Stepping out into the chilly predawn darkness from the cozy warmth of the cabin instantly shifted my hunter’s senses into high gear. It was the greatest morning of all… opening day of bow season for Nova Scotia’s whitetails. The velvety still darkness engulfed me as I stepped off the doorstep and into the blackness. While my vision was severely handicapped, I felt as though my hearing and maybe even my sense of smells was heightened. From way down the river valley towards the cornfields I heard a small pack of coyotes serenading the night farewell. I realized I wasn’t the only predator prowling this game rich valley on that morning. I couldn’t help but wonder how their hunting had been. Had they been successful? How would my hunting go? Would I be successful? I reached the end of the dew soaked field. With light coming quickly I had a decision to make. Should I head to the east, where my carefully hung tree stand awaited me over a well used deer trail? Or should I head west, up and over the hardwood hill for parts undecided for some spot n stalk hunting? I knew the odds were better tipped in my recurve’s favour if I took the stand option. The shot would be less than 15 yards if all went according to plan. The deer would most likely be unaware of my presence 15 feet above them as they meandered to their daytime hangouts. For some reason though, I was feeling nomadic. Before long the still hunter in me won the battle and I turned away from the stand and I began the ascent up the hill. I silently made my way to a spot where I had taken numerous deer in the past while waiting for a little more light to filter through the overhead canopy. I was entertained as a big Ruffed Grouse fed nearby. A small flock of geese flew overhead at treetop level. It was turning into a great morning already and it had barely begun. For the next couple hours I just picked my way slowly and methodically from tree to tree. Stopping often to lean against one and dissect any nearby cover. Often times only moving my eyes. Before too long I had reached the top. The view of the valley below me was just the proverbial icing on the cake for making the long lingering walk to the top. Looking down I could easily see the patch of woods where my tree stand was hung. From up high it looked like an even better location to ambush an unsuspecting deer. To the right was a cornfield. To the left was a big green field. The back side was bordering the picturesque St. Mary’s River. The deer often left the cornfield right at light and passed near the stand. I began to question my choice of ways to spend the season opener. It was too late to hit the stand now so I opted to press on, careful not to get careless and simply start walking rather then hunting. I willed myself to go slow. Stop often. Listen always. Pay attention to the wind. And so it went, tree to tree. A dozen yards and stop. The farther I went, the less deer sign I encountered. I trudged on and found myself nearly out to the cranberry bogs that inhibit this part of the countryside. All that was between me and the bogs was a large cutover that was at the end of a nearby road system from a recent forestry operation. Rather than cut across it I decided to walk its perimeter just inside the woods line. Deer are creatures of the edges and I feared if I simply walked out in the open I would spook them and ruin any chance of getting within bow range. As is often the case, this took much longer than I anticipated. When I was about half way around the huge cutover, with sweat rolling off me like Niagara Falls, I sat down on a big stump from the logging operation of 5 or 6 years previous. The clear cloudless sky was as blue as only a fall sky can be. It felt good to take a load of my feet, drop my pack, cool off and enjoy the view before me. Checking my watch, I soon had to make a decision. If I didn’t head back down soon I might as well stay here and hunt the rest of the afternoon. If I delayed hiking out much longer, I wouldn’t be down in time to head anywhere else for the afternoon hunt. The lack of sign coupled with the fact I had prescouted and carefully hung stand(s) waiting for me to hunt one of them down closer to my cabin made me shoulder my pack and begin the trek off the hill towards the valley floor. I hadn’t gone very far when I spotted movement out in the clearing. I instinctively dropped to one knee. Perhaps 200 yards out I could see two bucks squaring off against each other. While it wasn’t a full fledged testosterone enraged battle I could easily hear the clacking of antler against antler even from that far in the still thin autumn air. I slid my pack off with as little commotion as possible and dug for my binoculars. Upon focussing them on the two bucks two things became quickly apparent. 1) They were not huge bucks but either one would make a nice trophy with a recurve bow. They both appeared to be nice 8 pointers. 2) They were so engaged with each other a stalk to within trad bow range just might be possible with a hefty dose of luck and patience. At first I wasn’t sure what to do. They were just squaring off in about a 20 yard circle. After a while I figured I could either wait them out or try and get closer while they were preoccupied. I choose the later. My first mission was to close the distance and go from there. It wasn’t much of a plan but I pushed my bow ahead of me and crawled on all fours behind it. Not daring to look up for fear of being busted, dutifully I kept my head down and repeated the process over and over. Push bow ahead. Crawl. Repeat. After about 100 yards of crawling I had a small knoll in front of me that offered some cover. I had no idea if the bucks were even still in front of me. If they were still where I had seen them last I estimated they would be about 75 yards out from the little knoll I was crouched behind. Slowly I got to my knees and peeked over. Holy! They were right in front of me at maybe 20 yards and still nose to nose. I had either underestimated how far I crawled or the sparring bucks had moved towards my direction. Without hesitation I pulled a cedar arrow from the bow quiver and nocked it. In one deliberate motion I began drawing the bow and rising into a shooting position as smoothly as my heightened heart rate would permit. Oddly, I was a little surprised they were both still there, their only concern being each other. Either one offered me a broadside shot. I frantically scanned their headgear looking for the bigger one. All the while my brain was screaming just pick one and shoot before they bust you! The draw was as smooth as silk. The instant my finger anchored to the corner of my mouth I let the string slip. The bow was dead solid in my hand upon release. The broadhead tipped cedar arrow flew true and buried deep. The hit buck spun to his right and sped away. The remaining buck stood momentarily looking slightly confused. I had to wonder if he thought he somehow won the stand off. Slightly thrown off or not, he didn’t stand long before making tracks. I switched my eyes to the buck I drew on just in time to see him quite literally disappear. The only explanation I could muster was that he must have gone down. There was no way he could have gotten out of that chopping without me seeing him. Nevertheless I looked at my watch and elected to wait the mandatory 30 minutes. I walked back to gather my backpack and have a granola bar to help kill the seemingly long wait. I may have made it to about the 20 minute mark before the combination of seeing the arrow hit and the deer just disappearing before my eyes had me on the trail. I found blood right away. Good blood. Another 20 yards and I found my arrow. Perhaps 30 yards beyond that lay my buck. I approached to about 15 yards with an arrow nocked but was apparent it wouldn’t be needed. After completing the field dressing and tagging requirements I began to realize I had just spot and stalked a nice whitetail buck with my recurve bow. Some days are diamonds they say. Without a doubt this day was one. That in it made the long tough drag that lay ahead seems somewhat less daunting. I had plenty of daylight ahead of me. The buck would be out and hanging in the meat shed long before sundown. I grabbed an antler and headed down towards the valley floor with a crisp autumn wind at my back on a beautiful fall afternoon. Diamond day indeed! At that precise moment, I actually felt bad for those who never get to experience the satisfaction of being a hunter
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