It was a beautiful early bow season afternoon as I eased into my deer stand for what would be one of my most memorable hunts.  I settled in and got quiet anticipating the crunch of leaves that would signal something was up moving around.  A squirrel made the first commotion searching for white oak acorns that had fallen from a nearby tree.  Did you ever think an animal that small could make that much noise?  The next was a lone turkey scratching its way through the leaves to a nearby field.  Soon I heard the familiar sound of a deer walking in from my left.  I slowly turned my head to see not one, but two deer coming down the trail on which I was set up. Both were small bucks, one a very short-horned spike and the other a three point.  Before I could do anything, I noticed another deer coming down the adjacent trail.  It also was a small buck – a basket rack six-point. I began to tremble as I slowly rose to my feet.  The three met at about twenty-five yards to begin a friendly sparring match.  I stood there in awe as the six-point pushed the other two around.  Finally I decided to shoot one of the bucks to break the ice for the season and satisfy the fact I have never taken a buck with my bow.  I picked out the closest, which happened to be the three-point.  He was still at twenty-five yards, though the other two had moved off.  I settled his vitals between my twenty and thirty yard pin and let the arrow fly.  I was dumbfounded when the deer jumped back as the arrow flew right in front of him.  The trio stood there stomping and trying to find the culprit of the flying stick.  Soon they moved on down the trail out of range. 

Still wondering what went wrong I heard more footsteps over my shoulder.  I turned to find a doe with twin fawns walking in.  The fawns still had a blanket of spots. This is where I draw the line; I have no problem with someone who takes spotted fawns and nursing mothers.  I just cannot do it.  Fortunately, there was a very nice eight-point following them in. Here, in East Tennessee , it is rare to see more bucks than does. Though we try to let smaller bucks walk, I rarely see a mature buck so the trembling sensation I felt earlier multiplied for every point the buck had.  As I got my bow and began to slowly stand up, again, I prayed my shooting abilities would return from their absence earlier.

While the doe and her fawns played and fed directly below me, it seemed the buck had a sixth sense not to come any closer than thirty yards.  Knowing I could make that shot I settled in and tapped my trigger.

Twice in one day!  I couldn’t believe it! What was wrong with me?  Buck fever, perhaps, but I felt so good about the shot.  Still no matter how good the shot had felt, the buck stood there looking at the arrow stuck in the ground.  It had almost taken his nose off.  I gave up, though they stood around until the last bit of daylight left.  I didn’t have the heart to try again.

I couldn’t blame it on distance judging because the arrow was dead on vertically. I was just shooting in front of the deer.  I was heart broken and still beating myself up, when my husband’s voice came over the radio.  He had taken a doe, so the evening wasn’t a complete loss.  I tried to be happy as we dragged out his doe.  Soon it came, the question I dreaded, “Did you see anything?”  As I recounted my story I almost came to tears I was so upset.  I was even more confused when he smiled and explained that if anything is to ever going to go wrong it will be when you are looking at a good buck.  I just couldn’t believe it.

All the way home I beat myself up.  My husband tried to comfort me by saying this was the only time I had ever missed a deer with my bow.  Of course I reminded him it was the only time I had bucks within range. 

Back at home I set up the four-wheeler lights to shine on our deer target and began shooting.  After shooting consistently in front of the deer I realized it was facing the same direction the deer were earlier, and I moved my pins to compensate.  Perhaps it wasn’t my fault entirely.  I shot for another half hour or so before giving in and starting to feel confident again.  I was hitting in the vitals on every shot.  I finally concluded my sight had been knocked off and Richard might be right.  If anything is going to go wrong it will when your sights are on a good buck.  I went to bed hoping to have an opportunity at the eight-point again the next morning.

I was up in my stand long before first light.  I was enjoying hoot owls calling and praying I could get my season back on track.  Not long after good shooting light a lone mature doe wandered within eight yards of my stand.   I couldn’t resist any longer.  As I drew, she spotted me and bounded out to twenty-five yards.  The same distance as the three-point, the day before, this was my test.  Still unsure what she had seen, the doe made the mistake of looking back.  That is when I used it to my advantage as I released.  I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the arrow pass through.  I could still do it! 

I sat back down to gather my thoughts.  I thought I heard her crash a good distance off.  I was about to call my husband for help when I noticed movement off to my left side.  It was two more does.  I had four doe tags and decided to go ahead and stock the freezer today then wait on a buck.  The buck to doe ratio needs evened out more here anyway.  I shot my second doe of the day at thirty yards slightly quartering away.  She expired within sight.

I told Richard I needed some help and when he got to my stand and found two does he smiled and said, “Hitting two does doesn’t make up for missing two bucks.”  I just smiled.  It was okay.

Since then I have broken the buck fever ice by taking the three-point I shot at that first evening.  I have passed on several small bucks now in hopes of seeing the eight-point or maybe something better.  With bow season drawing to an end I may not get that chance with my bow, but the rut is kicking in and I do have a muzzleloader and a rifle to dust off.