From Boy to Bowhunter

From Boy to Bowhunter
By Denny Sharrone

My wife, Missy, gave birth to our son, Cade, while we were living in Germany as I served in the United States Army. I remember thinking that one day, God willing, we would be bowhunting together. Fourteen years later, I found myself sitting in a ground blind with him on a gorgeous autumn afternoon, trying to fulfill a dream we both shared. Cade was trying to harvest his first deer with a compound bow and I was trying to capture it on camera.

I don’t know if anything in my life has been more frustrating and rewarding as trying to teach my son to shoot a compound bow. Frustrating because archery is such a demanding sport if you want to become proficient. It’s really one of those activities where you sort of take two steps forward and one step back. Just when you think you’ve got your skills down pat, some kind of bad habit tries to rear its ugly head and must be dealt with. Mix that with the impatience of a young man and you’ve got your hands full, for sure. Then, there’s shot placement and woodsmanship skills to teach as well…oh yeah, a young bowhunter has much to learn. The rewarding part comes from hours and hours of practice. Eventually you stop having to look for arrows in your back yard and begin seeing them hit the bull’s-eye in tennis-ball sized groups at twenty, thirty and eventually forty yards. Aaahhh, what a great feeling. It’s deer season and he’s ready.

Our first few hunts this year were filled with the close calls a bowhunter often faces. The deer just take a different trail, stand around just out of range or, worst of all, come within shooting distance but don’t offer a shot. I hate that one. This is where Cade really impressed me the most. He got a chance to draw back on a few deer but wouldn’t shoot because the deer just didn’t give him an ethical shot. That was completely his choice; I didn’t make that decision for him. I was too busy running the camera. I was proud already of him already.

One afternoon we were comfortably hunting from our Tree Saddles when I heard leaves crunching just south of us about sixty yards away. I was expecting to see a deer emerge from the thicket that bordered the oak flat we were hunting. Instead, a coyote appeared and trotted into one of Cade’s shooting lanes at thirty yards. Cade drew back and made a perfect shot. The only problem was the yardage ‘ol dad gave him was wrong, I told him it was twenty-five. Oops. If looks could kill he would presently be using the range finder he would have inherited from me. Sorry, son.

The next morning was crunchy and cool. It was twenty-eight degrees, if I remember correctly. I had to thaw the nozzle of our Doc’s doe urine before we could use any on the brush that surrounded our tree. A few minutes of resting it on a hand warmer inside my pocket and we were in business. We heard deer running through the frosty clover field before daylight shortly after we climbed the tree. Experience told me that we probably wouldn’t see much action until after the sun came up and melted the frost off the clover. Whitetails don’t care much for frozen food. The dew that remains also helps to fulfill their water needs. So we settled in and waited to feel the warmth of the sun on the back of our necks. Around 8:30 a nice eight-pointer stepped into the food plot and cruised the edge, looking for a place to make a scrape. He found one and gave us a nice show by pawing up the dirt and standing up on his hind legs to reach the overhanging branches. We watched him make three scrapes before he eventually headed for the nearby cedars to bed. A few more deer showed themselves, but none came close enough for a shot. Cade and I decided we would climb down and go set up a ground blind near the corner of the field where the deer were coming out. We set up the blind under a small oak that was surrounded by some tall grass. Cade trimmed some holes to shoot through as I cleared the leaves from underfoot. It was a perfect ambush point and we felt confident he would get a shot that night. An hour later our afternoon spot was ready and we headed back to camp for some lunch.

After filling our bellies and taking a nap we headed back to the blind for his afternoon hunt. The wind was perfect. It would send the calming scent of our Doc’s doe urine into the woods telling the rest of the deer all was safe. It wasn’t long before the first deer showed itself. A button buck stepped out and fed past us a mere five yards away. Oh yeah, this was going to work out nicely. As time went by, we soon realized that Cade might have to take a longer shot than we first anticipated. For whatever reason, the deer were using another trail to enter the field about twenty yards farther than the one we were set up on. I’m assuming it was because that’s exactly where our Doc’s scent was drifting into the woods. Man, that stuff works well.

As the shadows started to lengthen on our clover field, a buck ran out into the clover and began feeding. It was the same eight-point we saw that morning. Cade never picked his bow up. This was a doe management hunt we were on and this was a buck we really wanted to see our friend Melissa take with her Horton crossbow anyway. By the way, she did harvest that buck the next week. As the buck munched on the clover, a big doe showed up and began feeding about sixty yards away. This is when we began worrying we would lose shooting light before she closed the distance. The doe seemed to move in slow motion as we waited for a shot. This is also when the gears in my head started turning at high speed. My memories of our practice sessions consumed me. I really wanted the deer within twenty yards. But should I not let him take a forty-yard shot? I watched him make them consistently all summer. He even practiced shooting from his knees in preparation for this ground blind hunt. Cade was excited, but remained focused and in control of himself. I really had no reason not to let him shoot if he felt good about it. The doe stepped a few yards closer and I ranged her right at forty yards.

Yes, I remembered this time. I relayed the distance to him as I watched the action on the screen of my camera. “She’s at forty if you want to take your shot,” I whispered. All I heard from Cade’s direction was the arrow drifting across the rest as he came to full draw. I waited. I knew as soon as his draw time reached the five-second mark he was going to smoke this deer. He wasn’t rushing the shot and was picking a hair on the shoulder. A dull pop broke the dead silence of the blind and I watched the lighted nock soar through the twilight and disappear behind the doe’s shoulder. It was the most surreal moment I have ever experienced. The big doe bolted, but never made it out of the field before expiring. My son and I were overcome with joy. We jumped from the blind and celebrated like we had won the Super Bowl. We hugged, laughed and danced around like a couple of…well, like a father and son who had just created a memory neither would ever forget. Nice shot, kid.