The Bowhunt

[Ed Ashby]

#7219

The Bowhunt
by
The Old Derelict Bowhunter

Each hunting season he doth start,
with joy of spirit, soul and heart.
Eager and quick, the hunter departs,
his skills to test with bow and darts.

O’re hill and forest of gum and of pine,
he’ll search all cover of every kind.
This year a trophy he’s sure he’ll find.
A giant of his species; one of a kind.
“Alone I will hunt him, forsaking my mate.
I’ll hunt him and take him by skill and not fate.”

Many long hours on targets spent,
to perfect the flight of each arrow sent.
Each arrowhead’s metal he’s carefully rent,
every edge is distinct, and no arrow is bent.
His bow’s now dressed in all somber hues,
that matches his coat, his hat and his shoes.

This time he’s armed with all of the clues.
This year he’ll make all the big news.
His stipend this year on printed page spent.
His budget now busted, every cent.
Long hours he read for answers so clear,
’till finally he knew how to find Deer.

* * *

“No more my name I’ll miss when Honors they do call.
For now I shall return with trophy; hide and all.
All my mate’s scolding surely they’ll stall
when greatest of trophies to my arrow does fall.”

* * *

Appointed time and appointed place,
all the mates gather to take up the chase.
Composure complete, not one single ripple,
our hunter shall kill and not just cripple.
How glad now he read all tricks of the trade,
for soon a fine trophy will meet his keen blade.

Wind in his face and sun to his back,
quietly the hunter follows the track.
Ahead is the trophy, unknowing his cause.
Advances the hunter on kitten like paws.
Wonder of wonders, his eyes they do see,
the finest of trophies, near a small tree!

On moves the hunter, “Follow the plan,
get ever so close if only you can.”
With gap now gone and hope so high,
how steady his hand as now he draws nigh.

Bow now drawn on the biggest of clan,
“Take a deep breath and stay with the plan.”
With practiced ease a spot he’s now chose.
With hardly a thought the fingers unclose.

* * *

The arrow’s but a flash, its path so sure he knows.
Alert and yet secure, the beast but strikes a pose.
With a mighty thundering whack the arrow it flies home.
“But just one single thing could make just such a tone.
The arrow just I fired has surely broke a bone.
Now the sign I shall find on grass and stick and stone.”

* * *

As told by the book he moves not quick,
“No cause to flee to bush that’s thick.
Time I’ll let pass so arrow can work,
for in should I dash my trophy might shirk.”

To pass by the time he thinks of thrills,
as mates do chime his hunting skills.
“Success,” he decrees, “depends not on fate.
All will now know, even my mate.”

With swelling pride the hunter crows,
“There’s yet one more”, and this he knows.
“This other thing, which surely I show:
I’m very, very good with arrow and bow.
All was done right, it was a good shot.
I drew and I fired at just the right spot.”

“Of this one already chops I do taste.
In my very own sauce they’ll soak and they’ll baste.
How my den wall this trophy will grace.
To see it they’ll come from all over the place.”

* * *

There’s joy in his heart, that’s bursting with pride,
matched by butterflies and shake in his stride.
With quake in the knee he moves to the spot,
knowing for sure he’s made a good shot.

At the scene of the deed he searches around,
but nothing he sees, only bare ground.
Then down the same trail the trophy did pound.
Yet still no sign at all could be found.
“It’s certain, I heard it, my arrow hit home.
Of this there’s no doubt, he’s dead as a stone.
He’s down in the bush, awaiting my knife.
Where I sent arrow, he’s given up life.”

“Somewhere the trail I surely did miss,
but the books I have read prepared me for this.
Back to the start I’ve only to go,
which way he went small clues will show.”

Back to start, on knee and on hand.
“Here I should find it, but empty the land!
Here is no sign, yet how can this be?
Wherever I look no arrow I see.”

* * *

“This is surely not the spot on which my trophy stood,
so where I came from when I shot must not have been so good.
So back I’ll go from where I came to seek the very spot.
From there I’ll find just where he stood and took my deadly shot.”

With steady tread he finds his way to the very place,
then suddenly a deathly pause, all color leaves his face.
Mighty though the hunter be this night will hold no glee,
for when he reaches back his camp no hero will they see.

Weak of knee, with hand to head,
the hunter’s face now full of dread.
How his mates, all chiming once,
will tell the world he’s but a dunce.

* * *

So perfect was his stalk, applying all he knew.
So perfect was his poise, when once his arrow flew.
So nearby was the shot, how did he fail to see?
Behold his mighty arrow – in the little tree.

Copyright 1996, Dr. Ed Ashby
All Rights Reaseves

[WICanner]

#59452

Thanks for reminding me of an early miss from a treestand, and of all the thoughts that I had when starting out bowhunting. I was undone by a small branch 8 ft up, between me and a buck in ’77. I was so sure that I hit him, as I heard the crack of the arrow, but could not find it, nor blood, nor hair; until I looked up. Talk about twisting up your guts. That would have been my first traditional kill. Instead, it was my first miss. Those little trees can be as tough as a rib bone. Really sound like them too.:?

[wildschwein]

#59592

That was great Dr Ashby! Thanks for sharing.

[Troy Breeding]

#59982

Will your talent never sease to amaze us?

Troy

[FUBAR]

#60215

lol, good one. Unfortunately, its so true

[Troy Breeding]

#60475

I showed the poem to my wife (Debbie). She knows Ed and see’s every e-mail we send each other since she get the same e-mail on her blackberry. After reading it she busted out laughing:D….. Only Ed could make her laugh that much…:lol:

Troy

[Brennan Herr]

#61283

Doc,
Thats a great piece of writing…I have yet to kill a tree with my bow, but I have probably kill 1000s of them hunting ruffed grouse 😳

[Ed Ashby]

#61304

The inspiration for “The Bowhunt” comes from my older brother. Years ago he bowhunted with me a bit, but has never taken a large animal with an arrow. However, he did make a perfect shot on a small, about 1 1/2 inch diameter, tree when shooting at a deer.

To his credit my brother did make one of the most fantastic shots I know of with his longbow. While he was deer hunting from a tree stand a deer ran by, being chased by a coyote. The range was long; 40 yards or so, so he tried a shot at the running coyote. He didn’t kill the coyote but, shooting a single-blade broadhead, he severed the coyote’s tail right at its origin, with near surgical precision. He proudly returned to camp with the ‘trophy tail’ and (typically) boasted about what skill it took to hit such a small, moving target at that range! 🙄

Ed

[WICanner]

#61369

Severed the tail of a coyote. Wow, there is inspiration for another poem! Dogs hold their tails in the highest regard, imagine what that coyote is thinking. 😆

[SteveMcD]

#62392

Loved it! 8)

[Author]

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