Let me preface this story by saying I don't get a lot of time to get my archery fix in. That is due to the fact that 1) I am a spoiled brat with some of the tip toppiest tier of honey holes in Western South Dakota. 2) I am a mother and get ridiculous mother guilt for wanting to go hunting and when I do I can't stop thinking of how I may be burdening my mother with my kids. Even though she adores and jumps at any chance she can to watch them 3) I am selfless (a kickass wife) and let my much pickier husband get out hunting more. You should see the way he lights up when he tells me about his hunts. In miniscule detail in chronological order. In way too many words, that is me excusing myself for not prioritizing my passions.
Now where I nestled my stand, dubbed The Killing Tree, is obviously in a pretty good spot. My loving husband let my naïve little baby hunter mind pick out my very own tree. I didn’t really have any idea what I was doing, I knew of pressure points and guessed that maybe I would see some action here. The tree I chose? It was the sturdiest looking? It was really tall, and I figured I would be able to get away with a lot more movement, I do not do still well. Unless I know I am detectable, I’m all over the damn place up there. In short, I picked a tree in a place that I was hopeful for, but not necessarily knowledgeable about. Things sure as hell panned out though! I may have only climbed up that tree probably 7 or 8 times without drawing blood. My very first archery hunt, the sun came up onto a beautiful 5x5 with an outstanding palmation. Like, jaw drop kinda stuff. Nate had a stand right above me and I could feel the envy radiating down. I’m guessing that the deer did also, because he hung out at 50 yards steady. Twenty-five yards out of my brand-new baby range until he caught our trail in and busted right the hell out of there.
Anyway, my stand, good spot, yes. During this particular hunt I could not concentrate on my surroundings to save my life. This was the first time I was able to pop out into the stand. We now live about 7 hours north of my hometown and this particular plot of land. You best believe we make that trek for both bow and rifle seasons. I had planned on doing some family hair for the first few days of our trip home allowing Nate to get a couple days jump on me in the field. This has a few upsides. He checks cameras, scopes out movement, and has a general idea of where they bed. Which is kind of everywhere, honesty. The place is overrun with deer. It does have its downsides, that in of he knows what deer are out there, and their typical movements. Luckily, he is a lot pickier than I am. I don’t get the burden of being selective with the limited time I allow myself to hunt. He gave me the knowledge he had from that morning’s hunt that I probably slept through and I went and sat to find a pretty dead atmosphere. The herd had thinned out a bit since the last time I was down there armed. About two hours into my sit I see a hog about 300 yards out. A double-edged sword, we have cell reception out there. A big contribution as to why I couldn’t focus on the hunt… Until that moment. I text Nate, “I found my shooter. Wide, tall, mine.” He laughs, and goes on to say he had little to no action. The flood gates of deer movement opened promptly after that. I see behind me another toad. I text him again, “There is also what appears to be a monster behind me.” More laughs, and his night is pretty boring in comparison. I put my phone back in my breast pocket and contort my body to try to see the stud hanging out in the worst possible spot for my vision. Text him again, “Confirmed monster. He thiiiiiccc and wide.” Stuff the phone away as more deer funnel into the fields surrounding me. To my right a creek and across that a cut hay field which is where I see the first shooter. There is a small patch of woods opposite of that and behind me, my stand in a finger facing a browned corn field.
I lean over to get more eyes on this dude and plop. I see a shiny Samsung S10 and its marble decorated case tumble to the ground 25 ft below. Cool. Well, at least now I can concentrate? When I feel the anxiety of a mother build in my core about being unreachable I cut back and try to see antler. I welcome the distraction of a few fawns and does following my trail in. By the way, if you hunt and haven’t used NoseJammer scent spray, get yourself some. I saw about 15 deer take my exact trail in, nose to the ground and moving with intention. Pretty cool stuff. About 45 minutes before dark I watch a few doe and a nice little 4x4 come down right in front of me and hang out at the creek crossing for a bit. I grab my bow and study him eagerly, but do not pull back. He has much potential, and I have too much pride. My children’s appetites are pretty mighty compared to this little 2-year-old. In a matter of 2 minutes I went from excitement and anticipating a shot, to the calm decision to pass him up, to disappointment and regret that I let a perfect opportunity to fill the freezer slip me by. He was still in range, just hanging out with his girlfriends and a couple fawns. I could very easily pull my bow back up and “meh” him to stop and get a shot off. “No, let him go to grow. You don’t want your season to be over in 3 hours do you? No! Do you hear that? That is quiet and nature, you used to live for this shit. The boys will be fine with their Nana for a few more nights.” I hear a rustle to my left. Small buck coming out about 30 yards into a perfect lane. I look down just in time to see mass on mass come directly below me. No freakin’ way. I pull up my bow, draw back. I don’t have anything to compare him too to really grasp the size of his body or rack, I don’t care. I will not pass another opportunity up. How in the world did he sneak up on me to the most perfect shooting lane. The space and time he had to come into and out of the shooting lane felt like a millisecond. I only took that initial look at his antlers, and an image of a tick hole in his right side burned into my memory forever. I knew it probably had to be tiny, but it stood out like a sore thumb. I remember being infatuated with a hole on the most characteristic deer Nate had hanging on his wall when we first started dating. The process of the whole matter was fascinating. Just the whole antlering process is fascinating, and so cool that bone regenerates so quickly every year. Then a tick gets onto a velveted deer and leaves a lasting hole as it hardens, so interesting.
I try to muster a “meh” out but he stops, in the most perfect spot he could have. Breath. One. Two. Breathe. Three. Breathe and release. I see my arrow go in. It’s a far back entrance. No vitals. Shit. Nerves make the memory shaky, but that sight will stick with me. My hands fly to my head. Concentrate, keep eyes on him, remember everything. He takes off straight ahead. Turns at the creek and circles back to the left. He stops running. Tail up, tail down, tail flick. He walks to the edge of the cornfield. Remember where he goes in. Remember everything. He looks back at me and my heart breaks, another sight that sticks like molasses. Concentrate. I see no blood, he carries on into the cornfield. Keep eyes on antlers, follow his projection. I lose him in the wind dancing corn tops, was the wind blowing this whole time? I give him what seemed like an eternity before I climb down. I don’t see blood or my arrow. Grab my phone, do I tell Nate? Uh, duh. I didn’t have many messages from him, he had a big hunch I dropped the thing. It’s like he knows me. One of my buddies has dubbed me the Queen of the Cliffhangers, as I tend to be a bit cryptic in this sort of situations. As I am walking the edge of the cornfield in hopes of spotting a trail Nate receives. “I fucked up. And I dropped my phone.” I go to explain the situation and he instructs me to hang out and not press, he’s getting down and needs me to come pick him up. Done.
I recall every detail I can to him as I get ready to color my cousins hair in my parents garage. It is decided that we will give him the evening to die as it seems inevitable. I can’t tell you how terribly I slept that night. I felt sick, but confident that going out the first thing in the morning that I would be back to pick up my boys with a beautiful buck stowed in the pickup box. Nate goes hunting and texts me at 8 saying, “Might have got a nice one.” “Might?” He explains he heard his arrow but didn’t see it and the deer took off into a thicket with minimal vision. Cool, who’s up for round two?! I drop my boys off at their aunts and we head into the corn. I was cussing the crop the entire time, and I will spare you the anger that boiled up after walking SIX HOURS combing this corn field. We found my arrow in 15 minutes and it concluded he had to have died in the night. Combing every foot of a 40 acre field in 70 degree weather to come up empty handed will sure piss a girl off. We followed the trajectory I had last seen to every end of that field. We parked about 200 yards away from the north-eastern most point of this maize sanctuary of anguish, and we had found my arrow about thirty yards in from that point. When I last had a view of his rack he was headed southwest. I’m not kidding you, we covered every flippin yard of that damn field from 10 yards east of that location onward to every, flippin, edge. I thought about halfway through, “Well I’m going to check this 5% of the field we haven’t looked yet. Just in case.” I announce that to my equally frustrated husband and he snaps back that there is no point. We just need to go with what I saw last and not embark on any silly thoughts that would make this any longer than it needs to be. You got it boss. We carry on combing. Six hours in we decide its probably time to walk away and try to go track down 2020’s featured Madsen buck in the South Dakota Big Bucks calendar.
Obviously, we (I) found it, within about seven minutes. His shot was incredibly similar to mine, but a little more risqué. He shot contorted around the base of his tree after seeing antler he decided on the spot the deer was about to be turned into steaks. He didn’t see the shot but had an inkling that he also hit him a little far back based on the way the deer took off out of his sight. We find blood, no arrow, I take off of my own hunch based on that and stumble onto him within minutes. I call Nate over, who was off somewhere on his own hunch, “Hey! I found your deer bro.” This was the most confusing thing we have encountered. Based on wounding and a small tick hole on his antler, Nate gives me a shove, “My deer?! I don’t think so!” I begin to examine and start second guessing my memory. “Yeah, that’s basically right where I shot him, but isn’t that an exit wound? Was that hole right there? This dude is wide, I thought I just had antler eyes when he turned around before he went in the corn. Is this my deer? We are SO far away from where I shot him. The wind could not have been right enough for him to come over here. Maybe coyotes bumped him” Just as I was starting to accept this being that thicc boi and vocalizing some of these thoughts, Nate grounds me out and we decide it is his. Back to abyss of shame for me.
I walked away with a pit in my stomach and my head hung lower than it has in my entire hunting career knowing that was the only time I could get out and look for him. I had a trail ride weekend with my mom the next morning. I felt physically sick, and incredibly sad that I wasn’t able to fully celebrate the retrieval of Nate’s amazing harvest. I tried my damndest to be happy that we were in the sunshine and we are able to do something we love together. No avail. I couldn’t not think that I may have mortally wounded a deer and he was either going to be dying slowly, walking coyote bait, or I had disabled him and made the chances of him surviving rifle season let alone winter practically zero. I didn’t stop having a good time with my mom and friends on horseback that weekend, but I was certainly hung up on it the entire time. I know it had to be annoying as hell. “How have you been, Jodi?” “Great! Aside from being the worst archeress ever!” What a shit I was wallowing in self-pity.
Carrying a hell of a hangover on Sunday when we came home, Nate meets me in the garage before the boys could see me. We had plans to go grocery shopping, and I was not willing to listen to them scream at me and make my parents time with them miserable after a sliver time with their mom and immediately ripping it away. I was concentrating on getting the hell out of there before they could catch me and realize that I was about to make the longest time they’ve ever been away from me even longer. Nate then comes at me with attempt at matching my cryptic antics. “What would you say if you were closer to that deer now than where you were when you shot it.” Now typing that seems a lot less confusing than I received it in that moment. The words didn’t resonate, but I knew he found it. My fuzzy brain mutters a “whet” and a very confused face. He repeated and I just asked, “Where is he.” “Jodi, he is a fucking tank.” This sneak ass dropped my kids off at their aunts the day I took off for my weekend away and went back out. He was hell bent on finding him, even though he was sick as hell with the rona, he still went out. Stumbled onto him within 10 minutes, I must have walked just out of vision of him when I took two trips back to the pickup for water. Remember how the pickup was parked EAST of the field, and that small sliver of a field EAST of where I last saw him was going to be silly to check. Yea, me too. I was too happy to be irritated about that piece of information. I found it funny in retrospect and he was pretty lucky I had a weekend away to soften me receiving that information.
His body was a total loss after two nights laying in the field. Based on his location and shot placement, Nate estimated he was dead by the time I walked the edge of the field the night I shot him. Hell yea! On the same note, shit! Dude had a huge body and that was so much meat lost. It did keep coyotes off of calves for two days. As always, I tried to find that silver lining. Another lining, ya girl is going to have the most mass on the wall to accompany the current most inches in our home. The deer Nate shot this year was up there also, but I refuse to acknowledge his actual score until its hanging with Jay and Tick and I am forced to do so. In closing I’ll leave you with two things. One being take your time. In shooting and searching. And two, don’t stop. Listen to that gut! Even when your support insinuates your suggestions are silly.
Until next time!
XOJO
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