BACK IN THE GAME

I fell in love with bowhunting when I was a senior at K-State.  So much so I likely skipped a few classes to head to the far reaches of Tuttle Creek Reservoir to sit in a treestand on a few mornings I should have been in Chemistry or Biology classes.  But I graduated with flying colors and a degree in Fisheries and Wildlife Biology so I must have made most of them.  However, the bad news is I never killed a deer with my bow!

To make matters worse, I wouldn't kill a deer until the end of my third season bowhunting.  I had taken a job with the North Carolina Wildlife Resources Commission and spent the first year there finding places to hunt.  Finally, I killed a small doe the second year and could finally consider myself a full-fledged bowhunter.

That first animal opened the flood gates and things got easier as I learned from my mistakes (I made my fair share and then some).   My interest in the sport escalated and I found myself traveling to the far reaches of Northern Quebec chasing caribou and to several Mountain and Midwestern states chasing elk and whitetails.  I was hooked on bowhunting in a big way and loved every minute of it.

But as happens, my interest waned a bit when I had kids and more responsibilities all the way around.  I just didn't have the time to get out as much as I used to and time in a tree was at a premium.  Add to this the fact I lost my two favorite spots to bowhunt and I've been a little off-track for the last few years. 

Don't get me wrong, there have been plenty of deer that died in front of me.  My twin boys have both killed several deer now and my daughter killed her first deer last month while home on fall break from college.  I've enjoyed that as much or even more than shooting one myself.  But solo time in a tree is almost therapeutic and I missed it.

A new-found friend turned me onto a spot to bowhunt and things were looking up.  I was more excited this fall about my bowhunting prospects than I had been for some time.  The first time in my new tree yielded several deer sightings and that warm, fuzzy, content feeling I get from watching the woods wake up was back.  It's a magical time.

The second time in that tree last weekend started off slow but then a fair-sized buck cruised through just out of range.   A short time later three generations of antlerless deer eased down a trail I was watching.  My Mathews came to it's old, familiar anchor point where it had been thousands of times over the years and I grunted to stop the biggest doe at 18 yards.  The shot was perfect as all three deer bolted.

As I walked up to the first deer I'd killed in a couple years I thought about how much I'd missed bowhunting and close encounters.  Even though only a doe it felt vaguely like the first one I worked so hard for years ago which was a huge trophy in my eyes.  It's a wonderful sense of accomplishment and I was grateful for the opportunity.  It feels good to be back in the game.