I squinted my eyes, trying to see movement through the briar-laden thicket as I heard a lot of noise coming off to my left side. I locked my trigger into my D-loop as my nerves began to flare, waiting for what I presumed to be my target 8-point buck, Charlie, to walk 10-yards into my shooting lane.
As the deer moved closer, I prayed the wind didn’t shift on me. It was in my face, moving my scent behind me and up the small hill I was sitting on – the opposite direction from where the noise was coming from. As I waited for it to move out of the tree line, I began to think back to the series of events that got me to this situation.
While I’ve been hunting deer since my sophomore year of college, this was my first archery season. I had planned on my first bowhunting experiences being behind a TenPoint crossbow, but, a month and a half before West Virginia’s archery season opened, Dave Samuel, our outdoors columnist and also the man behind Bowhunter Magazine’s longest-running column, gave me his old Hoyt Katera XL to jumpstart my bowhunting journey.
The first few weeks of learning the bow were fun and crushing at the same time. It had been years since I had shot a compound bow, and being that this was my first adult bow, I knew I had to put in work if I planned on taking it out for deer this year. So, my grueling practice regimen began: Fifty arrows in the morning, 50 arrows in the evening.
Luckily, my shoulders and arms were conditioned for the constant draws, but, after a few weeks, I knew it was time to cut back on my reps once I noticed my groupings were starting to open up. Funny enough, it was advice from Samuel that convinced me to tone it down – words of wisdom he gave me when we ran into each other on the Cheat Lake trail while walking our dogs. Taking that advice, I cut it down to 50 arrows a day, then to 30 arrows a day two weeks before the opener. It had not taken long for me to get comfortable at 25 and 35 yards, which was enough for the areas I’d be hunting in the Mountain State and Maryland.
Finally, when the opener came around, I was diagnosed with COVID-19. It was heartbreaking.
Those two weeks of quarantine saw me miss a beautiful cold front roll through the area. As I scrolled through Facebook and Instagram and saw all the photos of my buddies who had bagged nice bucks in that first week of October, I felt defeated. Luckily, whenever I was ready to get back out in the field, we had another cold front roll through. My first two hunts were fruitless – aside from finding tons of sign that I could sit over on future hunts – but it was still nice to get out in the woods after weeks inside my house.
Finally, the last week of October came around. My friends from north-central West Virginia were saying deer movement was picking up, and I knew it was likely my best chance before the rut to try and hit one of my target bucks. After finishing a cross country story, I packed up my car, drove to the private tract of land I had permission to hunt on and hit my predetermined ambush spot – a small thicket next to an old tram road Charlie liked walking up and down in the evenings. That night, too, left me empty-handed, but I began to continue to put the pieces together and figure out the puzzle of this property.
I decided to back off for a few days. I didn’t want to pressure the deer too much, but as yet another cold snap came in, I had to get out again. This time, I finally had some action. I saw Charlie chasing a doe in the early morning light on the adjacent private property and began praying she would turn up my way so I could get a crack at him. But, as it seems it almost always goes, she trotted off deeper into that property and he followed suit. The following Monday morning was dead outside of a deer on the other side of the ridge blowing at something.
And then, there I was – it was Tuesday afternoon. I checked my wind, slowly moved down the tram road over the course of two hours and like clockwork, the deer began showing themselves in my target area about 15 minutes after I got into position. As I looked through the briar-laden thicket, my nerves began to flare as I locked my trigger into my D-loop. I began to take deep breaths, trying to calm myself down as I was about to harvest my first deer with a bow, let alone my target buck with a bow given to me by one of the best deer hunters in the country.
The movement was now just around the corner from me, but Charlie was still behind a tuft of sticks and briars. Then, I could see his body through a small opening. He was within 10 yards of me.
“He looks smaller close-up,” I thought to myself.
I drew, making sure to go slow and talk myself through my personal mantra as I waited for him to come into my lane.
Draw slow, breathe deep, set the peep, set the pin, hold, hold, hold …
Five feet and he’d be out in front of me, though I still couldn’t see his head. The fact that I was this close to my target buck during my first archery season was cathartic.
Three feet. I could see his nose beginning to pop out from the edge of the thicket.
Two feet. I could see his eyes, but something was off.
One foot. Oh no.
It was a spike. My heart sank. I was so worked up I actually considered breaking my own rule of not shooting anything smaller than an 8-point unless it was a mature 6-point. I slowly closed my draw, watching the little guy move past the shooting lane into another patch of woods.
While I was disappointed it wasn’t Charlie or the 9-point, I took a moment to think things over. It was truly the best hunt I had experienced on that private tract since starting, and probably the best deer hunt I’ve ever had. I know that probably says a lot about me, but, nonetheless, I’m not afraid to admit it – it is my first archery season after all, and my gun hunting is limited to another piece of private land. Still, there was something different about holding my draw on that spike, even if I didn’t realize what it was until the last second. Maybe it’s me being new that I overstate this, but it was a feeling of being connected to the art of hunting.
What’s not an overstatement: It’s a feeling I’d likely not had experienced if Samuel wouldn’t have gifted me my first bow. I know I still have plenty of time to get Charlie, plus the rut is right around the corner. If you’re still after your target buck, don’t get discouraged – our luck is about to change in the deer woods.
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