It's the first frosty morning in upstate South Carolina, which just so happened to be on a Saturday, so lifelong hunter, Brandon Peterson, knew it was the time to be in the woods.
He slipped towards his stand settled on top of a ridge filled with white oaks, feeling the frozen grass and leaves crunch under his feet. His breath was turning to smoke as he walked the two hundred yards toward his stand. He was running a little late, and could see the horizon turning a light orange behind him. He knew that if he was to see anything he's have to hurry, so he pulled himself up into is stand, ignoring his frozen fingers as they protested the ice cold metal. He got settled, nocked an arrow, hung his bow, stuffed his frozen hands into his warm pockets, and waited.
It was barely daylight. He was waiting for the sun to finally make an appearance over his left shoulder to help thaw the frigid ground. He scanned the power line that was about 50 yards to his left, and worked his way back to the thicket on his far right. About 8:30, just as the sun was warming his back, he was surprised as three does filed into the salt lick in front of him. Two of the smaller ones walked under his stand, looked up at him and then continued to feed. Brandon knew it was now or never as he grabbed his bow and eased into a standing position. He waited. Not one deer looked at him, just continued gobbling up acorns and licking salt. He methodically connected his release to his D loop. All the months of practice took over, the hundred arrows thrown from different angles and yardages finally took their place at the peak of his concentration. As he pulled the bow back, the does scattered. By the time the was at full draw, he bleated and the largest doe stopped and gave him a perfect 35 yard broadside shot. He released the arrow and heard the smack of broad head hitting flesh and bone. Sixty five pounds of bone crushing power dropped the doe in her tracks.
Brandon sat down, took a breath and called me. I had missed all the action from my blind about one hundred yards in the other direction. His excitement was so tangible over the phone that I could barely wait to go help him drag it. At this moment, I realized that one of the hardest things for a gun hunter turned bow hunter to do was to wait almost an hour before you can put your hands on a deer. Who knows how much it would've killed us to wait if he would've shot her further back and she ran. Finally the time came for him to put his hands on the deer that he had worked so hard for. He had his bow in one hand, his trophy in the other, and a look of pure joy that could never be replaced. I never thought that a doe could be more of a trophy than others we have on the wall at home. All those months and years of practice, all of the money poured into it, and all of the hours in the stand finally reaped a reward, even if it was just a doe, she was his greatest trophy to date.
No comments:
Post a Comment