It’s with a heavy spirit that I write this. The last sentence of the previous entry proved unfortunately prophetic, and I’m still a little shaken by the experience I’ll impart in the following paragraphs. While the ordeal of wounding and losing an animal is familiar to anyone who has hunted long enough, this was a first for me. The last two days have crystalized in my mind the gravity of the pursuit and the responsibility I assume when setting out to inflict mortal harm on my prey.
After hunting the morning with no success, I headed out to the place I had encountered the large buck in the previous hunt log. I was concerned that I was being too aggressive, but I wanted to have another chance at the deer before the gun season opened on Saturday. I reached my spot two hours before dusk. I had an ideal west wind and perfect access. I spent some time looking for an ambush position with shooting lanes and medium cover. I fussed around a bit, building a low natural blind to sit behind with my back against three close trees. If the buck rolled through the same area that I had seen him last time, I was certain I would have a shot opportunity. Finally, I convinced myself to settle down, stop moving, and wait.
It all happened very quickly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a big-bodied buck trotting in from my left. He hadn’t seen me and showed no signs of slowing down. I raised my crossbow as he passed behind a pile of brush, waiting for him to enter my shooting lane. Still oblivious of my presence, the deer swiftly covered ground, crossing less than 15 yards in front of me. He was so close, in fact, that I could hardly see anything else in my scope besides gray hair.
That’s where I messed up. With such a large target, it felt like I couldn’t miss, and I failed to truly aim. Additionally, the deer was still moving. Concerned he would trot right my past me and out of my life, I rushed the shot. I heard a sound like my arrow hitting wood. The deer jumped and ran a few paces, then abruptly slowed down to a stop. Even at this point, I’m not sure if the deer was aware of my presence. It slowly walked a few paces, and I wondered if it was going to topple right then and there.
As the deer meandered away, I felt something was off. I desperately scanned the deer for a wound. I found it, but even at close range I couldn’t detect much blood. Suddenly, I realized the deer was stopped and in the open, and that I could possibly shoot it again. I scrambled to reload my crossbow, in my haste grabbing the arrow first before the cocking rope. My frantic movements fully betrayed my location to the wounded deer. He bolted off downwind of me, stopping behind a stand of trees 60 yards away. I stood up and tracked him in my binoculars, silently willing him to fall and searching him for evidence of where I had hit. I got another glimpse of the wound. It looked far back, and low, too low, with just a dribble of blood.
Slowly, the deer worked its way further into the brush, my heart sinking with every step. While I wasn’t certain the shot wasn’t lethal, I would have expected the animal’s blood pressure to drop by then. I finally lost sight of the deer in my binoculars as it worked its way up a hillside towards bedding. Thus began the long, tense waiting period.
With the buck out of sight, I got up to expect the area for blood. I couldn’t find my arrow, though I didn’t expect to considering the angle of my shot. With my crossbow, an arrow launched from ground level can pass through a deer and easily travel another 60 yards. Without the arrow, all I the evidence I had was the blood, the reaction of the animal, and my deceiving eyes.
Initially I hoped I had hit the liver. There was actually lotd of blood, and it was a deep red. In any case, I knew I needed to give the deer hours before I went after it. At this point I called a friend who lived nearby. He graciously agreed to meet me at the access point and help me track. After collecting my gear and marking the location of the shot and the blood, I headed back out to my car. There was nothing to do but wait.
Killing time felt positively awful. I climbed in my car to eat some food, stay warm, and regroup. I felt sick to my stomach, sad, stressed, and generally uncomfortable. I had been looking forward to going home to my wife that night, or staying late for the welcome task of dragging out a deer. To state the obvious, tracking a wounded deer wasn’t a part of the plan. I tried to take a short nap, but it couldn’t. Being immobile made things worse. I tried to think positively, reasoning that if I had hit the liver, the deer would still die and it would just be a matter of blood trailing. But in my gut, I expected the worst.
After a few hours, my friend showed up and we headed out. Walking helped to tame the anxiety, and getting back on the trail gave me a renewed sense of agency. Additionally, having a friend there made a huge difference. I felt reassured and more confident that we wouldn’t miss something. Though I could have tracked the deer on my own, it was so helpful to have a rational partner and a fresh perspective.
When we reached the the area where I had shot the deer, we quickly located the blood trail. My buddy was optimistic, pointing out that the blood was pretty bright and didn’t look like dark liver blood. He had also brought an incredibly bright flashlight, which from now on I’ll regard as an essential tool for blood trailing deer at night. The trail would have been extremely challenging to follow using my basic headlamp. We trailed the deer easily for 100 yards, my friend going ahead with the bright light, myself marking the last blood spot and checking close by for the next drop.
After the first 100 yards or so, the trail led into thick, woody bushes which slowed us down significantly. The blood became more sparse, with spurts here or there, and not much in between. It was simultaneously discouraging and hopeful: there was less blood, but we half expected to trip over the animal in the thick brush.
This continued for another 100 yards until we came to our first barrier. At the top of the slope was a barbed wire fence dilineating a private property line. The deer had reached it in a spot he couldn’t cross, and then travelled down the fenceline. Now we understood his game. To our dismay, we soon found a point in the fence where a deer could slip under. With closer inspection, we found obvious blood and gray hairs on the barbed wire.
It was late, after 10:30pm. We stood there and discussed our options. Thankfully the evening was cold, and, if I could get permission to access the private property, there was a good chance I could recover a largely unspoiled deer in the morning. We looked up the property owner’s information and made a plan for the morning. It was time to go home.
Then, from the darkness, we heard swishing brush and heavy, receding footsteps. We had bumped the deer. (To be continued).
Persistence Outdoors 