My hope is this - that in each bow hunter's career there is a cusp of knowledge before wisdom. Or maybe I'm a dumbass. Expect a Tardish comment right about....NOW! Anyway, I started the 2002 bow season with great expectations. I had my own Hoosier heartland to hunt, two successful seasons under my belt, a brand new Scent Blocker Plus camo suit, and a finely honed deer dementia. What could stand in my way?

Me. Barney, Mr. McGabbagoo and I set five or six stands in various funnels and likely ambush spots. Opening weekend whispered that the ideal camping spot was a hill with a sweeping view of the CRP field and far off tree lines that composed our hunting grounds. When the alarm went off at 4:30 Barney and I left the tent to get dressed and eat some breakfast. As we sat in our portable chairs talking over strategies, a deer blew in the darkness about 10 yards from us. Then another deer blew 15 yards away and then one at 20 and then 30, 40, 50, 60, 70, 80. Yep, there's nothing like sleeping in the same field as the deer you intend to hunt to make yourself invisible.

Barney and I decided that deer camp should be relocated. We left in the dark and snuck off to our stands. Mr. McGabbagoo was still rustling around in the tent perfecting his own sublime state of tardiness. I made it to stand without incident and settled in for what the day held. It held, at first light, Mr. McGabbagoo walking down the ATV path right towards my stand! "What are you doing!" I whispered. "Which stand am I supposed to go to?" "We talked about this last night! The ladder stand by the path to the north lake! Cut across the in the middle of the field."

"I left my hunting arrow things at home!" Mr. McGabbagoo said, clearly frustrated. "You mean...broadheads?" "Yeah give me some of yours." "I can't. Mine are regular broadheads, you have to tune your bow for them, you bought expanding heads like Barney." No reply. "Go get some hunter things from Barney." "OK, see ya." Off he went to see Barney.

Several minutes later he returned, waving as he passed. I gave him "the nod". Mr. McGabbagoo headed back to deer camp to retrieve his bow only to return in a half hour, beer in one hand and bow in the other, looking miffed at the oversized rubber boots I had helped him pick out. He was not, however, cutting across the field as requested but heading straight for my location, again. "Where do I go?" "To yooouuuurrrr stand" Silence. "That way." I pointed.

I looked at my watch - 9:30. Keep smilin' keeeeeep smilin'. At least I had a good view of the field from 12' up. While I looked dolefully at the field a flick caught my eye. In a slight ripple of the gentle slope of the field not five yards from the ATV path my neophyte, repetitious friend had just sauntered by four times an ear flagged, then two. How can so few photons focus and free your mind of the world and transform you again after a year forgotten? And as that doe peeped her eyes above the hillock like a living periscope my heart leapt to the chase. Once, twice and then a disembodied head. Her confidence restored, she investigated the ATV path. A few quick sniffs and then she began to browse, showing no concern at all as she made her way to me.

She veered wide of my stand at about 40 yards and disappeared behind a tree. I nocked my Easton xx78, hooked my release to the string and put on my game face. When next I saw her she raced across the firing lane before I could even start to draw. Then, like all the mysteries of this world, she slowed right back to her earlier pace without any discernible reason except a sixth sense, perhaps. But no flicking tail or stiff walk belied nervousness. She went wide of the second firing lane and parked it about 20 yards out. Her vitals were exposed through three or four sets of branches and one tree crotch so I drew. I set my 20 on her chest and repeated my silent mantra, "dead deer, dead deer, dead deer" then "THWACK" the bow fired itself.

I watched as the arrow slowly made its syrupy way through the blurry tunnel of woods and deer and leaves. I watched as it zipped over the top of , was I right?, a twisting and leaping and turning deer? And so I had missed my first deer of the year. But I was excited. A shot on first day? Alrighty! The arrow must have deflected.

Next weekend it was a bigger doe from the same stand at 30 yards. I stopped her with a low mouth bleat and just plain flubbed the shot. Zinged it right in front of her. A couple of no sighting stands later the frustration led to a change in technique. I tried a little still hunting out in the scrub. I moved quietly along ATV paths until I came to a good looking ambush. I got off trail disappeared behind a bush and watched. When the wind changed I through in the towel for the day and began to leave. There on the main trail was A nice 8 pointer startled by the movement. I froze because I still had an arrow nocked. He looked at me but couldn't quite identify me. After a few minutes of stalemate he began to browse towards me.

Every few steps he would look up quickly as if he were playing 'gotcha?'. I wondered that he would continue to advance towards me. When he looked away I moved closer to a firing position evading looking directly at him. After a quarter hour of this game the buck was within 31-32 yards and all I had to do was draw. For the first time since I had taking up this calling I felt genuine fear. I debated the wisdom, probability, and ethics of a neck shot. Easy decision. The wind changed. The buck blew. Head back to the car tough guy. On the way back to my car a huge doe presented a perfect side shot. Two problems - 45 yards and almost no light. "To hell with ethics" I thought. And with the mighty cry of "TRAJECTORY!" I let loose. Clean miss. Short.

Number four...ah number four. You big beautiful buck. Eight points he had and heavy thick beams. I was on Barney's ladder stand overlooking the finger of a forgotten alfalfa field. When he came from an unexpected direction I jerked my head around and he flared only to return to the sultry sounds of a doe in heat can. He posed for me in the field, head turned as he looked in the opposite direction. I went to draw and the Velcro from the hood's flap on my new carbonized jacket ripped the silence. I exhaled slowly to regain my composure and squeezed off the shot as the buck looked for the source of the unfamiliar sound.

It was a perfect shot. I watched as it flew right to where my pin had been pointed almost completely still through the whole shot. That big beautiful buck dropped till his belly hit the ground. The arrow? I'll swear till my dying day that it sliced off at least one hair from his back. I went home depressed by number four. I had thought of holding low but it just seamed so unnatural.

Number Five was another doe. She came up from behind and presented only the top of her kill zone for the shot. You got it - she jumped the string too. When gun season came around I figured I had a darn good chance since they can't dodge bullets. At least not until the world is taken over by computers and deer become Duracells. I got my chance early around 8:30 in the morning when a six pointer chased a doe into my vicinity. When the doe ditched him he wandered within 40 yards and presented a nice side shot. I did the old mouth grunt and pulled the trigger. "Pop" the cap on the Knight muzzle loader went off but not the gun for, you see, in my hurry to get on stand I had not shot the recommended two caps through the gun first.

So what did these six deer teach me? First, I should stop being a hypocrite and listen to my own advice - to whit, be prepared. I've added practicing drawing to my just on stand rituals. Second, they really do jump the string. The trick is that the jumping depends on how far away they are (closer more reaction to the sound), how loud your bow is, and how distracted the quarry is. I've now spent a lot of time watching DVD's and video tapes in slow motion to see the deer react to the shots. My solution? A new Mathews bow to replace my low end & loud competing brand. I've listened to it being shot and it sends arrows out like a whisper. Thirdly, hunting can not be rushed - do it right or not at all. Forth, and most important, ethics should be a calling too, the deer deserves a good and quick death. I'll have to overcome my excitement and desire and start taking only in range and fully exposed kill shots.

So, did I ever get a deer? Well...that's another story.