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Early morning perfection I began the 2002 hunting season determined and eager. I was on a mission to complete my goal for the year, to kill my first big game animal with my Matthews compound bow. However, after missing the entire rut of this year's hunting season on account of my poor planning and forgetfulness, I had lost hope, until I got the call from my bowhunting buddy and an opportunity for a second chance came about. The Pact It all began with a pact I made with myself. After having a depressingly unsuccessful 2001 hunting season without even seeing an animal in bow range, I wanted to taste success. The pact was to practice all year-round, select a perfect stand location, to become closer to nature, and to kill my first big game animal with my bow. So my dedication began. I practiced all day at the local archery lanes, I studied my buddies' ranch all year, and watched films from last year's rut. The time flew by so quickly and before I knew it, it was already November and time for bow season. However, an unexpectedly lengthy football season and a Thanksgiving trip to my grandparents led to December without even having set foot on the ranch. Previous Sightings Although I had not been to the ranch, I was still in decent shape. I had done all of my scouting and stand selection in the summer so all I would have to do is simply show up. Therefore, when I finally got in contact with my buddy he said they had gotten a lot of rain and that there were tracks everywhere. He then told me that his little two hundred acre place had some big bucks on it. He also informed me that some of his clients had been hunting out of tower blinds looking to bag a buck. He said they had seen some monster bucks but just never got a shot. One of the clients had told me that he had seen quite a few deer and a huge pig right by my stand, so I decided to make my way up to the ranch. The First Visit I live in Corpus Christi, Texas, and the ranch is in Three Rivers, which is only about a one-hour drive. Therefore, that Friday night after school I left town, bound for the ranch. When I finally got there it was too late for a hunt, so I decided to wait until about ten o'clock and then go drop about thirty pounds of corn in my shooting lane and trails leading to it. I had previously set my six-foot tripod up in a mesquite tree covered in underbrush about eighteen yards away from my one shooting lane. One shooting lane sounds like it is tiny. Not true; my shooting lane has about ten feet of space where the animal can walk and I still have a clean shot. However, having a big shooting lane does have its drawbacks, such as being a little too exposed, but I don't worry about that because I use leafy wear camouflage. So that night when I crawled into bed anxiety overcame me and I didn't get any sleep. The following morning the alarm sounded at four thirty. Slowly I made my way out of bed, climbed in the shower and scrubbed myself with my scent free soap. When I walked outside to get my scent-loc camouflage the thermometer read about forty degrees. So I threw on my cold weather camo and headed afield with my flashlight in one hand and my Mathews bow in the other. I arrived at my stand around six o-clock, an hour before sunrise. I sat patiently, and eagerly awaited that magical moment in the morning; "Primetime." Confidence in My Stand About an hour had passed and the sun had begun to rise, so I nocked an arrow and waited. When nothing showed I became very angry with myself for not having picked a better stand site. While waiting, the sleep I had lost from the previous night had caught up to me and I dozed off. When I awoke after fifteen minutes, I had four does eating my corn a mere seventeen yards away. My heart began to race; I had never even seen a deer this close before, let alone four of them. The group consisted of one huge doe and three of her fawns from the previous year. I had heard about this big doe; the one with three fawns. They called her "Scarback" because of a large scar down the middle of her spine. I decided to take her. I smoothly drew back my Mathews FX and put the twenty-yard pin on her vitals. Just then she walked behind a bush. Where did she go? I couldn't see her. Thirty or forty seconds passed so I let down. She then reappeared, continuing to suck down my corn. My heart was pounding too hard to draw again so I watched the four does slowly walk away. Even if I didn't get a shot at least I had gained some confidence in my stand location. The next couple of hunts I saw the same four deer every day and occasionally I would see a few other does browsing the area. I decided to let them all walk in hopes of seeing a buck during the rut, which was just around the corner. The Forgotten Trip One night after an evening hunt I was talking to my girlfriend, who lives in Washington State. For the last couple of weeks, I had been having so much fun at the ranch that I completely forgot that I was supposed to go see her for Christmas. Oh boy, I was in a real mess. I hadn't even bought a plane ticket yet. Out of the kindness of her heart, my mom bought me a Washington-bound plane ticket as an early Christmas gift so I could go see Laura (my girlfriend) for the holidays. My plane was expected to leave December 20th and arrive back in Texas on January 5th, and as anybody that has ever hunted South Texas knows, that trip of mine was going to last the entire duration of the rut. So my cherished sport would be put on hold once more. My Return Upon my return, I was dead tired from a twelve-hour flight, starving from lack of food and I had a serious case of jet lag. So I crawled in my bed that night and didn't awake until the next day at noon. The next morning, or should I say afternoon, my alarm clock was the ringing of my telephone. When I picked it up the voice on the other end was music to my ears. It was my buddy, asking me if I wanted to go to the ranch and hunt a couple more days. It was Monday, I didn't have school until Thursday and a cold front was about to blow in. "Sure" I replied. I was at the camp house by three o-clock. I decided to skip the evening hunt and just corn that night and hunt the next morning. So that night around ten I went and dropped another thirty pounds of corn on my shooting lane and trails, and went back to the camp house and got some sleep. The Second Chance The next morning the thermometer read forty-six degrees. My buddy had to go to school but another friend that helps out there didn't, so around 6:15 he took me halfway to my tripod. I sat down, got comfortable and listened to the coyotes howl until daybreak. Around 6:55 two passive does made their way down my trails sucking up my corn. It was still low light and I couldn't get a good make on them but I could tell they were old and mature enough to shoot. So I nocked an arrow and started preparing for a shot. I figured they would make their way to my shooting lane in about ten minutes, and by that time there would be enough light to shoot. Then from out of nowhere at 6:57 the silhouette of what seemed to be a bear appeared five yards from behind my tripod. Wasting no time it hurried to my corn and ran off my deer. I squinted my eyes and then realized this was no bear; this was the biggest pig I had ever seen in my life. The monster chomped furiously on my corn devouring every bit of it. I watched in amazement as the beast fed a mere eighteen yards away from my strategically placed tripod.
When we got to my stand there was no trace of blood anywhere, which is why a complete pass through is always preferred. After searching for twenty minutes we found some blood on a piece of brush, but that was it. I was pretty sure I had heard him fall about sixty yards behind my stand but now I wasn't certain. So I walked the trails blindly looking for my fallen trophy. As twenty more minutes passed, I began to pray, asking my deceased uncle for some help on recovering my fallen monster. No more than two minutes after asking for help I saw him, fifteen yards away lying on his side. I picked up a little twig and threw it at him. When he didn't get up I knew he was down! I walked over to my prize and checked my shot, a double lung as I had suspected. Then I stood in awe, admiring my first bow kill. I called Denny over and he stood beside me in amazement, admiring my gorgeous Russian boar. At that time I went through all of the emotions that I've heard so much about. The excitement, the joy and the sorrow All at once my eyes began to water. I then looked to the heavens and thanked the bowhunting gods. I knelt down beside my trophy and ran my hands across his colorful cape and said a small prayer thanking god for the opportunity and for the blessing of this immaculate beast. By that time, Lance had already backed the truck up to us. We loaded him in the back of the truck and hauled him to the camp house where we took pictures and I retold the story of my first bow kill. Conclusion My very first animal with a bow will never be forgotten. It was a dream come true to have taken a trophy Russian boar, and for it to be my first was even better. The pig tipped the scales at just over three hundred pounds and was approximately two and a half years old. Bowhunting is not murder or senseless slaughter as some anti-hunting groups judge it to be. It is a harvest. As a beautiful animal's life ends, it marks the beginning of a lifetime of forming special bonds with nature and an eternity of memories. It is only when you have joined the unique brotherhood of bowhunters that you can relate to this level of perfection. Then and only then can you feel what it is like to experience "Early Morning Perfection." |
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Slowly the sun began to rise. Before I knew it, it was 7:15 and I
could see the animals' extraordinary color. He had a crimson cape, black
blots covering his back, and a white crown encircled his face. He
continued feeding without any worries and once again I slowly brought my
Mathews to full draw. My legs began shaking uncontrollably. When I
finally calmed my nerves I place my twenty yard pin on his vitals, and
let fly the Goldtip arrow tipped with a 100 grain Muzzy broadhead. The arrow made
a loud thud as it pierced through his vitals, crushing bone. As the
animal bolted quickly towards the brush, I noticed my fletching sticking
out his side. I recall thinking; it wasn't a complete pass through?
That's weird, I'm sure it was an excellent shot, probably a double lung.
Then I began to replay my shot in my head. It was the perfect shot, it
had to be, but why didn't it make a complete pass through? I then
convinced myself that the animal was probably too large for a complete
pass through. When my nerves had finally calmed down I crawled out of my
stand and walked the mile back to the camp house. I then relived and
told the story to Denny (my buddy's dad) and our other friend Lance, who
was still at the camp house; then we set off in search for my pig.