A WEEKEND HUNT

BOW HUNTING, EARLY NOVEMBER

Wind gusts up to 25 mph forecast that weekend! I thought that may be too much of a challenge.. 

I jotted notes in my iPhone as I hunted.

Tebo Arm, Truman Lake

Nov. 7:
It was a very chilly start with a light glaze of frost on the windshield. I had awoke with a whopper of a headache so I hunted in the nearby timber behind the motel.  I hiked slowly and medication eased my headache somewhat.

It was a gorgeous day, the squirrels busily digging and jumping from tree to tree.  Nearly noon I got hungry; I still wanted to explore.  I ventured into the field, it had appeared at a distance to be withered soybeans but as

deer beds field

I reached the edge of the timber, I saw it was a weed field.  It had deer beds and paths etched throughout the tall grass tossing with the wind.  

I turned back and stepped on something hard.  I pushed the leaves aside and buried in the leaves was evidence of a thief.  A big padlock and heavy gauge cord cut in two.  I would have kept the padlock, valued about 15 bucks but when I picked it up I saw it had been cut.  It was not old and rusty.  I shivered to realize the size of tool needed to break this lock and cut the cord.   I also felt sorry for the hunter naive enough to leave his stand there only for it to be stolen.

I scanned the area for his tree, then easily saw it with a 2X6 board nailed into the trunk.  Obviously the thief had seen it too.  Approaching the slender tree I nodded, yeah this was a good spot overlooking the ditch.  Some a-hole got a freebie stand.  A thief in a different locale stole my husband's stand too so I understood the anger and frustration all too well.  Those individuals give us honest hunters a bad "rep".   Perturbed, I stepped up the pace to the Jeep.

By mid-afternoon, the sun warmed up the timber to a pleasant 60 degrees.  My husband and I drove around the county looking at several spots to hunt.  Plenty of time to set up, but I was tired from hiking and feeling the effects of the headache medication.

He opted for a section dubbed "Bald Man's Head".  Relieved after getting my fabric blind set up, I leaned against the tree. It's bark was cool while the sun was warm on my masked face. It'd be only a few minutes that sun would shift behind the pine branches thirty yards away. Then my source of heat, except for my jacket would be gone. The gusty wind was beginning to calm with the dusk.

The squirrels busily chased each other above me.  I chuckled at the persistence of a male clamouring for a female's attention but she was unreceptive.  He headed toward her, jumped and skittered to the branch directly above me, stared down at me nervously. I lowered my head so he could not see my face lest he'd start that noisy "Chechee" alarm bark.  I peeked out from under my cap to watch him in the whip of a tail resume his chase of Miss Squirrel.  I escaped his wrath.  Miss Squirrel did not.  Soon she would accept his unrelenting mating ritual.  All is nature.

I used a folding stool rather than struggle for comfort from the hard ground. Grass was too sparse for cushion as it withered with each frost now.

It was time to watch the woods, then I was startled into attention by the approaching crunch of leaves.  I heard the little buck with its steps and instantly readied my bow.  Then its spindly rack emerged from the bushes and I saw it was only a "spike". .  Lucky lil' fella, this buck was protected, I couldn't shoot it.  In an instant it was out of sight heading downhill, never aware of me sitting in wait.  That alerted me to be on guard.  But the rest of the hunt was uneventful.  At dark my husband joined me and we plowed through the tangled brushy thorns toward the truck. 

Nov. 8:

The day started with wind.  Swirling, cold, blustery wind.  I had planned to tune my bow at an outdoor range at Clinton.  I decided not to fight it - the wind was too strong for accurate test shots.   Ed had gone across the lake earlier that morning; I was hunting solo.  I drove to a familiar spot down the highway.  There were other hunters there.  I did not want to deal with them invading my hunting.  I drove away.

Mindful of my low energy I texted my husband I was heading home; however, I also planned to hunt another Conservation Area along the way. 

Here's the rest of my day:       

A peaceful, but windy day bow hunting in Henry county.  Hiking and scouting half a mile across open fields.  November blue sky above reddish brown hills of scrub brush was breathtaking.  The photo does not do this view justice.

I returned to the vehicle and drove down the gravel road, a truck was parked in a drive.  He'd be no bother, that area is huge I thought to myself.  I slowed the Jeep to a crawl, scanning for any sign of game in the fields.  On the left, a half mile down the way there was a cornfield.  I parked in the grass off the road, thus claiming that field as mine.   I wearily scooted the seat back, the sun warm through the window glass, I took a short nap.

Entering the lane to the cornfield I winced from the stench that hit me in the face.  Deer urine.  I stopped to attach the bow trigger onto my wrist; I'd be ready for a deer to intersect me.  Not that I can hit a running deer with an arrow but a hunter is always ready.  I turned onto the tractor lane next to the corn, walked slowly, peering into the bordering patch of trees, searching for an acceptable tree to sit next to unseen.  The woods' oak aroma was intoxicating, calming my persistent, dull headache.  I found a suitable clump of thornapple black locust trees and wrapped the blind fabric around them, secured with bungee cords.  Satisfied, I was good-to-go.

Squirrels chased each other around and up and down.  I heard turkeys call across the cornfield.  That excited me - I replied with a few light slate "purr" calls.  Just as I had taken the photos of the cornfield a deer bounded behind me as I sat there.  Pounding hoofs and whooosh!  Like a noisy ghost!  It had to be a doe because as I turned to focus my eyes into the scrub trees and thick wheatgrass I immediately picked up movement.  I squinted best I could without binoculars and saw the white of its neck move again.  It moved one step and I saw antlers!  It stood rock steady looking in the direction of the doe that had run past me.    

There in the midst of the scrub tree branches I could not count the tines but its rack was large to belong to a six or eight point.  I turned slowly to prepare for it to move towards the doe.  Her speed told me she was two fields gone....  I watched him lower his head, likely eating leaves or berries; I still could not identify the points of his antlers, mixed with the brush and I had no binoculars.  I whispered to myself, he doesn't see or smell me so it don' matter anyway.  I looked away, watching for silent turkeys coming from behind, the next moment he was gone.  Witnessing that action got me excited - I felt thrilled with hope.  A live deer in my sight was beautiful.  

Birds fed on berries and squirrels seemed to quarrel and play nearly within my reach, in spite of my presence.  I chuckled at a mouse that dug for seeds under the oak leaves.  I thought I heard more hoof sounds of more deer in the timber behind me but I sat motionless, became part of the tree, didn't turn to see.  Like the Tin man, I only moved my eyes as a statue.  I heard faint turkey purrs across the field, and within minutes of the sunset, the flapping of wings as turkeys flew to their roost in the tall maple on the edge of the field.  

My hunt was near an end.  Every last ray of sun was disappearing and the evening chill overcame me.  I sent a text to Ed of the excitement of seeing the deer, headin' home. 

Dusk hovered as I retreated from the cold to the Jeep. The day was done; I felt tired and hungry and my fingers turning numb with the cold.  The woods' spell was gone and I had a long, tedious drive ahead.