to his feet, but still only able to see his head and neck due to
the tangle of brush he calls his bedroom. For 10 minutes, he teases
me, gradually moving closer, then easing back, never getting closer
than 50 yards from my hide...A big 9 pointer, no doubt a trophy deer.
I'd never seen the old guy on the hoof, but have a couple of trail
camera photos of him after hours. By the looks of him, he's seen his
share of seasons...fat, pot bellied and sway backed like an old
horse. The size of his body more impressive than his antlers. Try as
I might, he doesn't fall for any of my tricks as he disappears into
the brush and vanishes over the hill...
Spent, I slump back against my
tree and rest from the encounter. I think to myself that I'll have a
good story to tell and a memory made...It's late now, time to climb
down. I peel my face mask off and just about to lower the longbow to
the ground...Movement across the way and I see a deer's leg. It's the
old boy sneaking back for a second look. He has circled downwind to
try and smell the source of the grunting and ready for a fight! I
quickly nock an arrow to the bowstring and wait. I glance ahead and
pick my spot...In seconds, the buck is there...15 yards quartering
away exactly where I want him...
I'd like to be able to tell you
that my arrow sped to its mark. I'd like to be able to tell you that
I recovered the prize at the end of a short trail and that he
provided many meals and his antlers now grace the walls of my hunting
shack...I'd love to tell you all of that, but if I did, it would be
untrue...
What I can tell you is that I
was a victim...A victim of a horrible case of “Buck Fever”! A
condition all deer hunters are familiar with...I don't know how it
happened, but it happened! The last thing I recall is seeing my arrow
dribble its way towards the buck and fall harmlessly in the high
grass, 5 yards from his feet...I don't even remember drawing my bow
or hitting my anchor point or releasing, but the brightly colored
feathers of my arrow burying in the grass are etched in my mind...The
big buck jumped and trotted back to the safety of the pasture and
tromped and snorted for the next 5 minutes as I pouted in my
treestand and wondered what just happened...feeling almost ill.
Yep, even after 30 years of
hunting, I am still afflicted by buck fever and if I ever become
immune to it, that will be the day I sell my longbow and buy some new
golf clubs...
This is a great story well told.
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