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Written by Jana Waller
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Monday, 11 January 2010 10:41 |
 I was just getting situated in the treestand when I first heard the commotion. Barely having time to hang my bow, my head instinctually spun around to the noise of a small tree rocking side to side 50 yards behind me. Too loud to be the rustling of a squirrel, I knew it could only be one thing but the thick ground cover of early season camouflaged the buck. Bow season for whitetail had been open for one week and the Wisconsin September woods were still lush and green.
The leaves of the small oak tree shook as low cloud cover hinted of an evening storm approaching. I was expecting the deer movement to come from the front of the stand, not behind me where the mystery buck was staking his claim. As I slowly maneuvered my feet to face backwards I realized I had only one small opening between the V of the tree. This particular permanent stand wasn’t cleared out for shooting to the South since most of the deer filter from the North in the evening. I was reminded once again that with bowhunting, be prepared to expect the unexpected.
 With over two hours of good light remaining, I was half expecting to see a teenage buck immerge from the brush. The spikers and basket racks always seem to be the first on the scene and make the most ruckus. My heart skipped a beat as a beautiful, dark big rack of a mature buck made its way towards my stand. In my twelve years of bowhunting Wisconsin whitetail, this was the nicest buck I’d seen within shooting range. He was approximately 35 yards away when he first appeared but the ground cover was thick with small pines and young tree growth. Meandering straight towards my stand , the buck paused every few steps to leave his scent on some low hanging limbs. I picked out my shooting lane between two pine trees at 15 yards away and when he stepped into my window I heard not only my heartbeat pounding in my ears , but the “thud” of the broadhead striking the big ten pointer.
He bolted off in the direction he came from as I stood shaking with adrenaline. I hung my quivering bow and tried to calm my nerves as I listened for the crash. Nothing is ever a given, especially in bow hunting, so I said a quick prayer and sat down to give him some time. Not wanting to push the buck if the hit wasn’t perfect, I decided to make my way back to the cabin until dark when I could grab a tracking light and some extra eyes.
The sun faded fast and the clouds grew darker by the minute. The first few drops of rain began to fall just as three of us headed out to track. My heart sank with every drop realizing that the trail would be washed away within minutes. We quickly found my arrow only 20 yards from the impact. It had broken in two as the buck zig zagged his way between the thick trees, leaving the broadhead inside working its magic. Thanks to the impending downpour, the only sign of the buck’s direction was a few disheveled tracks in the pine needles. Backing out until morning, my prayers grew longer and repetitive.
That night I awoke every hour, replaying the scene in my head a dozen times. Was it a good shot? How big was he? Will there be ground shrinkage taking affect? Where would you run if you were a wounded buck? When the first sliver of light appeared, I jumped out of bed, downed some much needed coffee and headed out to the only couple of tracks we found the previous night. With no hopes of a blood trail, the three of us decided to make wide circles ten yards apart in hopes of stumbling upon him.
 After hours of circling with nothing to show, we decided to fire line walk the property. With the stand situated approximately 500 yards from the neighbor’s land, we went to the property border, and walked ten yards apart through the brushy, thick downfalls. It was hard to walk and even more difficult to see. Frustration was setting in and the phrase “needle in a haystack” kept creeping into my thoughts. After another hour of combing through the woods, my deflation turned to exhilaration when I spotted the beautiful ten pointer laying five yards ahead of me near a downfall. A scream of excitement could’ve been heard throughout the county as I rushed up to grasp his horns in my hands. High fives and hugs were plenty and I proudly posed with my biggest Wisconsin whitetail to date.
There’s no feeling in my life that has come close to the thrill of harvesting a buck with a bow. The anticipation of the season, scouting, sitting, tracking and telling the stories all play a part in my life’s biggest passion. When some women ask me, “How do you hunt??”... I have to ask them, “How do you NOT?
AUTHORS NOTE: Wisconsin Whitetail September 2004
10 pointer 126 1/8 Pope&Young
Adams County, WI
Renegade bow 50lbs.
Thunderhead 100 grain broadhead
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