StringShooter
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- Joined
- Oct 23, 2001
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When I took my 20 yard broadside shot, the last thing that I amagined was that I would not recover the deer.
I practice a lot. I spend the time to be assured that the animal that I shoot will be recovered. I mentally run through different scenarios that could occur while on my stand. I am a good shot and I pride myself on that.
What in the heck happened? I still am running that through my head even after 5 days have passed.
It was the Friday before firearms season. It had rained the night before and was cool and damp when I decided to just sit on the ground in an area we call the “old homestead”. There was an old home there years ago. Now only a fencerow and a strip of woods lead in and out on four sides. A really great looking place to hunt but no trees to put a stand in. Definitely a ground blind hunting area.
After siting on my swivel seat bucket, hunkered in around some brush, a nice eight point buck began to approach from my right. He was checking scrapes and nibbling on some green vegetation that normally grows in the homestead. He was approaching rather cautiously, glancing in my direction as if something really wasn’t right. He saw me but didn’t know what my deal was. He continued on along the fencerow, not more than 20 yards would separate him and myself shortly. I drew my bow back; he took several more steps and was now 20 yards broadside still walking….slowly. I grunted with my mouth, he stopped and stared right at me. It was now or never, so I let the arrow fly….smack. He bolted; tail down, from the way he had came earlier.
I took a deep breath and thought about how it should be a good trailing job and how I had just harvested a nice buck. I sat for around 45 minutes and decided to put a few items back in my truck and trail the buck in an hour or so.
I went to the spot of the shot and could not find any blood. I looked down the fencerow and saw a patch of white (arrow fletching) and knew it was my arrow, broken off around twelve inches in length. A nice pool of blood lied around the arrow and a patch of “white” hair. My heart sunk when I saw the blood trail consisted of small droplets of bright red blood that grew smaller as I followed further.
Well, to make a long story short. After seven hours on my hands and knees, the blood trail ended. The buck had traveled about a quarter mile and stopped bleeding. No obvious tracks or signs of the deer could be located.
I spent the opening morning of firearms season retracing my steps and circling the area where I last found blood to no avail.
It had to have been a shoulder shot. It happened so fast that I did not see where my arrow hit.
I lost a nice deer and I am not proud of it. My next experience with my bow will be spending around 500 or so lung shots on my target deer until it is burnt into my brain.
I’m going back out this year but not until my confidence is back to normal. I gave it my best, but apparently that was not enough.
I was ready, but about four inches to the left of where I should have hit, ended in me not recovering my first bow kill of the season.
I practice a lot. I spend the time to be assured that the animal that I shoot will be recovered. I mentally run through different scenarios that could occur while on my stand. I am a good shot and I pride myself on that.
What in the heck happened? I still am running that through my head even after 5 days have passed.
It was the Friday before firearms season. It had rained the night before and was cool and damp when I decided to just sit on the ground in an area we call the “old homestead”. There was an old home there years ago. Now only a fencerow and a strip of woods lead in and out on four sides. A really great looking place to hunt but no trees to put a stand in. Definitely a ground blind hunting area.
After siting on my swivel seat bucket, hunkered in around some brush, a nice eight point buck began to approach from my right. He was checking scrapes and nibbling on some green vegetation that normally grows in the homestead. He was approaching rather cautiously, glancing in my direction as if something really wasn’t right. He saw me but didn’t know what my deal was. He continued on along the fencerow, not more than 20 yards would separate him and myself shortly. I drew my bow back; he took several more steps and was now 20 yards broadside still walking….slowly. I grunted with my mouth, he stopped and stared right at me. It was now or never, so I let the arrow fly….smack. He bolted; tail down, from the way he had came earlier.
I took a deep breath and thought about how it should be a good trailing job and how I had just harvested a nice buck. I sat for around 45 minutes and decided to put a few items back in my truck and trail the buck in an hour or so.
I went to the spot of the shot and could not find any blood. I looked down the fencerow and saw a patch of white (arrow fletching) and knew it was my arrow, broken off around twelve inches in length. A nice pool of blood lied around the arrow and a patch of “white” hair. My heart sunk when I saw the blood trail consisted of small droplets of bright red blood that grew smaller as I followed further.
Well, to make a long story short. After seven hours on my hands and knees, the blood trail ended. The buck had traveled about a quarter mile and stopped bleeding. No obvious tracks or signs of the deer could be located.
I spent the opening morning of firearms season retracing my steps and circling the area where I last found blood to no avail.
It had to have been a shoulder shot. It happened so fast that I did not see where my arrow hit.
I lost a nice deer and I am not proud of it. My next experience with my bow will be spending around 500 or so lung shots on my target deer until it is burnt into my brain.
I’m going back out this year but not until my confidence is back to normal. I gave it my best, but apparently that was not enough.
I was ready, but about four inches to the left of where I should have hit, ended in me not recovering my first bow kill of the season.
