Hunting Trip #3

After what happened Friday afternoon with the whole tea incident, I decided to dehydrate myself before going into the deer woods.  Smart, right?  Although I was aching for water when I got home each trip, I didn't have anymore panic attacks.  Haha. 

So, I hadn't seen much deer activity until last night (Sunday).  I had almost opted out of going hunting after waking up from a groggy nap.  Looking back now, I'm not sure what I should have done.  The story goes like this:  I sat there in that gosh forsaken tree that pokes into my back and causes me to sit crooked in a concave seat for hours.  Dusk started to set in when I heard deer coming from the south.  I could tell it was more than one, thinking it was probably a couple of doe looking for corn. Then I saw a buck circling around behind me.  Then I saw a second buck.  And then a third.  I lost sight of the first buck and bent over to catch a glimpse of the second.  As I did, I laid my eyes on the first buck, standing directly under my tree limb -- the most gorgeous buck I'd ever seen alive and not on tv.  My heart started pounding almost seemingly out of chest and my hands started sweating.  I slowly leaned back and watched.  The first buck ran at the second, must smaller, buck to run him off of the corn.  As he did, I attempted to draw back my bow.

Here's the back story on that.  A couple of nights ago Tate tightened my bow and I had only practiced pulling the extra five or so pounds back a couple of times.  So, you can imagine that it was a little difficult.  Then factor in that I was sitting down.  That makes it a little harder to pull back steadily.  Now, if you've never been hunting, there is one thing you have to know so I don't sound like a total wuss.  The second you lay eyes on a buck your muscles forget how to work.  The bigger the buck the worse.  You don't shake and shiver, your muscles just turn to Jell-O.  It's very frustrating.

So, I made my first attempt at drawing back the bow.  Failure.  When I let the string back, the arrow fell through the rest, making a clinking noise.  Then I had to push it back through, which caused another clink.  The deer didn't like that, obviously.  But, they allowed me to try to pull the bow back another three times, with clinking at all, before they walked away.  And, I must tell you, that buck was giving me the most beautiful broadside shot.  He probably knew I was too weak to shoot him.  As he walked away I hung my head in shame.  Then, about one minute later I heard him coming back, alone this time.  Dang it if he didn't traipse right back in that perfect profile position not 15 yards away.  Again, I drew back my bow, or tried.  Didn't happen.  It clinked.  I began to draw back again when he turned his head up to the tree and stared me in the eyes.  Gulp.  I'm done.  He's seen me and I'll never see him again.  I let the bow down and he turned, nonchalantly, and walked into the woods.  I made a final attempt at pulling the bow back, and wouldn't you know it, I got it all the way back and was steady as could be.  The problem?  His rear-end was the only thing in sight and fading fast.  I lost him.  I was, and am disgusted with myself. 

Shooting light passed and began climbing out of the tree.  I was thinking on the way down (before I hooked my leg on the tree step) that I shouldn't even tell Tate, but I knew we had the entire encounter on the trail camera and he would see what happened.  Sure enough, there was this grandious buck looking straight at me like I was the world largest loser.  And then Tate looked at me like I was the world's largest loser.  And I feel it, too. 

Of course, I got the lecture about how I should have been pulling the bow back.  Then he made fun of me the rest of the night.  And he threatened to take over that hunting spot so he could get the buck.  Tate, in case you don't know, doesn't make mistakes like that.  He doesn't screw up in hunting and nothing embarrassing has happened to him.  I threatened that if I found out he was in that stand or he shot that deer there would be major problems. 

I don't think I scare him.