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We Should Do a Book

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    #16
    This is a great idea, Mark!

    Great stories everyone. I have one or two more, other than my bear hunt, I could add!

    Bisch

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      #17
      I like it.

      With my hankering to learn the art of Trad shooting I'd buy it.

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        #18
        Great stories! Keep them coming!

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          #19
          One Of Those Days

          It was in the mid 1990’s. I had only been back in traditional archery a short while. I was hunting down in North Carolina near The Devil’s Tramping Grounds (a tale for a dark stormy night). I had hunted Friday afternoon and taken a nice doe. I was shooting my Massie Longhorn longbow, 55 lbs at 28”. I was shooting Port Orford cedar shafts with a Magnus 160 grain 2-blade head

          Saturday morning before daylight I hiked into a good spot where we had been seeing a lot of deer in an oak grove. We already had a 16 foot ladderstand set up so I crawled into it. I had not replaced the arrow I used Friday afternoon so I had 5 arrows in my quiver. At about 7:10 a nice doe came in. She was about 50 yards out when I first saw her and she was browsing her way toward me. I managed to stand up and get set for a shot. After about 10 minutes she turned broadside at about 18 yards. I picked a spot, came to anchor and released the string. The shot felt good, but my bottom limb ticked a tree limb I had not sufficiently trimmed and the arrow dove low, just creasing her across the bottom of her chest. Oh well, I still had 4 arrows.

          About 5 minutes later another doe surprised me by showing up from the direction I was not expecting. She was only about 12 yards in an almost perfect broadside. I knew I couldn’t get away with much movement. I managed to turn slightly and since I regularly practice from a sitting position I felt confident in making the shot. I picked a spot and came to anchor and released the string. I watched as the arrow sailed harmlessly over her back. By now I’m getting a little flustered. But I still have 3 arrows.

          I lean back in my seat and try to settle myself down. I figure that my morning is pretty well shot, but it’s a beautiful day to be in a tree. It’s nice and cool with a gentle breeze. I sat there and watched the squirrels busily gather acorns. About 15 minutes later I hear something off to my left. I slowly turn my head and see a nice 6 pointer about 40 yards out. I manage to stand without spooking him. After a few minutes of watching him crunch acorns he had worked into about 15 yards. He was slightly quartering away from me. Again I picked a spot and came to anchor. I released the string in what felt like a perfect shot. What the he**, the arrow sliced the air an inch or so over his withers. By now I’m experiencing a major meltdown. 2 arrows left!

          I settle down in my seat and start reviewing the shots in my mind to see if I can determine what I’m doing wrong. I think on the last shot I didn’t bent at the waist. It’s still a few hours until I’m to meet my brother for lunch so I decide to stay in my tree. A few minutes later and I again hear something to my left. I slowly turn my head and see a doe in almost the exact spot where I had first spotted the 6-pointer a few minutes earlier. Again I manage to stand and get into position. She follows almost the exact trail that the buck had followed, but turned off when she was about 18 yards out. She stopped broadside and I got ready for a shot. I picked a spot, remembered to bend at the waist. I came to a good solid anchor and released the string only to have the arrow deflect off an unseen twig and pass harmlessly in front of the deer’s chest. Deer 4 – Phillip 0. Ok, now I have 1 arrow left.

          At this point I’m seriously considering banging my head against the tree trunk and heading off in search of a stiff jolt of Jack Daniels. Instead, I decide I might as well spend the rest of the morning sitting in that tree. I put my 5th and final arrow on the string and lean back. Just a few minutes later I spot movement in the brush out in front of me. It’s another doe and she’s browsing toward me. She’s coming straight toward me so I’m afraid to try and stand up. She starts acting nervous and turns broadside at about 15 yards with her head behind a tree. I mentally review my shot process as I pick a spot and come to anchor. I release the string and watch as she runs off. She covers about 30 yards and I see her crash. I climb out of the tree and pick up all my arrows including the one that had just sliced through the doe’s heart.

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            #20
            ^^^^ Wow... talk about a story that will empty your quiver!!! What a mental battle right there.

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              #21
              That's a good one Phillip!

              I got a story that went just about like that only I was sitting in a tent blind missing turkeys instead of up a tree missing deer!

              Bisch

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                #22
                EARLY BIRDS

                The old heron stood on a small hump of clay that protruded a couple of feet out into the swift current of the Trinity River. He stood motionless, head cocked to one side and slightly bowed toward a small eddy pool created by the clay bar. I am sure he must have been aware of the 14 foot boat drifting past only a few yards away,yet he remained totally focused on the area of water within striking distance of his beak. Both instinct and experience told him his position was well chosen and that looking away for an instant could mean a missed opportunity at a fat gizzard shad or sand bass.

                I smiled to myself at the similarities between the old bird and Sam, who stood next to me on the front of our boat. He stood motionless, bow slightly canted, and totally focused on the area of water within shooting distance of his Bear Kodiak Magnum recurve. Like the old bird, instinct and experience told him that to loose focus for even an instant could mean a missed opportunity at the monster alligator gar that we had seen the day before.

                Knowing the spawn was fast aproaching,my brother-in-law, Sam Lovell and I had taken a quick scouting trip to a high bank over looking one of our favorite bowfishing spots in the murky waters of the river. As we walked through the thick cane along the bank , we could hear enormous splashes from at least 100 yards away. This was plenty to quicken our pace as we worked our way to the vantage point previously mentioned. Through binoculars, we could see a frenzy of action as several large fish broke the surface, sending spray at least ten feet into the air! Many of the fish seemed to be around six feet long but one was MUCH larger. She had claimed a stretch of river and was making certain that all knew she was boss by striking the surface with such force that it looked like hand grenades hitting the water. Within an hour we had cleared our schedules for the next day and made plans to be on the water by first light.

                Now... as we drifted along with the current, the scene was much different. During the night, an unexpected cool front had passed through, dropping the late April temperature into the mid fifties. The steady blast of large gar from yesterday had changed to total silence as we drifted quickly toward the big gar's lair. Surely she was still around, yet there was no indication of any activity as the boat drifted silently through the thin layer of fog that hung just above the water.

                With no warning the silence was broken as a huge head broke the surface ten yards in front of the boat! Everything played in slow motion as the beast surfaced, mouth half open and yellow eyes rolling to see who dared invade her territory. An arrow came to a quivering halt dead center of her back, followed an instant later by Sam's arrow as she rolled to my left. As is so often the case with instinctive shooting, I have no recollection of drawing, aiming, or shooting but the line streaming from my AMS retriever reel confirms the first arrow was mine.

                The slow motion ends as the big fish charges past our boat and heads up river. I quickly pull the float loose from my bow just as the free end pulls through the slot and jerks it from my hand. I look at Sam just in time to see his float leave as well. There is no reason to be quiet anymore, Both floats are still headed up river and we are barely gaining with the 65lb thrust troller wide open. We babble back and forth at our great fortune to have two lines on a 200 plus pound fish! The fish made a wide arch across the river and turned down stream. We each grab a line and the boat picks up speed. The gar is now towing us faster than the troller could. Thirty minutes later, we have forgotten the early morning chill as sweat streams down our faces. There is no way to turn her when she heads directly into a submerged tree and gets a wrap around something solid. Sam and I both pull as hard as we can but cant budge it. Several tense minutes later, Sam suggests we try to pull it loose with the boat. After taking a few wraps around one of the cleats on the back of the boat, I start the 25hp Mercury and put it in gear. At three quarters throttle, something finally gave way. A large black log surfaced and the fish was moving once again. Seriously exhausted now, the fish surfaced for the first time since the shot. She looked even bigger than before! The mammoth fish swam slowly on the surface, still able to pull the boat. Sams arrow had somehow been shattered and we saw that only splinters were holding it. We knew we were pushing the 400lb line and fiberglass arrows beyond their function when the broken arrow gave way. With only one line on the fish now, i knew i had to turn her as she got a second wind and headed for another pile of logs. The line made an erie sound as it screeched through my gloved hands. "YOU ARE PUTTING TOO MUCH ON HER!" Sam yelled. She is tired, surely I can stop her. With a sudden "plop" I feel my arrow pull free and the line went slack.

                Excitement turned to disappointment. It had been over an hour since we shot. Both our shirts were soaked through with sweat, and now the giant was gone. Throwing a rope around one of the logs, we both sat down on the edge of the shooting deck and silently started untangling our lines. I knew I had blown it and was waiting for Sam to say so when the giant fish surfaced slowly right beside us! I grabbed my bow but the lines were still a tangled mess. The tired fish took a big gulp of air and slowly submerged. As she slowly disappeared we could see a steady stream of bubbled escaping from my arrow hole in the top of her back. We hurriedly freed my arrow and untied the boat to follow a stream of bubbles. maybe she would do that again! The bubbles slowed but we were still able to keep track of the fish as she move close to a steep clay bank and stopped. After a few seconds the bubbles were slowing even more and she still hadnt surfaced. Sam suggested that I just shoot behind the bubbles. That would take a lucky guess as we had no idea how deep the fish was. Agreeing it was worth a try, I pulled the bow all the way back and let fly. I was disappointed to see that my arrow had stuck in the clay with only the knock visible and I couldnt pull it out to try again as the bubbles continued right in front of my arrow. Sam trolled over to the stuck arrow and I tried to pull it out. It was coming but had a strong suction in the clay. I reached down into the water with both hands and got a grip closer to the point so I could pull harder. As the arrow finally started coming, a huge head broke the water right in front of my face! I almost jumped out of the boat! My arrow wasnt stuck in the mud but was center in the gars spine a few inches behind her head!

                I will never forget the trip back up the river with a fish that stuck out of the boat a foot on each side, or the content look on Sams face. I looked to the right as we pass the clay bar. The old bird is gone. I hope success came early for him as well.

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                  #23
                  Great story GarGuy

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                    #24
                    This was her
                    Attached Files

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                      #25
                      Originally posted by Chunky View Post
                      With all the great hunters and stories we have here, Bisch's recent bear hunt, any number of Buff's hunts, etc

                      We should put together a book of the best ones, a story or two from each contributer, and then self publish it like Buff did. I think that would be cool.

                      We would need someone to be the editor and organizer (not it!) and the population here to help pick which are the best ones.

                      Just an idea.
                      Chunky, when we were kicking around the Hall of Fame idea, this thread captures the heart of what l wanted to see: stories of great hunts by great hunters/ huntresses and fishermen/women. Keep 'em coming!

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                        #26
                        Not we should do a book Chunky, we should do a series of books, One each year or so, and we can add more stories from the past year or previous years as needed

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                          #27
                          It's funny how reading someone else's adventure brings to mind other adventures we've had ourselves which were similar. Like Bisch, I had a similar day to Phillip's with turkeys instead of deer (in addition to the one I posted above).
                          Great reads Phillip and Gar Guy. That is one HUGE fish!!!!

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                            #28
                            I'm in for the 2nd edition

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                              #29
                              I will play
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                              Cape Buffalo
                              . As long as I can remember I have dreamed of hunting a Cape Buffalo. 2 years ago Chunky convinced me to get it done. I booked a hunt with Dries Visser and began working on my equipment. I was blessed with a strong back and a weak mind so a heavy weight bow did scare me but I had fits getting an arrow that was stiff enough. I had Black Widow build me a 83# iron wood recurve and planned to use 200 grain GK heads. I have been shooting that bow for 2 years getting ready and the last couple of months I shot my sons 95# longbow, just to make my 83# bow seem lighter. I have been lucky that 95% of the time when I shoot at a animal my arrow hits right where I want but this Cape Buffalo had me spooked. I layed awake at night thinking about how terrible it would be if I made a bad shot. I knew they would not let me follow it up. I would be told to set in the truck while a couple of PH;s and 3 or 4 trackers risked their life cleaning up my mess. How would you deal with the shame if someone got killed because you made a poor hit? Once we arrived at camp it got even worst. The week before we arrived 2 fellows with Longbow had shot 13 animals and only recovered 1 .... Just 1. To make matters even worst the last Buffalo shot by a bowhunter, a compound had taken 4 days to track down and kill with a rifle. My friends in camp were trying to make me feel better but the more they talked about it the more I worried. The night before we climbed into the tree stands I stared at the ceiling all night, trying to convince myself I was ready. I had shot 10,000 arrows.... I was ready. When he whispered down to me that the buffaloes were coming I couldn't breathe I was so nervous. All the hours getting ready, All the time standing out in the Texas heat shooting my bow. It was all coming to a head. Once the buffalo were in sight, I zoned out, no longer nervous, I was BUFF, I could do this. There was a dozen or so buffalo moving down the hill but I was only interested in the one lone bull. He was a massive beast but still spooky. He finally hit the spot where I had dumped out a bucket of some kind of sweet powder to stop him. Auto pilot kicked in. I was no longer shooting at a buffalo. I was shooting at a rubbed spot about the size of your thumb, 2" in front of the crease of his shoulder. The PH is whispering "Wait ...Wait". I had 2 problems. Once you are at full draw with a 83# bow, you can't wait very long. The other was I knew it was time. I KNEW I was going to make a perfect shot, knew it in my soul. I never lost sight of the arrow as it leaped across the 15 yards and into the Buffalo.
                              It was by far the greatest moment of my bowhunting career. Not because he was a great animal, he was but because I didn't choke. If I had made a bad shot I really believe it would have haunted me the rest of my life, I had put that much pressure on myself.

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                                #30
                                I was completely immersed in that gar story great job great fish

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