Sticks for Bows…: Monster Whitetail taken With a Long Bow

Sticks for bows
Monster Whitetail taken with a longbow
By Todd Huddle

About five years ago, I made a decision to change over to traditional bowhunting equipment. I made this decision not from being dissatisfied by hunting with a compound bow, but rather from a renewed interest in the weapon that I had started out shooting when I was young. This change was mostly due to an article I read about someone who built his own longbows for hunting. I immediately began searching for more on the subject via the Internet. On the web, I discovered a wealth of information on various bow designs and, not long after, found myself launching arrows from a beautiful hickory backed bow built with my own hands. That spring, I used my new bow to harvest a turkey and, in the fall, a nice eight-point buck. Having accomplished these goals, I realized that I had discovered a new challenge in bowhunting from a not so new technology. I later retired that first bow for fear something might happen to it with extended use and ordered a Bear Montana longbow to hunt deer with the next year. I decided to purchase a bow due to time restrictions that would make it impossible to build another before the fall. A couple of years later, I finished two more bows, but enjoyed shooting my Montana and opted to use it for the 2006 deer season.

And so the hunt began! It was the first week of November and my dad, whom I’ve hunted with forever and credit for most of my knowledge about bowhunting, wished me good luck and drove away into the early morning darkness. As the red taillights of his truck disappeared over the hill, I threw a gear-loaded pack over my shoulder, tucked my bow under my arm and headed up the pasture road by flashlight. The plan was to hunt a ravine on the property that consistently proved best for morning deer traffic. On arrival, I pulled on some warmer attire and ascended the ladder to the perch above. Later, as it barely started to get light, sounds of something walking close by increased my heart rate. I strained to see in the dim light as a dark image slowly transformed into a yearling buck upon approach. Easing back against the tree I took a deep breath. It was good to see a deer early, but I had made a decision to hold out for a mature buck. My wish was granted later that morning when a large buck materialized like a ghost in front of me. The large buck was moving quickly past a shooting lane 30 yards away. My bow still lay across my lap and I was unable to move. I wanted to call out “Do Over!” as if I was playing a child’s game as the buck passed by. Stopping behind an entanglement of branches, it seemed as though he knew they shielded him from danger. Through the obstruction I could make out forked G2’s on both main beams. Then, to my relief, the buck kept a straight course and moved towards another opening. Twenty yards or less is the range preferred for longbows and, though I’ve practiced at 30, it’s not within my comfort zone when shooting a longbow instinctively. This was going to be every bit of that and, coaching myself past any doubt, I quickly prepared for the shot. The buck entered the gap and came to a stop broadside. I had already begun to draw, centering the arrow shaft on his midsection. Reaching my anchor point, I watched the path of yellow fletch as it departed in a perfect line for the vitals. It was in that split second that the buck whirled around and ran straight away into cover. Did the arrow connect? The buck suddenly stopped at about 70 yards, blocked by numerous trees. All that was visible were his legs as they slowly walked away. Replaying the event in my mind, I tried to determine if the arrow had connected. From my elevated position, I began a visual search for the yellow fletch which ended up showing itself protruding from the base of a small tree beyond where the buck had stood. After climbing down and retrieving the arrow, I saw that there was no blood to be found. Thinking that the buck had evaded the projectile before it reached him, I knew it was just as probable that my arrow had missed by my own lack of judgment. Either way, there was no deer.

Two more weeks went by and my vacation from work began. A few days prior I had felt a sore throat start to develop and was totally disgusted by the possibility of coming down with something. By Monday, the sore throat had developed into a cough which I tried in misery to muffle while in the stand. Hunting the ravine where the missed shot had taken place proved difficult due to unfavorable prevailing winds. Finally, a drop in temperature, along with a change in wind direction, was forecasted for Thursday and that morning I found myself back in the saddle again. The temperature was in the 20’s – the coldest morning of the week. Still struggling to overcome my cough, I pulled insulated bibs on over my felt-lined packboots, zipped up my coat and crawled up the ladder. It seemed to take an eternity for first light to appear and, even with all the gear, a little chill soaked in from the wait. Not long after light, movement ahead caught my eye and a rush of excitement hit when a big buck appeared. With his nose to the ground, the buck walked directly towards me. It was the same buck I had missed two weeks before! He turned and headed directly for the lane I had haphazardly let him pass through on our first encounter. Again faced with a long shot, I drew slowly while he walked into the opening. As before, I made the shot and watched the arrow arc perfectly towards the deer. This time I could plainly see it bury in his chest cavity. The buck exploded and charged back hard from where he had come, effortlessly climbing the steep incline out of the ravine and then disappearing from sight. In disbelief of what had just happened, a feeling of exhilaration flooded over me.

I was thankful for two-way radios so that I could make contact with my dad who was in a stand a good distance away. The two of us later picked up the blood trail which initially looked good in the bottom of the ravine, but became less evident in the tall grass of the pasture above. The blood trail eventually dwindled down to pinhead-size drops which forced us to a difficult hands and knees search. I began to second guess my arrow placement and started to lose hope. Continuing the search, my dad decided to walk ahead in the general line the buck seemed to be traveling. He hadn’t been gone five minutes when the sweet words rang out, “I just found your deer!” I don’t remember covering the distance between us, but surely some type of land speed record was broken getting there. A rush of emotions came over me when I lifted the big rack from the ground. I couldn’t believe the large, abnormal beam and tines growing above his right eye that had gone unnoticed. Counting his points, eighteen in all, I thanked God for the opportunity to take such an awesome buck with a longbow.

Physical and emotional exhaustion hit as we drove home, as well as a great sense of accomplishment with what I had just done. The year of 2006 marked my 21st year bowhunting, and I couldn’t imagine it getting any better.