Bowhunting, you gotta try it

It's 8 pm in Sydney and I'm at the airport, curb side with my bow case. It's cold and it's pouring rain. In fact, the storm is so intense that the airline circled above for an hour before trying to break thru to the runway below.  As I wait for my ride, I check the email last sent from the guys I'm hunting with which reads, - Don't worry we'll spot you, just be outside. Within minutes, a pickup truck with two guys wearing camouflage pulls up.  The windows are down, the stereos up, and one of the them leans out the window and says "Don't just stand there, we've got deer to hunt."  

     With bags in the back and a small chirp from the tires as we skip off the curb, our Australian bowhunting adventure begins.  Technically it started with my 10 hr flight from Hawaii but now, barreling down the highway, lightning cracking the skies, and I'm piled in the backseat of this ute next to a stuffed head of a fallow deer, it feels like the real adventure has just begun.  

     "How far's the drive" I ask, trying to talk over the music. "All night" is the response. "Don't worry, we'll stop for coffee."   6 hours later, a change of drivers, and a second stop for essentials (coffee and Cherry Ripe candy bars) and the two Camo covered Aussies decide its time to start a bit of conversation.  " How'd you get into bow hunting?"   

     Not one for a 1 or 2 word answer, and still hours to our destination, I start spinning a yarn. Not sure if they're listing but I keep talking anyway. Maybe it's all the coffee, maybe not. 

- It was a mid winter day on the North Shore about 10 years ago and we were surfing Pipeline.  The crowd was thick and no one said a word. Everyone vied for position as they waited for the next set of waves.   70 surfers crammed into the tight  line up, and suddenly I felt a tug on my leash.  I turned around to see it was a person I kinda knew, not well at all,  in fact I don't think we'd ever spoken before.  He said "Dave I've gotta tell you about this bow hunt I just did".  

    Now mind you, this is an individual who's known for being quite reserved. Although now, his eyes are wide, his voice is cracking, and as he speaks he's pulling me closer to insure that I hear every word.  A bit startled by all of this I look around to see if it's some kind of prank. No it's no prank, and now he's gripping the rail of my board pulling me closer still.  Veins are showing on his neck and there's somewhat of a twitch in his face as he mentions those words again "Bow Hunting."
    To be honest my first impression was, what a shame, another talent taken down by drugs.  Thiis must have shown on my face because at that moment he released the death grip on my board and back paddled a stroke or two. Only seconds later to paddle two strokes forward, grab my board again, and say " Have you tried it? Bowhunting,  you gotta try it."   

     A bit of a cackle rang out from the front seat of our truck, so I guess they're listening. I ramble on "It turns out he's not on dope after all, just really full on when it comes to archery hunting."  This interaction, this vision off what it can do someone, was the catalyst that triggered my initiation into  bow hunting. Sure I'd been curious, always keen to be self sufficient in putting food on the table, but now I had an in. At least someone to point me in the right direction. 

    My 3am caffeine rant is halted by a subtle interruption.  "So can you shoot?"  Not sure how to respond I ask if I can drive a while and I add "Maybe that'll keep me from talking." I switch into poll position and once again, we're off.  

     The following day, after a few close head on collisions with wayward roos, we reach our destination. Eager to get amongst it, we pile out of the rig and ready our packs and quivers. I'm handed a new set of camo, and feel like a kid on Christmas.  The cacophony of sounds emerging from the Australian hills is like nothing I've ever heard.  It's seconds before I'm dressed and we head up high to glass the surroundings. 

     I stay a bit back just to watch the subtleties of the other hunters.  They move swiftly but blend in effortlessly with the surroundings. Thru gullies and along tree lines, they slink their way up and over hills. The camo pattern definitely helps them fit well into the surroundings and I hope it does the same for me because the good lord knows I need all the help I can get.  

     As we reach one of the higher peaks we stop for a break in the shade of a Eucalyptus Tree.  Glassing pockets and small open plains, I hear a distant but very audible noise. Kind of a like a large frog with a horse throat.  Baffled by the noise I blurt out "Sounds like it's coming from down and to the left, is that a bird?"  

 

   Coming from Hawaii, nothing could have prepared me for the sounds calling out of the Aussie bush.  Just walking up to our first vantage point I've heard birds screech, wombats growl, and now this, the distinctive croaking of a Fallow Buck.  The onslaught of the storm, followed by a brisk cold front, has kicked this season's rut into full swing.  My guide Troy, putting down his binos, turns to me and says  "No Mate, that's your deer."  

     As if blindsided by a truck, I nearly fell over. A surge of adrenaline courses through my veins.  Excited, yes. Nervous, for sure. All this and I haven't even laid eyes on the deer yet.  

     With the helpful words of "If he looks good to you, take the shot"', Troy gets up and starts walking away in search of his own quarry. 

     Heading downhill towards the constant call of the deer, I stop to check the wind. It's been about 36 hours since my last shave so I can easily feel the steady north easterly wind across my face. From here, it's blowing slightly down hill and left to right. A wide circle to the right and I will be heading directly back into the wind and more importantly, directly towards the sound of the rutting Fallow.  

     The deer's call is addictive and I'm in its trance. It's pulling me in and more than once I slow my pace as to not give away my location.  Compelled to walk directly to the sound, I refuse and pass the deer's elevation, and continue down hill another 800 meters. Completing my circle, my target area is slightly uphill. For now, I'm in a  small valley and the call is coming from a bench just above. 

     Yesterdays storm is proving to be more of a friend than foe. The temperature change has got the deer heated and vocal, and the down pour of rain has soaked the ground, quieting the crunch of leaves as I make my approach.  Even the small fallen branches seem to bend instead of snap under foot.  A slow and steady pace, constantly stopping to glass the area for weary eyes, and I'm a 100 meters from the edge of the plateau and the clear call of the deer I seek.  

     At this distance I drop my pack and usually remove my shoes.  The soggy floor, and the hungry red ants help remind me to keep the shoes on. Seems that everything here in the lucky country has a means of self protection. Even some of the grasses have quill like hairs that burn like a flame on bare skin. Even the smallest details are a constant reminder that I'm definitely in the middle of an adventure.  I start to break from the tree where I've slimmed my profile and the hills go quiet.  Busted! 

     From the corner of my eye I see the slight bobbing of a doe's' head. Down, up, down, up, never taking her eyes off me. She's pinned me down and alerted the others by stomping her front leg. I'm frozen, and of course in a very awkward squatting position, and the waiting game starts.  Refusing to make eye contact with the doe, I focus on my balance. Slowly closing my eyes, I retrace my steps and remember how I got into this all so familiar messed up scenario.   

     Get the wind right, slim your profile, move low and slow.  Seems I had 2 outta 3 right and as with all of those "perfect" stalking scenarios, I let the adrenaline get the best of me and just moved a bit too fast.  So here I am, stagnant in some yoga pose that's got my left calf twitching like a gambler holding dice and a bead of sweat that's burning my retina. I know that any type of movement and the jigs up so I resist the cramps and the urge to move.  It seems like an eternity and just when I'm about to throw in the towel, I hear the buck start croaking again.  Startled, my heart skips a beat and the pain of being a statue is the furthest thing from my mind. 

     Slowly I open an eye and see a set of antlers chorale the doe and pull her out of sight.  Not going to make the same mistake twice, I glass every inch of the bench as I crawl from tree to tree.  With little cover, advancing the next 100 meters to the edge of the bench takes close to an hour.  

     Crouched behind the last tree I can crawl to, I see the buck and his 3 does.   He's very vocal and very agitated.  The does themselves don't seem that comfortable either. With the does feeding and possibly trying to break away from time to time, the buck calls out and quickly rounds up his girls if they stray to far.   All 4 of the deer are within 50 meters but only their backs are clear of the grass. With no shot opportunity, I patiently wait for the deer to make the mistake before I do. 

     From my vantage point, I notice the deer's attention occasionally shifts off to the distance.  This time it's not in my direction but up the gentle slope on the far side of their flat grassy bench.  A shift of my binoculars just beyond my target buck and there's another set of antlers slowly making their way into frame.  Seems that the croaking has not only alerted me to this bucks position, but now another suitor shares the same close quarters but he's looking for a different type of close encounter.

     With the new buck closing the distance the croaking gets louder and the does start to dart off. A quick loop and they're rounded back up but it's clear that the new member is not welcome.  A few mock charges are made to deter the bucks advances but he's of the same stature and not backing down.  With one more step closer, the harem leader has had enough and it's game time. The two bucks erupt into full blown battle for the babes and I can barely believe I'm here to see it.      

      The does watch the first round of blows being exchanged but as the bucks prepare to engage again they run off to the right only to stop for a brief second as the two brutes bang heads once again. A brief pause in the action reveals a gruesome facial gash on one of the bucks but there's no slowing down.  Again and again the two fight for dominance. The sound of antlers crashing is deafening and it's clear that the two boys mean business. I watch the does as they run off and clear the next ridge and my focus returns to the bucks whose focus is on one thing and one thing only, serving up a serious helping of whoop ass.   

   

 With no watchful eyes of the does and focus of the bucks clearly on killing one another I nock an arrow and start to make a move onto the open plain. Using the cover of the waist high grass and a fallen tree, I start to close the 50 meter gap. 40, 30, 20 meters and still the bucks continue to fight. As I reach the dead wood my targets continue to tear up the turf a mere 5 meters from my bow.  But which one to shoot?

   

 Without hesitation, I straighten my back, draw back my bow, and find my pin.  In a moment of utter chaos I find a moment of tranquility.  Not once do I look at the size of the antlers. Instead I see back straps cooking on a camp fire and the stories that go deep into the dark night sky.   

     The vertical stance I've assumed has made my presence known but its too late.  As the dust settles, one of the deer is broadside and so close that every pin in my sight picture sits on his vitals.  The trigger is released but I don't remember triggering it.  The arrow is mid flight but I don't remember firing it.  All I know is my arrow hits its mark and the buck is just as surprised as I am. He stumbles, takes 20 steps, and expires. 

   

 Approaching the deer I remember the last words Troy said to me "If he looks good to you, take the shot".  Now this may not be the biggest fallow buck in the world but for sure he's the biggest I've ever seen.   As he lay there in the grass, I admit I do notice his antlers, and a point that's missing due to the fight, but that's just adds more character.  

 

   Replaying the past 2 hours and the events that have put this buck in front of me now, I'm speechless.   My heart is pounding out of my chest and my hands are shaking. Im sure there's veins showing on my neck, and even though there's a nervous twitch in my voice, I cant wait to tell somebody about it.   Bowhunting, you gotta try it ...