The stillness of the morning ended sometime after 8:00 am when I caught movement of a buck walking down the small hill to my east and angling to the northwest. Wanting to see what the deer looked like, I reached into my pack, pulled out the grunt tube and let out one long grunt. He stopped immediately and whipped his head in my direction. He turned to the nearest tree and ripped it to shreds, making so much noise it sounded like he was taking a baseball bat to the tree. I could hear his feet tearing into the ground as his antlers thrashed against the trunk and branches swung wildly back and forth.
He was looking for a fight, hoping his tree-thrashing display would scare off the challenger. I grunted again. A slightly long grunt followed by two, quick, abrupt grunts. The kind you hear when a rutting buck exhales with each step. The deer immediately started a semi-circle course in my direction, looking to find who just called him out. At 40 yards he found another tree to bully, and he gave it a beat-down that I wish I had on camera. Instead I was on my feet, bow in hand, release clipped on the string, heartbeat in my ears.
With the second tree battle finished, the buck continued on a line straight toward the base of my tree. Somewhere inside 30 yards I drew my bow and held, knowing I would not be able to draw when he came closer. He was angling toward me, stopping and starting his heavy steps every few feet. It always seems like an eternity as your mind races through millions of scenarios, analyzing every moment, yet somehow time slows down and your mental focus is as sharp as ever. When the moment is right, you pick a spot, settle your pin and execute your shot sequence. Feet, grip, anchor, pin, follow...
Suddenly the world is set back in motion as the buck bolts out to the field edge then cuts 90 degrees to his right. My eyes following him, my mind again analyzing his path and behavior. Losing sight of the buck forces my ears to take over, listening for sounds of a deer crashing. I think I hear him fall, but I trust my eyes more than my ears and uncertainty crept in. Was it a good shot? It was practically straight down. Yes, it was a good shot, he went down. I tried to reassure myself. Did I rush it? Should I have waited one more step? Doubt pushes back in. No, he's down. Waiting another second would have let him walk past you and into cover again, blocking a chance at a clear shot. He's dead.
My mind ping-ponged back and forth as I hung my bow up and sat down. The adrenaline release caused my legs to bounce up. I felt confident in everything that just transpired, but I don't get excited until the tracking job is complete. It was 8:18 am when my arrow connected with the deer. With more time to think things through, I slowly lowered my bow to the ground and started the process of pulling my stand and sticks down from the tree. The plan was to take my time, work back to my truck, text a few people and wait an hour before pursuing the trail.
After quietly lowering myself and my gear to the ground, I began packing up. Apparently I was doing a good job, as I heard the sounds of a deer approaching. Standing at the base of the tree, I turned and saw more antlers walking my direction. Reaching for my phone I flipped over to video mode and captured this moment:
The encounter with that buck caused feelings of thankfulness to swell. What an amazing morning. How lucky are we, as hunters, to have these experiences? We're able see the natural world in a way that very few people walking the planet today are able to. We interact so intimately with the natural world that we are part of it's process. It's easy to take for granted, but in that moment I was simply soaking it all up. Living, breathing, smiling, immersed.
With my backpack shouldered and bow in hand I retraced the steps my buck took, starting at the spot he stood when my arrow was released and following the upturned ground his hooves dug into. Stepping out into the grass, good sign was immediately visible. A single droplet caught my eye, then another and another.
I looked at the frosty ground and the deer's tracks were slightly visible in the long grass. My eyes lifted from the droplets on the ground in front of my boots, following the path I last saw the buck take. There was no need to walk slowly back to the truck. Feelings of thankfulness again swelled.
