Back to my Roots

 ©Tim Tipton 2021

Genesis 27:3 Now therefore take, I pray you, your weapons, your quiver and your bow, and go out to the field, and take me some venison;

 

    I can still remember it like it was yesterday, though it is going on 30 years. It was a balmy, Indian summer day, the kind that can bring a type of joy to the heart of an outdoorsman in late November in Kentucky. An almost perfect day to be afield with a recurve bow and a quiver of arrows.

I was with my father-in-law Danny, bow hunting a small section of land on the outskirts of a little Kentucky town. 

    The Thanksgiving holiday had passed two days prior, marking the unofficial start to the late archery season. It was getting on toward lunchtime and my stomach was letting me know. I had been in the woods for about six hours but hadn’t seen a deer. I decided to still-hunt my way back to the truck to meet my father-in-law and decide what we were going to do about food.

    The plot of land we were hunting was small, probably around 20 acres. It was bordered on the backside by a huge cornfield while toward the front, the woods thinned and led to a small pond, where a hill gently rose and was covered in thick grasses and weeds. This led to the bordering property, which was an operating tree nursery that we didn’t have permission to hunt.

    I was following an old logging road that exited the woods a couple of hundred yards from my tree stand. I entered the field and as I was trying to slip quietly toward the truck when movement caught my eye. I wasn’t sure what I had seen, but I froze in place. Scanning the tall grass in the field, my eyes family made out the body of a doe. I immediately dropped down to a crouching position. The whitetail was at least 60-yards from me, well out of range of the Bear recurve I was carrying. I needed to get closer.

    I kept an eye on the deer as I performed my version of a duck walk through the weeds, stopping occasionally to make sure the doe was still there. I eventually closed the gap to 25 yards, rose on one knee, and took a clear shot through a lane in the weeds. I followed the flight of the arrow with my eyes and was dismayed as it dropped right under the chest of the deer. Disappointment and frustration overtook my mind. I couldn’t fathom how I had missed that shot. My first, at a deer with traditional archery equipment.

    The deer didn’t spook, instead, she simply walked down the hill toward the pond. I thought I knew where she would go. I assumed she would skirt the pond and head to her bedding grounds in a thicket on the side of a gentle slope. I also knew a way that I might cut her off. I quickly found my arrow, checked it for blood that I knew wouldn’t be there, and backtracked down the hill and secured a spot just before reaching the pond. I had lost sight of the doe, but I was pretty sure she was heading my way, and I set up 15 yards from where I expected the deer to appear. After a short wait, I heard a rustling behind me. Glancing over my shoulder I saw the deer, using a different trail, which was seven yards from me. I managed to turn quickly and take a shot that landed angled behind the rib cage. The arrow buried deeply but didn’t pass through.

    The doe took off at a high rate of speed toward the thicket. At least that’s where I thought she was going. I backed out of the area, went, and found my father-in-law. I showed him where I was when I took the shot, how the deer reacted, and which way it went. We took up the trail, which was easy to follow in the tall grass, but we didn’t find a blood trail, which was disconcerting. We reached the edge of the pond near the thicket and decided to split up. I went to check the thicket, while my father-in-law walked the edge of the pond. After about a minute I heard him shout. I made my way toward Danny, he told me he found some blood. I asked where and his reply was “right here on her shoulder.”

    I was proud, not only that I had provided some meat for my family, but that I had hunted this deer the way my ancestors had hunted. Suddenly I was hooked on traditional archery, even though I had a lot to learn. It would be three more years before I took my second deer with traditional archery tackle, but I learned a lot during that time.

    As I write this, Kentucky’s archery season for deer and turkey is less than a month away. I will be back in the woods with a new takedown recurve. My first time bow hunting since 2015. Why the long pause? The simple answer is “life.”

    I began guiding fly fishermen in 2016, spending all my time in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. In addition, that was the year my grandson began playing youth league football which took up my weekends in the fall. He is now starting his sixth football season and I have not missed a single game. Now that I no longer guide and am back in Kentucky full time, I will have many opportunities to bow hunt.

    So, I am starting over in a sense. I purchased a new bow from 3Rivers Archery, along with a dozen arrows. I bought two new Ameristep hunting blinds, new camo, new binoculars, and many other accessories. I have been shooting the new bow almost every day since June. I am starting to find some consistency and learning what my effective range is. I have done a lot of scouting on three public land areas where I plan to hunt. I know that using trail cameras can help, but I am a firm believer in having boots on the ground to figure out the deer behavior and locales.

    I find myself extremely excited by the prospects of the September opener. I know that I have handicapped myself by using traditional archery equipment, but I enjoy shooting traditional bows and can accept the possibility of not taking a deer. I hope I am up for the challenge.