THE TROUBLE WITH BOWHUNTING
by Gary Olsen
The buck of my dreams was standing broadside, ten yards from my tree. There was just one problem. It was my other tree, (the one I was sitting in the day before when the buck walked past this tree). Boy! I hate it when that happens! Do you ever have little irritating things happen to spoil what would otherwise be enjoyable bowhunting experiences? Do any of these bowhunting scenarios sound familiar?
A buck is approaching your stand, but he stops behind a tree, then turns and walks away right in line with the tree, or he walks through the brush instead of where your shooting lanes are, or when he's almost to your opening he turns around and goes back the way he came. Maybe a back draft of wind carries your scent to him, or a doe comes running through and the buck turns and goes over to her instead of you, or he stops just out of range and just stands there until it's too dark to shoot.
Sometimes a buck does make it to your shooting lane, but when you draw your bow, your arrow falls off the rest and clinks against the side of your bow, or your arrow nock pops off the string causing your arrow to fall, or your stand squeaks, or your new camo with the built in rain liner rustles and spooks him. You might encounter a tree limb with your elbow that won't allow you to reach full draw, or the upper limb of your bow encounters a branch that you neglected to clear, or a doe steps in front of the buck blocking your shot until he passes the opening.
Then again on some rare occasions, you do actually get off a shot, but your arrow hits an unseen twig and deflects, or he jumps the string, or just as you come to full draw, he looks at you, and you're forced to hold at full draw while he stares at you until your arm starts shaking so badly he spooks.
Have you ever dropped a glove, your hat, an arrow, your bow or even yourself out of your tree stand?
In forty years of bowhunting, I've experienced my share of these unfortunate events. Some are, hopefully, only one-time events, while others seem to happen with all too frequent regularity. I could probably write volumes about all of the things that can and do go wrong while bowhunting, but the following few examples from my own experience will probably be sufficient to stress my point.
I can't tell you how many times I've spent hours sitting in my tree, without seeing so much as a fawn. Then after I give up and start climbing down, I hear a snort and look up to see that the woods have come alive with tails in mass retreat. Sometimes I'll climb up my tree, but before I can pull up my bow, a buck appears and wanders right through my shooting lane. I have to mentally shoot him several times with my imaginary bow since my real bow is still on the ground.
One time a buck meandered into my shooting lane. I took careful aim and then launched my arrow right over his back. This buck was apparently either intellectually challenged or insufficiently impressed by my shooting prowess, because he was still standing there. As my trembling digits fumbled for another arrow, the bow quiver that I had clamped to my stand popped off and escorted my supply of arrows to the ground, initiating a dazzling display of speed and grace by my intended victim as he bounded away.
One perplexed bowhunter that I know had been attempting to intercept a certain heavy racked buck all season. Finally, one evening he spotted the buck headed his way. While he contemplated which wall of his house to hang the head on, the buck walked across the road and got hit by a truck.
Bob Boyd, a veterinarian friend of mine, was recently elk hunting. He was stalking a nice bull and was nearly in bow range. He paused for a moment and kneeled down behind some cover to figure out his next move. He was so intent on the bull that he failed to notice the buzzing sound emanating from beneath him until it was too late. He looked down in horror to see a black cloud of bald-faced hornets swarming around his legs. He quickly lost interest in the bull and ran for his life down the mountain. The forty to fifty stings served as a painful reminder of his error.
Sometimes trouble comes creeping in on four feet. My hunting buddy Mike Misch and I were whitetail hunting when a stray dog wandered into camp. Foolishly, Mike fed the mutt. Later the grateful pup tracked him to his tree stand, but couldn't figure out where he was. Confused and distressed by his failure to locate him, the forlorn pup just sat at the base of Mike's tree, howling. When I returned to camp that night, there was the dog, tied to a tree with the towrope from Mike's truck.
My Friend Ken Wolfe climbed up to his stand one time to find an ill-tempered raccoon sleeping on it. It took some careful negotiating to persuade the snarling little varmint to give up his bed.
Another time we returned to camp to find that an enterprising skunk had taken up residence in our tent and was busily taking inventory of our groceries. That event also required some careful negotiations.
Climbing trees can be wrought with problems. The tree can be slippery, or crooked, or have too many limbs, or not enough limbs, or is covered with thorns, etc. As you climb your tree, dirt, bark or pine needles fall down your neck and eventually end up in your underwear. I don't know how many times I've struggled to get up a tree, and finally got into position and then realized that I had forgotten to tie my bow onto my bow rope. I either have to climb back down to retrieve it or fish for it. I seem to spend nearly as much time fishing for dropped gloves, hats, arrows and other paraphernalia as I do hunting.
In my youth I spent a lot of time hunting out of trees without a tree stand. I would just climb up and sit or stand on limbs. One time I was in a tree, standing on limbs between 3 trunks. I saw some deer approaching so I attempted to assume a more suitable shooting position by shifting my weight from one limb to another. Suddenly, there was a loud crack and I found myself dangling by one elbow, my feet kicking wildly in the air, and my arrows clickity clacking through the branches on their way to the ground. For a moment the deer gazed with wonder at the spectacle unfolding before them and then quickly departed in search of a quieter neighborhood.
Another time, I was straddling, a deadfall, 12 feet in the air, which was wedged in the crotch of a tree. After two hours atop the log, I heard a strange noise at the far end. I suddenly found myself on a fast elevator ride to the ground floor, as if someone had jumped off the other end of my teeter-totter.
Later I moved on to portable stands. On one occasion I was twenty feet up, standing in the crotch of a poplar tree trying to attach my chain on tree stand. I was holding onto a small branch with one hand and trying to secure the chain with the other. Suddenly the branch that I was grasping parted company with mother trunk, and I watched my whole life flash before my eyes as the moonlit ground rushed up to meet me. The pain from that mistake lingers with me today, 30 years later.
After that episode, I decided to try climbing stands. I was then presented with a new set of problems. On more than one occasion I've been almost to my desired elevation, when my feet would slip out of the straps and my climbing stand would climb back down without me, leaving me dangling from the trunk, fifteen feet up.
Sometimes a tree trunk will have a few small twigs protruding from it, obstructing your climb. I was climbing such a tree one day, and dealt with the offending twigs by zipping them off with my little, handy, dandy, portable, folding saw as I went. Unfortunately, halfway up the tree, my trusty saw managed to wriggle free of my nimble fingers and fell to the ground, where it sought out my bowstring, necessitating a hasty retreat back to camp to fetch a new one.
One time my hunting buddy Mike and I were hunting in Illinois. Most of the trees had many small vines clinging to the bark. We never gave it much thought. By the second day of our hunt, Mike couldn't stop itching. His face, chest and all four of his climbing appendages were ablaze. We discovered that the vines covering the trees were poison oak. He spent the rest of the trip bathing in calamine lotion.
On another occasion, Mike was aboard his climber, about six feet off the ground when he heard a loud crack and suddenly found himself on the ground staring up at the empty frame of his stand where the plywood used to be.
During a bear hunt in Ontario, Mike Johnson was sitting in a spindly little pine tree on a very windy day. It was the only tree that was both large enough (barely) to support his climber and within range of his bait site. He spent several hours with a stranglehold on the wispy little tree as it gyrated wildly in the raging wind. Suddenly the tree gave up with a groan and began to plummet toward earth, necessitating an impromptu Tarzan imitation by Mike. He chose to seek an alternate path of descent from that of his bow, which was bristling with razor sharp broad heads.
Sometimes, just getting to and from your stand can give you trouble. On many occasions I've been picking my way through the brush and suddenly find my face wrapped in a large spider web. Sometimes the surprised spider is dangling between my eyes, amazed at the size of the bug he just snared. I can't begin to count the number of times that I've been walking through the swamp when a pesky branch with an overactive sense of humor, grabbed my stocking cap and flipped it behind me into the mud.
My daughter Heather was attempting to traverse a rather soggy section of swamp one day when some soft, black muck grabbed her boots and held her tight. When she tried to extract herself from the mire, one foot pulled right out of her boot. As she attempted to re-insert her foot, her lack of coordination and the force of gravity combined to help the black ooze pond claim another victim, and necessitate an impromptu visit to the Laundromat. Until that moment I had never witnessed any one making snow angels in a muck pit.
One time I was slowly working my way down a steep snow covered hillside. I was grabbing onto branches and saplings to keep myself from slipping, when I mistakenly latched onto a dead one, which snapped off. In a flash I was careening down the slope like an Olympic bobsledder without the bobsled. But before I reached the bottom, my slide of doom was brought to an abrupt halt as my feet choose opposite routes around an approaching sapling.
While on a bear hunt one evening, I was returning from my stand in the dark after watching a black bear sow and three cubs consume the entire contents of my bait pile. I knew they were still prowling around somewhere in the vicinity, which caused me a bit of anxiety. I couldn't help visualizing the sow leaping from the darkness and ripping me to shreds. I guess you could say that I was in a heightened state of alert as I hastily walked along continually glancing over my shoulder. Suddenly a snowshoe rabbit exploded from cover at my feet. You don't often get an adrenalin rush like that from a rabbit.
Once I was walking along, admiring the autumn splendor, when my toe caught on a dead stick. The next thing I knew, I was flat on my face, spitting out dirt, leaves and acorns. I struggled to my feet and proceeded to tenderly caress a goose egg on the back of my head. It was the result of my portable tree stand (which I had strapped to my back) hammering my face into the forest floor.
One bowhunting acquaintance of mine was walking back to camp after the morning hunt, leisurely smoking his pipe. He saw some deer approaching so he quickly nocked an arrow. As one of the deer glided past, he drew, aimed and released in one fluid motion, a technique that he had mastered from years of dedicated practice. Unfortunately, in his haste, he forgot to factor in the pipe that he had clamped in his teeth and it's proximity to the path of his bowstring. His bowstring snagged the protruding pipe and catapulted it and his false teeth several yards out into the dirt. After that he could kiss his wife from across the kitchen table.
Quite often the route to and from your hunting area will be interspersed with a variety of water hazards. This can be a major source of trouble. One time while elk hunting, I was trying to cross a fast rushing mountain stream. The only thing I could find to cross on was a live spruce tree that has fallen across the 6' deep gorge, but the top didn't touch the ground on the far side. I started across, picking my way through the short, thick branches, but the closer I got to the other side, the bouncier the tree got until it was gyrating so wildly that I lost my balance. I tossed my bow across the gorge and made a desperate dive for the trunk. As I swung beneath the tree like an Olympic gymnast, my feet dangled in the water just enough to fill up my boots.
While on a moose hunt in Alaska, my buddy Mike was walking on ice just off the shoreline of a frozen lake. He was ditty boppin' along, blissfully enjoying the natural splendor of the wilderness. Suddenly, he was reminded that Mother Nature also has a dark side when he heard the unmistakable sound of ice cracking. He quickly began to doubt the wisdom of his choice of routes, as the force of gravity (and the result of Mike's propensity to overindulge at mealtime) overcame the structural integrity of the surface and he found himself up to his armpits in ice water. By the time he extricated himself from the lake and sloshed the half mile back to camp, he looked and felt like a big popsicle.
On another occasion, Mike was trying to negotiate a slippery log across a small creek. Halfway across he discovered that he had grossly overestimated the extent of his cat like agility, as the knee-deep black ooze filled up his boots.
Vehicles can present a never-ending source of trouble. One time my wife was dropping me off at my hunting spot with my pickup truck. After I opened the tailgate, I retrieved my tree stand and my bow, and placed them on the ground alongside the road. She thought that I was finished, and promptly drove away with all of my hunting clothes still in the back of the truck. Apparently she didn't check her rear view mirror, or she might have noticed the screaming individual chasing her down the road, waving his arms like a wild man.
While on a bear hunt, we were using motorbikes to traverse the long, rough trails to our bait sites. On one trail we had to negotiate a section that had been flooded by a beaver pond. Mike Johnson started across on his bike, but soon encountered a submerged log. The log grabbed his front tire and redirected him toward the center of the pond where he did a fine imitation of a submarine as everything but his stocking cap descended into the murky depths. I'll never forget the expression on his face. It kind of reminded me of E. T. ( remember in the movie when some one startled him, his eyes bugged out and his neck stretched out real long). It's amazing how far some one can stretch their neck when the need arises. The rest of us displayed a disturbing lack of compassion toward his dilemma as we made little or no attempt to suppress our amusement, and burst into fits of maniacal laughter as we fished him out.
While on a bear hunt, I rode my trail bike several miles down an old logging road to my bait sight for the evening hunt. At dusk I started walking up the trail to my parking spot. Suddenly, a bolt of fear shot through me, when I spied a hungry looking bear poised like a goalie, on the trail between my bike and me. Fortunately, he didn't realize that I was armed only with a video camera. He foolishly perceived me as some kind of a threat and melted away into the cedar swamp, leaving me with my heart pounding in my throat.
While returning to camp on my bike, I rounded a bend to discover a cow moose standing in the middle of the trail. She whirled around and began galloping down the trail ahead of me. Not one to pass up an opportunity at a close-up look at one of nature's amazing creatures, I cranked on the throttle. I was gaining on her as she sprinted down the trail ahead of me. She ran about 50 yards down the trail then ducked off to the left into the brush. I thought the show was over, but just as I got to the point where she left the trail she popped back out right in front of me. It's amazing how many thoughts can flash through your mind in an instant. The image of a panic-stricken moose on top of a panic-stricken bowhunter on top of a speeding motorcycle popped into my head. I could not for-see a pleasant, pain free outcome to such a scenario. I locked the brakes and skidded up to within 3 feet of her flailing hooves as she churned up the trail like a roto-tiller, throwing dirt, gravel and clods of mud into my face. Fortunately, she continued to accelerate as I skidded to a stop. That was as close as I ever want to be to a live moose.
We were hunting in Michigan's upper peninsula one time after a snowstorm, which left the roads very slippery. After the morning hunt my buddy Mike (always ready to lend a hand) jumped in my truck to come and pick me up from my hunting spot, not knowing that I had already returned to camp. I ran screaming and waving my arms to no avail as he sped off down the ice-glazed road. Later he came walking into camp and informed me that he had slid off the road a couple of miles down and wrapped my truck around a tree.
Arriving at your destination with all of your equipment intact is a desirable but not always achievable goal. One time while returning to camp after the morning hunt, I was practicing my Daniel Boone impersonation by throwing my hunting knife at trees. I was doing fine until I made an ill-fated, un-Boone like attempt at extracting my knife from a tree, and a fool and his bowstring were soon parted.
It's amazing how my arrows seem to disappear. Sometimes, I'll arrive at my stand after a long walk through the woods in the early morning darkness, only to find that I had forgotten to snap my bow quiver onto my bow.
I once took an ill-advised short cut across a forty-acre cornfield choked with weeds. I finally managed to claw my way through only to discover that two of my arrows had mysteriously escaped the confines of my bow quiver.
Sometimes I have help losing my arrows. I was hunting prairie dogs to fill some of the mid-day doldrums while on a mule deer hunt in Wyoming. I made a nice shot on a prairie dog, but when I attempted to retrieve my prize, he made a last gasp sprint for his burrow. I arrived just in time to watch my five-dollar arrow descend into the bowels of the earth.
Arrows are easy to lose, but you would think something as big as a bow would be a little easier to keep track of. My friend, Bob Evans, arrowed a nice buck one day, and after an all day search, we finally found the buck. We then spent most of the next day searching for Bob's bow that he left lying on the ground, somewhere along the blood trail.
A functional flashlight is a wonderful piece of equipment that I seem to be without a large percentage of the time. One time I was hunting about a mile back in a swamp. After sitting until dark, I decided it was time to quit. I turned on my trusty flashlight so I could find my way out of that thick, wet, tangled jungle. That was when I discovered where my daughter had procured the batteries for her headset.
One evening, during a bear hunt in Ontario, I was retuning to camp and had to cross a bridge over a large, fast river. I leaned over the railing and shined my flashlight into the water to see if I could see any fish. Somehow, it escaped my manly grasp and plunged into the torrent below. I stood gazing in awe, mesmerized by the lovely patterns of light it created in the treetops as it bobbed along on it's way to Lake Superior.
After sitting until dark one night, I decided to call it quits. While sliding down my tree, my mischievous flashlight somehow sneaked out of my pocket and sought refuge in the inky blackness of the underbrush below. During the next fifteen minutes I carried on a colorful dialog with it as I probed the dark, nether regions of the forest floor for the elusive device.
One time I rode my motorbike to my hunting area. I parked it out of site in thick brush off the side of the road to dissuade any passersby of being tempted to engage in any acts of theft or vandalism and thus saving them from embarking on a life of crime. The only flaw in my plan was my failure to bring along my flashlight. After the evening hunt I realized my mistake but managed to pick and claw my way back out to the road through the inky blackness. I was feeling pretty good about my navigational skills and woodsmanship until I realized that I didn't have a clue as to the location of my motorbike. I spent the next half hour trying to locate it by probing and feeling my way through the brush like a blind man. It's amazing how small, insignificant and seemingly innocent twigs by day, will turn evil after dark and seek out the eyes of their victims.
I could probably count the number of perfect hunting scenarios I've had on one hand, but the list of mishaps is endless. You just never know what goofy, oddball thing will happen next, but it's all part of what makes bowhunting so challenging. If it were easy and predictable, you wouldn't have nearly as much to complain about. I don't know when the next bizarre event will occur, but I'm sure I'm going to hate it when it does. Like last year. I waited all year for bow season to arrive, then I turned my back for just a second, and it was gone. Oh well, that's the trouble with bowhunting!
SIDE BAR
How to Avoid Mishaps
The only thing that you can be sure of when bowhunting wild game is that you can't be sure of anything, but you can maximize your odds by following these practices.
Practice with your equipment until you're proficient with it and then practice some more.
Check your equipment, before heading afield to make sure that you have everything that you need and that it's functioning properly.
Scout out your hunting areas thoroughly before committing to a particular stand site.
Take some practice shots from your stand to make sure that you have enough clearance for your bow, arrow and body.
Think before you act. Safety should be a priority. Be careful while in your stand and always use a safety strap. Make sure tree stands are set up properly and safely.
Know your quarry. Learn as much as you can about the particular species of game that you intend to hunt.
Stay alert, stay awake and don't do anything stupid!
Over the years, I've learned a lot of lessons the hard way. But I've learned that if I use a special tool, I have fewer problems and more fun and success during my hunting endeavors. Properly utilized, this tool can circumvent the majority of mishaps. Most bowhunters don't use this tool enough, and some hardly ever use it. The tool I'm speaking of is your brain. Every bowhunter has one of these tools despite evidence to the contrary. So take it down off that shelf, dust it off, clean out the cobwebs, and use it before during and after every hunt. You never know. It just might help. Good luck!
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