Some say patience is a virtue, I think it is a blessing. Though I have been hunting since I was of legal age to do so, I never have gotten that “trophy buck.” Don’t get me wrong. I have placed my tag on a few nice (and tasty) whitetails, and I even won the “big (little) buck” contest in eighth grade, but I had never experienced that rollercoaster of emotion that hits you square in the forehead when your arrow finds its mark. That is until now. Let me tell you how family, management practices and too much patience finally paid off.
This year marked my fourth year bow-hunting, and I hoped that this season I would finally arrow my first buck with the bow. I need to explain that my “buck-less-ness” was not for lack of trying as my fiancé, Randy, has been managing our leases for the past several years and has always put me in the best stands depending on wind, scouting and such.
No, my “buck-less-ness” was all of my own making. You see, I am too patient and have been ribbed for it many times through the years. I was teased earlier in the season for passing on a small basket 6-pointer as I needed to just get one under my belt. I admit that I felt a bit of regret after letting him pass by, but I think I would have felt more regret for taking him before he had a chance to grow into the trophy we’ve been managing for. Now, if we were in desperate need of venison for the freezer, my internal debate would have had a different outcome. This has been the same story for the three previous seasons. My patience didn’t have anything to do with waiting for Bullwinkle. Nope, I was just waiting for the opportunity when I felt it was right. In the meantime, I have been entertained by countless squirrels, fox, coyotes and, of course, a few dandy whitetails that never came within range.
Before the opening of this past Wisconsin archery season, Randy decided that a new food plot was needed on a 50-acre piece we lease. Before we got to work, we did a soil test and then contacted the Whitetail Institute, as we have been using their Imperial Clover in our management practices for years and wanted some professional feedback on what seed would be the best choice for this location. Because of other food sources available on the property, we determined that Whitetail Institute Winter-Greens would be the ideal food source to hold the deer to property after the corn was harvested. Now it was time to get a little dirty and get to work. Because of the size of the plot and access, we used our ATV and Kolpin Dirtworks system to work up the soil and prep it for planting. For Randy and me, this part is almost as fun as the actual hunting. Who wouldn’t enjoy hopping on an ATV and tearing up some dirt?
Finally the Wisconsin archery season was upon us. Countless hours of practice with my Mathews bow during the summer had me ready to go. The first month of the season brought one passed opportunity on the 1-1/2-year-old 6-pointer I mentioned before and only a handful of does even close to being within range. It was starting out as a strange season for Randy, me and the rest of our hunting party, as we just weren’t encountering any of the deer we had been patterning in the late summer and early fall. Actually, we weren’t encountering any deer at all. Blame it on the crazy, wet weather or all the standing corn. Either way, it was rather discouraging.
As our season continued into late October, I tried to remain hopeful that the upcoming rut would expose the deer herd I knew existed, and the Winter-Greens we planted would help hold them to our property. Randy continuously set me up in the best stands throughout our property in hopes that I’d finally be in the right place at the right time. The time finally came, but my patience and inexperience were a handicap.
I was set up in a pine tree overlooking an opening in the woods about 100 yards from our Winter-Greens food plot. I had never sat in that stand before and was unsure of which direction the deer tended to travel through the opening. Well, I learned quickly when a very large, heavy buck surprised me over my left shoulder. He slowly walked a trail right to me, but I swear he was staring into the bottom of my soul with every step he took. I was able to get my release on my string but not able to pull up my bow to draw, as he continued to glare right at me (or so I thought).
I let him pass in hopes that he would continue on the trail right underneath me and I would have an opportunity to draw and get a shot off when he reached my right side. Needless to say, that was not what he had in mind, and he disappeared underneath me at a split in the trail that I did not know was there. After the close of that evening I told my tale to Randy and realized I had probably missed out on my chance of having a trophy buck within range because I was again too patient.
A few nights later I was finally able to get into the stand again. Randy was determined that I get another opportunity to close the deal and set me up in the oak stand that overlooked our new Winter-Greens food plot. As I settled into the stand, I was doubtful that I would see anything with all the noise coming from the lake houses that sat back only 70 yards from the food plot. But again Randy knew what I didn’t. He had noticed with the cold weather that deer had begun to feed heavily on this plot and that the neighborhood noise would not be a factor as the deer were accustomed to it.
With plenty of time to think in the stand, I was determined not to let myself be schooled by a big buck again, so I used the range-finder to determine my shot range and began to wait. All of a sudden, I noticed movement across the Winter-Greens plot in a gap of tall grass — it was antlers, very tall antlers attached to a monster buck. As the adrenaline began to flow, everything I had been taught kicked in. I knew the buck had no clue I was there, so I steadied myself in my stand and got my bow ready. All I had to do was wait. And wait I did. "His Majesty" (that is what I nicknamed him because of his regal rack) decided to just hang out at 60 yards for what seemed like an eternity but in reality was about 15 minutes. By that time, I had calmed myself down and was prepared if he decided to come my way. If he didn’t, I had spent an evening in the stand watching a magnificent whitetail, so it was a win-win situation.
Finally, a young forker stepped out of the scrub brush about 35 yards in front of me and began to make his way along the edge of the plot to me. This was all the incentive His Majesty needed, and he finally began to make his way around the food plot on the same path as the young buck. The young buck walked right past me at 20 yards and entered the woods and trail that wrapped behind my stand. Now the game was on. I figured His Majesty would continue on the same path, and that would put him right in my shooting lane. With the branches in front of me as cover, I pulled back and waited for him to step out to my left. Seconds felt like hours when he finally stepped out in front of me. I softly grunted, and he stopped almost broadside at 18 yards.
I was ready and felt good, so I let my arrow fly and heard a smack I swear sounded like a rifle hit. I looked up to see my arrow sticking out of him as he quartered away and began to run around the other side of the food plot, back through the gap through which he entered. Through tree branches, I could see him stop for a few seconds in the green field and then take off again. I heard him enter the corn with a loud crash, and that was it. That's where the rollercoaster ride of emotions truly began for me. Sitting there, I replayed the last minute in my head. I knew I had hit him and was confident when I let my arrow go, but I kept seeing that arrow sticking out of him and then no arrow when he turned, so I began to think I must of hit him square in the shoulder and that the arrow just fell right out. I berated myself up and down for having the perfect opportunity and screwing it up, and then I prayed that I did not wound that beautiful animal. That was not what I expected to be experiencing after shooting at the buck of my life.
I sat until a few minutes before closing time and then got down to see if I could find my arrow. Sure enough, there it was, but only about half of it. The broadhead and about seven inches of my arrow were missing, I had even blown my knock right of the shaft. The adrenaline started pumping again so I headed back to the truck to wait for Randy, as he had been hunting another part of the same property. While I waited, I called my father to explain what happened and get his advice (plus I was just itching to tell someone about His Majesty). As fathers tend to do, he calmed me down and explained that the arrow was probably sheared off when the buck turned, and that it sounded to him like I made a well-placed, fatal shot.
Now I was actually shaking — did I place a good shot? Did I get him? I think I was beginning to talk out loud to myself because Randy approached the truck looking at me like I was crazy. I quickly explained to him what had transpired, and a grin began to creep across his face. He decided we should give the buck an hour or two and go get the lanterns ready.
The next hour and half were the longest of my life, as I retold the story about five times and prepared to track my deer. The extensive search party of Randy, me, my father and several friends was assembled and ready to go. It seems everyone was as excited as I was at the prospect of tagging my first buck with the bow.
I led the way to where I had left the half of my arrow and explained the path I watched the buck take. As we entered the green field where His Majesty had stopped, we finally found a few specks of blood. This was the next crest and plummet on my rollercoaster of emotion. I figured the lack of blood meant a shoulder hit for sure and that I might have only wounded him. My father decided to cross the field to see if he could find where the buck entered the corn field and sure enough he did. Shining in the moonlight was bright red, bubbly lung blood smeared all along the corn stalks. As you have probably figured out, I had just rounded another corner on my emotional rollercoaster and was flying high again.
The search party moved forward through the corn while I stood at last blood. While they searched for a clue to the buck’s course, I realized that there was blood on both sides of me in the corn. I relayed the message to my friend Jack, and as he lifted the lantern to peer over into the next row, there was His Majesty three feet to my right in the fence row. When I had heard him hit the corn, the buck had been taking his finally steps. He had gone only 100 yards. The first words out of Jack’s mouth cannot be repeated, but let’s just say everyone was as surprised as I was at how beautiful this buck really was. The next hour or so was a blur, as I was congratulated, pictures were taken and His Majesty was transported home. But I will not forget in those moments the pure joy and pride I saw on my father and Randy’s face when they realized that my patience and their support finally paid off — big time!
The rollercoaster ended on a high note for me — what an awesome evening and great memory. All the time spent putting in food plots, clearing stands and being patient in the stand paid off. That is what all the work is for — harvesting a healthy, mature buck — and my first buck with the bow is a something I will never forget.
