Deer Hunting with Crossbow
Late on Sunday evening I sit down to relax having returned to the Washington DC apartment. With a tumbler filled with three large ice cubes and splashed with my favorite whiskey, the weekend comes to a perfect close. It had been a grand weekend.
The office held me longer than I wanted on Friday. The harder I attempted my escape from the beltway grip, the traffic held me hostage. Finally, after hours of working my escape, I reached the two lane blacktop leading to my wooded heaven. The pace slowed. The cool mountain night air felt good rushing by the driver’s window.
No need to turn on the turn signal for the last turn. There was not a car or truck around for miles. The gravel crackled under the weight of the tires; A sound always meaning fun of some kind is sure to come my way. The last few hundred yards required 4X4 to reach camp.
Camp was a reclaimed strip mine planted with white pines, clover and other natural grasses that had been working hard to return the once ugly mining landscape to its once grander mountain top.
By moon and start light, I pitched the small tent and tossed the sleeping pad and bag inside. The night sky was the reason I pitched my tent here. Far from the city lights, the sky is a special kind of dark. The stars are countless and the white flickering stripe of the Milky Way is unmistakable.
I unwind star-gazing. I thought of how I was going to be deer hunting with a crossbow for the first time. The weapon of choice is becoming less important to me these days as I discover being in the woods is more important than the weapon I carry.
The alarm clock on the cell phone was set to ring at 5:30. I turned it off when I awoke, not waiting for it to ring. I am hunting this morning and beat the clock awake in anticipation of the morning.
Cold tea, a banana and a granola bar were breakfast.
My First Time Deer Hunting With Crossbow
The thicket of wild apples have been on my mind all week. The wind was perfect for my quiet approach. With my new crossbow in hand (another story of why coming later this week), I slowly picked my footfalls in an attempt not to alarm the woods of my arrival. I did not have a tree stand waiting for me. I did not carry my climber stand on my back. This was to be an old school hunt. I planned to simply sit on the ground with my back against a tree.
Around me the darkness fades and the new day arrived. Sitting in the woods, quietly watching a new day dawn is my happy place.
The first deer of the morning saw me before I saw it. Through the thick cover to my front I heard the snort. She had seen me move my legs trying to find a softer spot to rest. The wind was in my favor. She had seen movement but could not pin point the cause. I knew it is a doe, because a buck would have simply and quietly moved off without me ever knowing of his presence.
Once she was gone and daylight arrived, I scanned the woods and found a better position to watch the wild apple trees and the deer coming for a meal. In a short five minutes after my move, another deer walked into my view. This was close quarters hunting. The deer was coming from behind me and on my left side. I would have to shoot right-handed and not my normal left-handed.
A tree covered her view of me. I drew the crossbow up to my shoulder and aimed where I expected her to step. The crossbow bow felt heavy and awkward on the wrong shoulder. She stepped toward me feeding on the apples. The deer’s crashing through the woods sent birds flying and squirrels scampering. Then all returned quiet.
The whitetail doe had run 80 yards downhill and toward the road before expiring. I said a prayer, thanking God for the harvest and the opportunity to be not only in the woods, but for being apart of the natural world.
Before lunch the deer was cut and soaking in ice water.
While sitting at a picnic table eating a sandwich at the very point of origin of the Potomac River, a friend arrived, joining me for the rest of the camping weekend. In the time that followed, we drove a few 4×4 trails, hiked with cameras in hand, cooked over an open fire, and best of all, sat around and did much of nothing.
Would I rather be living fulltime deep in the Appalachian Mountains or back in Alaska ? Sure I would. But until that happens, I’ll sneak away from the beltway as often as I can.
