Bow Hunting Part 2: the TenPoint Spike

I’m not sure why, but as a hunter, I’ve developed a pretty healthy dose of pessimism. Even the day before, walking out when all the evidence showed that we would see Big Boy, I just had this feeling that it wasn’t going to happen.

But as we walked out to the Green Stand in the quiet morning hours, I felt different. Hopeful. Maybe even certain that things would be different today.

That feeling remained as we settled into the deer stand and waited for the sun to rise.

Several games of Solitaire later, as the sun barely began to poke through the mesquite trees, the feeder went off loudly in the silence. In the time it took for me to set down my phone and look back up, four does had wandered out into the sendero.

Court and I looked at each other, and we couldn’t help matching grins. It was going to happen today. 

They almost walked right past the feeder and straight to the line of corn that we had replenished heading towards the deer stand. My heart started to quicken as they slowly wandered closer. Based on the landmarks we had ranged the day before, these deer were still around 50 yards away.

I just happened to glance to my right across Court and saw another deer moving in the sendero that intersected the one in front of us. The window was blurry, but I didn’t think it had any antlers, and this one was much closer!

“Look, another doe!” I whispered, pointing across him.

He glanced out the window, moving the blurry plastic aside. “No… it’s… a spike!”

My heart almost exploded out of my chest with a sharp intake of breath. A spike? It couldn’t have been more perfect.

Now I just needed to make a good shot.

We watched the spike slowly make his way underneath our stand and then continue like he might keep walking down the road. Maybe it was the does, or maybe it was the corn, but he suddenly paused and glanced down the sendero. My heart was thundering; he was right there. 

As if he could read my thoughts, he started walking towards the corn. I scrambled to silently move the seat up and the crossbow into position while Court ranged the little spike.

“15 yards… now 20…” It couldn’t have been any more perfect. But I couldn’t allow my excitement to get the better of me; I took deep breaths and started focusing on my target.

Just as he started to turn broadside, the does had caught up to him. There he stood, broadside, with does standing less than 10 yards behind him.

We were so. Close.

As he slowly moved to the right, away from the does, I went back through all of the points I had been talking through with Court for almost a week now.

Wait until he’s completely broadside.

Wait until the foot closest to you steps forward and he’s relaxed.

Aim a little further back than you would with a rifle.

He’s at 23 yards; keep the center of his body between the top and middle tick marks.

Take the safety off, and squeeze the trigger.

Follow through; keep looking through the scope.

And breathe. Just breathe.

It felt like slow motion as he stepped that foot forward. My heart had never beat so hard; six years of preparation were coming down to this moment. I took a deep breath, willing my lungs to cooperate as I attempted to squeeze my breath out.

Wait a minute, this isn’t a rifle; this is a bow!

I had barely finished the thought, when instinct kicked in. I squeezed the trigger and for a moment, thought I saw the bolt collide with his ribs.

Deer scattered in every direction, and it took me a moment to realize I had even made a shot. By the time my mind had processed everything that had happened, my scope was empty; the deer were long gone.

I sat back from the crossbow, my body shaking as the adrenaline finally took over. Even though I thought I knew the answer, I just couldn’t believe it, so I had to ask; “did I hit him?”

Court almost laughed at me. “That was a great shot! You got him!”

Every part of me shook as I examined the empty sendero before me. As my memory started to catch up, I realized I felt great about the shot, that some deeper part of me knew it had hit home.

We waited and I shook harder with the anticipation of tracking the deer. Ten minutes stretched on to what felt like hours when Court finally decided it was time look. We walked out with the crossbow in hand, and it was everything I could do to breathe.

My heart beat until we came upon the place where he had last been standing and then nearly stopped; there was no blood. Anywhere. My confidence evaporated.

A few yards behind his last location, we found the crossbow bolt and sure enough, it had blood from broadhead to nock. Luckily for me, Court is one of the best trackers I’ve ever met, so if that deer had fallen, I knew he would find it.

He pointed out a small gap in the brush where he had seen the spike tear through in the moments after the shot. I have to say, I’m so glad he was with me,  because I didn’t even see where it went.

We carefully pressed through the thick, dry brush. The lingering summer had fried some of the colorful flowers to a deep brown, making our search more difficult. I carefully pinched anything that resembled blood between my fingertips, but they kept coming back dry.

Court found the first blood, a small speck on some bushes. Glancing around, we started to see small ruby glimmers, gradually growing larger until…

I gasped.

My spike lay on his side underneath a tree, just steps from the next clearing. There were no words as it finally sank in; my first archery deer.

My eyes moistened as I made eye contact with Court, and we beamed at each other for just a moment. Ever since he started taking me hunting, before my first doe, he knew that this was the ultimate goal. Bow hunting. I honestly couldn’t have asked for a better person to introduce me to the amazing world of the outdoors.

Then I turned my attention to my spike.

I’ve watched every episode of MeatEater, and after finding a downed animal, Steven Rinella takes a moment with it, looking it over as if taking it in. Admittedly, I’ve never really taken a moment with an animal after recovering it; not because I felt bad or didn’t want to look at it, I guess it just never occurred to me.

I got down on my knees next to him and took a moment to take it all in. It always amazes me how small they are up close, especially these South Texas deer. They’re probably one of the most beautiful animals to me, and watching them so closely has only made me love them even more.

I ran my hand down the side of his ribs and was shocked when it came back covered in blood. No wonder there hadn’t been much of a trail to follow; the dew on the trees had soaked his fur and trapped the blood. 

I may have taken this deer’s life, but I would honor him as best as I could. We had an entire list of meals we were excited to make with the meat that would share with both family and friends.

We dragged him back to the sendero and I waited with him while Court retrieved the truck to bring him back to the cabin.

He was just so perfect. The perfect spike on a perfect bow hunt.

I thought about everything that had happened leading up to these moments this weekend. The fear and uncertainty of my first hunt, the extra preparation time in the second hunt, and the final moment of truth this morning.

I realized that I wouldn’t have been ready for this spike without those first two hunts.

The first to show me that I really didn’t want my first archery deer to be a monster buck, and that I wouldn’t have been ready if Big Boy had walked out.

The second to build my confidence and help me feel ready for the next day.

And the third to finally achieve a goal I have been aching to complete long before taking a shot at an animal; harvesting my first archery deer.