Arrow straight

Unconventional hunt results in first archery success

The author killed his first deer with a crossbow Thursday on a small parcel of private property in Benton County.
The author killed his first deer with a crossbow Thursday on a small parcel of private property in Benton County.

SOUTHERN BENTON COUNTY -- I've never had a deer hunt quite like the one I had Thursday.

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After years of futility, the author proudly attached a tag to his first archery kill Thursday in Benton County.

The story began two years ago with a remarkable email from a woman who introduced herself like this: "I don't like hunting, and I don't like guns ..."

You can guess what followed, but you'd be mistaken.

She said she once delighted in seeing the deer that inhabit her property near Rogers, especially the fawns. Then they ate all of her ornamental landscaping. Now she doesn't like them as much.

"I don't like hunting, and I don't like guns, but I enjoy reading your column," she wrote. "You are welcome to bring your crossbow on my property and kill all the deer you can. I don't want to see it. I don't want to hear about it, but I need relief. Please help!"

Thus began a most remarkable friendship that blossomed after a slight hiccup.

The lady's husband did not approve of this at all, and she rescinded the invitation at his insistence.

I thanked her for being open-minded, for considering hunting a solution to her problem, and mostly for reading my column.

A year later, she was back.

"My dear, sweet husband has finally come around to my way of thinking," she wrote.

Their situation exemplifies the tenuous relationship between suburban property owners and wildlife. It occurs in the suburbs of Washington, D.C., St. Louis, Kansas City and Little Rock. The most progressive of these communities have embraced controlled archery hunting as a solution to suburban deer populations, and it is successful.

My friend's 6-acre property is in a heavily wooded area. Natural forage is limited to acorns in the fall and understory browse in the spring, summer and winter, but homeowners improve forage by planting ornamentals and vegetable gardens. Some also distribute corn to concentrate deer for viewing.

The property is on the crest of a bluff, and it slopes gently down a hollow. The house sits at the edge of the bluff. The area north of the house is thickly wooded. The area south of the house is open.

There are two large wood piles. One is at the edge of the bluff, and one in the center of the opening. A large brushpile and a charcoal grill bracket the latter wood pile, forming a small apse.

Last year, I hunted between two boat trailers in the wooded portion and missed a mature 8-point buck.

This year, the deer appear more often in the open area. Three does and two fawns were there when I arrived Tuesday, and they allowed me to approach unarmed to within 40 yards.

Unfortunately, the wood piles offered the only chance for concealment.

Deer on the south side always hug the woodline to the west, which means they probably approach from the hollow. However, there is a bedding area on a small bench on the other side of the bluff crest, and also a distinct game trail in the scree. If deer approach from that direction, the bluffline wood pile is the better place to wait. It's tall enough to obscure me from behind, and it offers a clear, short shot to both sides.

The other pile is lower, so my head would be exposed. On the other hand, it's only 25 yards from the wood line. Any deer skirting the edge is in range. I gambled that deer would approach from that direction.

My crossbow -- an 11-year old Horton Hunter Max 150 -- is obsolete. It's wide, long, heavy and cumbersome, but it's accurate.

I replaced the original Horton scope with a Bushnell Crossbow 2-7X variable with a DOA rangefinding reticle. With 125-grain tips, the crosshairs center at 10 yards. The second reticle is 15 yards, and the third is at 20 yards. The fourth and fifth wires are at 25 and 30 yards.

My hosts live in Fayetteville. They left me a key and invited me to make myself at home, but such plush lodgings are not conducive to rising at dawn to hunt deer. I parked my Little Guy teardrop camper in their driveway, but I could not resist their shower and coffee maker.

It rained hard all day Wednesday. Dawn broke Thursday with a hard, misty wind.

I rose in the dark, brewed a pot of coffee and doused my pants and socks in bug spray in hopes of warding off an overabundance of chiggers.

I set the back of my ground chair against the tallest part of the wood pile, with the brush pile shielding my right. I put on camouflage gloves, cap and face net, and persimmon colored shades to brighten the soft morning light. Then I shrouded myself in my camo gillie poncho.

At 7:58 a.m., a doe appeared at the edge of the clearing. The wind blew straight at her, and she froze at my scent. Her head rose like a periscope. Ears erect, she fronted me and skewered me with her gaze.

She tensed to bolt a couple of times, but my stony visage did not trigger her flight mechanism. She raised her right leg repeatedly, but she didn't stomp. She took a couple of steps into the clear, but she still fronted me. I had no shot.

The front of the crossbow rested on a monopod. That took some pressure off my arms, but I was twisted and scrunched over in a very awkward position. I resisted hyperventilating, but my muscles burned. I wanted so badly to adjust my posture, but I didn't dare.

The doe stared at me for 12 minutes until something to her left distracted her. Whatever it was seemed to calm the doe. She glanced at me one last time, took three steps toward me and turned broadside at 22 yards.

I centered the proper reticle, and at 8:10 a.m., I squeezed the trigger. The string leased the bolt with a twangy "thunk." I watched the illuminated green nock streak to the deer like a tracer. I heard a crack. The doe belted out a grunt and bounded down the hill.

The illuminated arrow was easy to find, and it was coated with blood and hair. I went inside, drank two cups of coffee and read the day's news on my smartphone.

I returned and found the doe's peel-out marks in the leaves and dirt. I found blood nearby, and it formed a bright trail. I followed it about 50 yards and saw the doe's white belly amid some brush. She did not leave the property.

That was a textbook conclusion to a tight-quarters hunt, but I was even more excited because it was my first crossbow kill.

My hosts were delighted and treated me to a celebratory feast and a rich evening of fellowship.

It's nice to have such a fine place to hunt, and even nicer to accomplish an elusive goal, but my friendship with these wonderful folks is the biggest reward of all.

Sports on 10/16/2016

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