Ok, I'll play.
Here's something I wrote after a particularly memorable hunt years ago.
You’re not from around here, Are you
After pursuing game in Alaska for the past 10 years with both rifle and handgun, a transfer forced me to modify my hunting methods. I decided to move to archery tackle, and my shift to the Bow was somewhat rocky, but given the long season and the general lack of competition in the Illinois woods, the transition was a logical one.
The morning of January 12th 1999 dawned finding me 30 feet up a tree overlooking several trails crossing a frozen creek bed. The weather of late had conspired to make travel very difficult, currently in the high 30’s after several days of hard freeze with a 6 to 10 inch blanket of ice on the ground.
Seven thirty arrives as I glimpse movement to my right, a yearling on the move with more shadows ghosting through the brush behind her. I wait, hoping beyond hope to get a shot at my first buck with a bow. With 2 doe’s under my belt already this season I am anxious to earn the trophy of antlers in addition to adding more of the wonderful meat already in the freezer.
When all are in view I can see none wear the crown I desire, but not wanting to throw away what must be my last chance of the year, I decide to try and harvest the last in line which is the largest, and which I can soon see is an adult buck that has recently shed his antlers as demonstrated by the angry red welts atop his head.
I stand with Bow in front of my face, shaking with anticipation for what seems like hours, but in truth merely moments. They stealthily make their way to me as if according to some neatly laid out plan I accidentally blundered into. Sixty yards melts into twenty, then into ten and I decide now is the time. The draw is quiet and smooth, I congratulate myself in accomplishing this when I catch a doe’s eye and she snorts looking directly at me, her tail at half mast, her fore foot makes a audible “thunk” and ice chips scatter. Frantically I search for sight pin and shoulder, the magical alignment seems perfect and the shaft is a blur of color in a black and white world ending its brief flight buried in the buck. In an instant, the quiet wood is a flurry of dark bodies and white pennants, all determined to escape this unseen invader in their home. Sitting silently in my tree, I feel as though I must have dreamt the encounter, the woods are completely and utterly still, our rendezvous was so brief, so surreal, it could have easily happened only in my mind.
As I take up the trail I note the blood is not nearly as heavy as I would like, and this concerns me some, but soon I discover two of his recent beds, he has rested and bled here and my hopes are buoyed, and I continue. Soon it is evident by the tracks he has left the herd and struck out on his own, he leads me across a vast ice covered field, fully one quarter of a mile across and I can see he has bedded again when I arrive at the further edge, but now is gone back into the sanctuary of the woods.
It is painfully evident that my arrow did not hit exactly as I had intended and the deer, although no doubt badly wounded is able to move pretty well. But I am determined to finish what I have begun, so off comes the elaborate camouflage suit, insulated coveralls, and all other unnecessary gear. I begin running, confident in the knowledge that as long as I can discern his trail I can outlast him. From hill to valley, across a frozen creek and back up another hill the Buck leads me away from familiar territory into deep thickets and blow-downs that have sheltered and protected him in times past. After cresting one hill I see him at the bottom, standing in stoic silence at the tree line of yet another field, with him are two coyotes waiting patiently for the inevitable. I interrupt this dance of nature for I am the apex predator in the woods today and will not relinquish my prize. I drive them off with a shout. The Buck breaks and is off again moving smoothly despite a terrible wound that would have easily incapacitated his pursuer. The chase begins anew, I run as fast as possible without sacrificing his trail and am confident again that soon he will be stretched out before me.
This great animal leads me into his final destination, a large valley that had a chance encounter with a Tornado in years past. A 10 acre depression in the earth covered with great trees felled by unimaginable winds now overgrown with briars, wild rose, and all sorts of nightmarish flora. Passage is difficult some of the time and impossible most of the time, my confidence wanes as I become aware of the fantastic stamina and physical abilities of these beautiful creatures. Belly crawling down a briar tunnel a scant foot high, leaping up an eight foot creek bank, this with only three good limbs.
I now know that I would be laid low with the same or lesser injury, and my respect for this animals determination to live is raised to an even greater level.
A majestic oak, once heaving huge branches skyward lays in my path, a faint trail shows me the way as I weave over and under the great limbs performing some sort of primitive limbo dance. Suddenly he’s there, bedded in a heavy briar thicket, panting and exhausted, much as I am myself. I nock and draw, shaking from exertion and manage only to strike the heavy brush he has concealed himself in. As he heaves himself up and through the undergrowth I can see he is all but done in, and if I can maintain the pace he will be mine.
The final act is played out much as expected, we meet yet again only this time his choice for a resting place is not as careful, and once more I draw the modern equivalent of the tools that have taken these magnificent creatures here for thousands of years. The final shot is anti-climactic, he once again comes to his feet and moves only ten yards before sagging to his side. I know the outcome of this and a rush of emotions flood my mind, remorsefulness, elation, and a strange satisfaction of sticking out to the bitter end what has been one of my most fulfilling hunts.
This may sound foolish to others whom haven’t had the privilege of experiencing this type of encounter, but as I knelt beside that splendid beast, I thanked him for his contribution to my life. Not only will his body provide welcome sustenance, but long after his flesh is consumed by my family, I will continue to relive this memory for the rest of my life, and for this I am deeply in his debt.