While watching Mossy Oak Full Frame last night some young guy on stand sitting over a biological plot with corn out also, Said: Hunting all about the Waiting game. WHAT !
Something is defiantly going wrong with these young upstart TV hunters these days that all they do to publish a show is go sit on a plot of some farmer and have corn spead out for them and then sit all day and call it hunting. I do allot of hunting like that in back yards but it's not hunting it's management.
I grew up hunting where we stalked and stalked and did more stalking a sort of play of the old movie "The Deer Hunter" Around the suburbs you don't get to hunt that way much any more unless you hunt some big farms of public land where you can stalk.
So what is your idea of what Hunting is all about ?
What is bowhunting to U
Moderator: Excalibur Marketing Dude
-
dick195252
- Posts: 3084
- Joined: Sat Aug 04, 2007 1:57 am
- Location: McEwen Tennessee
Hunting to me is sitting in my tree stand on a 35 to 40 degree morning in October watching the sun break the top of the horizon. hearing a scurry in the leaves and looking to see a squirrel romping around. and then just waiting, enjoying the clean air, the birds whisteling, no stress, nothing on your mind except how Grand life can be. If that Big Buck arrives thats fine if not It is still a blessing to be in Gods country to enjoy. I love Retirement 
Exomax, Lumizone, Boo String, NRA, ACf, Member, [Proud Grandpa!!!]
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rt2bowhunter
- Posts: 617
- Joined: Mon Dec 22, 2008 6:28 am
- Location: Wv
I hunt yesterday morning i went scouting back in the woods. And saw a nice buck slipping down over the hill. I looked for oaks, trails, found a nice place to set up (on the ground). I look for bottle necks White oaks and i move a lot. I have hunted this way for 30+ years. Tree stand, ground blinds mostly limbs and sticks to break up my out line. I Still hunt but we called it slipping before it got its new name. There was a guy told me last year. If they outlaw baiting. A man would have to go rake up some acorns and put them under a tree. I just looked at him didnt know what to say. I have hunted food plots and feeders. And theres nothing wrong with it. I just like hunting the woods going to them.
For me, hunting is what is NOT going on. It's a time when the phone doesn't ring, no dogs barking to be let in or out, no radar up for what my 4 yr old is up to or into, no feeling like I have something more important that needs doing, no other obligations. I can just be in the moment, breathe, listen, watch and enjoy. Pure therapy.
________________
Sent from a mobile device - So spelling and grammar may be questionable!
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"Team DryFire"
Vixen, Micro 315, HHA Optimizer, Boo & VixenMaster strings, Munch Mounts, Dr. Stirrup accessories.
Sent from a mobile device - So spelling and grammar may be questionable!
---
"Team DryFire"
Vixen, Micro 315, HHA Optimizer, Boo & VixenMaster strings, Munch Mounts, Dr. Stirrup accessories.
-
Woody Williams
- Posts: 6440
- Joined: Wed Oct 09, 2002 5:07 pm
A magazine artilce I write a LONG time ago..
THE DEFINITION OF A BOWHUNTER
By Woody Williams
Beauty is said to be within the eyes of the beholder. The same thing can be said about defining a bowhunter. A non-hunter, when asked to define a bowhunter, might reply "they are some kind of a fool who climbs up in a tree in zero degree weather to sling sticks at animals." Even a hunter, who has never participated in the sport of bowhunting, will occasionally question the sanity of a bowhunter. Even though the non-bowhunting hunter might not fully understand a bowhunter, they will usually respect the bowhunter's choice in their method of taking game.
I submit to you for a "true" definition of a bowhunter you must ask a bowhunter. No one else on God's green earth can give you a more accurate answer than the person who does it. Ask a bowhunter why they bowhunt and they will tell you:
It's the alarm clock going off at 4:00 am on opening morning after you've spent a restless night of tossing and turning with visions of 10 pointers parading by your stand. It's the crisp night air of autumn as you look skyward at the twinkling stars, knowing that it will be a bright dawn.
Bowhunting is the fellowship as you meet your bowhunting buddies at the local breakfast shop on opening day. It's the kidding about missed shots and tall tales of "the big one" that gave you the slip last year. After the third cup of coffee comes the inevitable question "where're you going to hunt this morning?"
Bowhunting is the sparkle of frost glittering in your flashlight beam as you slowly crunch through new fallen leaves on your way to your morning stand. It's the steamy breath that you exhale and watch drift skyward as you sit on your stand awaiting the dawn. The upward spiral means a breeze is nonexistent and the chances of the deer smelling you are lessened.
Bowhunting is tuning your senses in to nature as the noises of the woods begin. A distant hoot owl calls into the night. It immediately is answered by a closer owl with the familiar "who cooks for you, who cooks for you all-l-l-l." A screech owl cuts out with a blood curdling scream two trees over that almost makes you jump out of your stand.
Bowhunting is seeing the eastern sky lighten as the day begins. The woods begin to awaken as crows begin to call, birds sing, and squirrels begin to move about chasing each other through the leaves. The rustling of leaves gives way to a steady crunch, crunch, crunch sound of approaching deer. Two fawns have come to feed on acorns by your stand; one, a stocky button buck that could some day be your future trophy. Bowhunting is not just hunting, it's also watching and learning. In no other type of hunting can you get as close to nature and learn what makes an animal tick.
Bowhunting is a sense of excitement only a bowhunter would know when he discovers a new buck rub and a fresh breeding scrape within easy arrow range of his bowstand. The smell of buck urine and scent from his glands is a promise that he will be back.
Bowhunting can also be disappointing -- if you let it. It's the 20-yard broadside shot that you blew on a nice 8-pointer. It's the feeling of "OH NO!" as a doe picks out your slow moving hand as you reach for your bow and gives a stamp with her foot. The buck who was following her stops out of range. You watch as she lifts her head and sniffs the breeze picking up your scent. With a snort they both bolt back into the thicket.
It's dropped arrows, creaking blinds, an errant breeze that spooks an approaching deer. It's a glimpse of horns as the buck of your dreams slips by your stand too far to shoot. You do notice that he walks directly under a tree that you had your portable stand in until you decided to move it only this morning. It's the flash of tails as deer bound away as you arrive at your evening stand 15 minutes late. The disappointments are also learning experiences. Believe me, they will make you a better bowhunter.
Bowhunting is knowing there's a mature buck roaming your area and after weeks of hunting, scouting, figuring travel routes, and finding his scrape lines you have finally outwitted him. He has made one of his very few mistakes and you are there to take advantage of it. He is twenty yards quartering away with his attention solely on the branch over his breeding scrape.
As he chews on and rubs his face into the branch, you slowly pull your bow back and settle the 20-yard pin on "the spot". The countless hours of practice with your bow pays off as your arrow strikes true. The razor sharp broadhead does it’s work quickly and within seconds it’s over. Bowhunting is the feeling of exhilaration when you find your trophy; along with a bit of sadness at the sight of a fallen magnificent animal You have met him on his terms, in his home, and you have won.
That's what bowhunting is to a bowhunter. When bowhunting season is here, a bowhunter can think of very little else. It is their pleasure; their escape from the stresses of life. It satisfies a need deep within them.
A bowhunter need not feel any shame for being a bowhunter, indeed they should take great pride in being called "a bowhunter."
.
THE DEFINITION OF A BOWHUNTER
By Woody Williams
Beauty is said to be within the eyes of the beholder. The same thing can be said about defining a bowhunter. A non-hunter, when asked to define a bowhunter, might reply "they are some kind of a fool who climbs up in a tree in zero degree weather to sling sticks at animals." Even a hunter, who has never participated in the sport of bowhunting, will occasionally question the sanity of a bowhunter. Even though the non-bowhunting hunter might not fully understand a bowhunter, they will usually respect the bowhunter's choice in their method of taking game.
I submit to you for a "true" definition of a bowhunter you must ask a bowhunter. No one else on God's green earth can give you a more accurate answer than the person who does it. Ask a bowhunter why they bowhunt and they will tell you:
It's the alarm clock going off at 4:00 am on opening morning after you've spent a restless night of tossing and turning with visions of 10 pointers parading by your stand. It's the crisp night air of autumn as you look skyward at the twinkling stars, knowing that it will be a bright dawn.
Bowhunting is the fellowship as you meet your bowhunting buddies at the local breakfast shop on opening day. It's the kidding about missed shots and tall tales of "the big one" that gave you the slip last year. After the third cup of coffee comes the inevitable question "where're you going to hunt this morning?"
Bowhunting is the sparkle of frost glittering in your flashlight beam as you slowly crunch through new fallen leaves on your way to your morning stand. It's the steamy breath that you exhale and watch drift skyward as you sit on your stand awaiting the dawn. The upward spiral means a breeze is nonexistent and the chances of the deer smelling you are lessened.
Bowhunting is tuning your senses in to nature as the noises of the woods begin. A distant hoot owl calls into the night. It immediately is answered by a closer owl with the familiar "who cooks for you, who cooks for you all-l-l-l." A screech owl cuts out with a blood curdling scream two trees over that almost makes you jump out of your stand.
Bowhunting is seeing the eastern sky lighten as the day begins. The woods begin to awaken as crows begin to call, birds sing, and squirrels begin to move about chasing each other through the leaves. The rustling of leaves gives way to a steady crunch, crunch, crunch sound of approaching deer. Two fawns have come to feed on acorns by your stand; one, a stocky button buck that could some day be your future trophy. Bowhunting is not just hunting, it's also watching and learning. In no other type of hunting can you get as close to nature and learn what makes an animal tick.
Bowhunting is a sense of excitement only a bowhunter would know when he discovers a new buck rub and a fresh breeding scrape within easy arrow range of his bowstand. The smell of buck urine and scent from his glands is a promise that he will be back.
Bowhunting can also be disappointing -- if you let it. It's the 20-yard broadside shot that you blew on a nice 8-pointer. It's the feeling of "OH NO!" as a doe picks out your slow moving hand as you reach for your bow and gives a stamp with her foot. The buck who was following her stops out of range. You watch as she lifts her head and sniffs the breeze picking up your scent. With a snort they both bolt back into the thicket.
It's dropped arrows, creaking blinds, an errant breeze that spooks an approaching deer. It's a glimpse of horns as the buck of your dreams slips by your stand too far to shoot. You do notice that he walks directly under a tree that you had your portable stand in until you decided to move it only this morning. It's the flash of tails as deer bound away as you arrive at your evening stand 15 minutes late. The disappointments are also learning experiences. Believe me, they will make you a better bowhunter.
Bowhunting is knowing there's a mature buck roaming your area and after weeks of hunting, scouting, figuring travel routes, and finding his scrape lines you have finally outwitted him. He has made one of his very few mistakes and you are there to take advantage of it. He is twenty yards quartering away with his attention solely on the branch over his breeding scrape.
As he chews on and rubs his face into the branch, you slowly pull your bow back and settle the 20-yard pin on "the spot". The countless hours of practice with your bow pays off as your arrow strikes true. The razor sharp broadhead does it’s work quickly and within seconds it’s over. Bowhunting is the feeling of exhilaration when you find your trophy; along with a bit of sadness at the sight of a fallen magnificent animal You have met him on his terms, in his home, and you have won.
That's what bowhunting is to a bowhunter. When bowhunting season is here, a bowhunter can think of very little else. It is their pleasure; their escape from the stresses of life. It satisfies a need deep within them.
A bowhunter need not feel any shame for being a bowhunter, indeed they should take great pride in being called "a bowhunter."
.
Woody Williams
We have met the enemy and he is us - Pogo Possum
Hunting in Indiana at [size=84][color=Red][b][url=http://huntingindiana.proboards52.com]HUNT-INDIANA[/url][/b][/color][/size]
We have met the enemy and he is us - Pogo Possum
Hunting in Indiana at [size=84][color=Red][b][url=http://huntingindiana.proboards52.com]HUNT-INDIANA[/url][/b][/color][/size]
Bowhunting to me means all that Woody, rt2bowhunter and especially what Dick has said. I can't word it any better than they did. This year will be very special to me because I retired in December. I'll be able to hunt on my terms and when I want. No more working 6, and 7 days a week and missing out on woods time. I'll strap my DSLR around my neck and get my own kind of enjoyment and bring back my own kind of trophy. Who cares if I shoot something, I'll only have to drag it out and clean it....Oh, of course I'll shoot something, but only when I see fit.....I feel very blessed to be healthy and I thank God for all.
Dale
Ibex
Lumizone
Dan Miller mount
Ibex
Lumizone
Dan Miller mount
Someone much wiser than I wrote:
I went to Church this morning
The church I attended wasn't awash in religious rituals. My seat wasn't a polished wood pew and there were no hymnals or bibles at the church I attended. Nevertheless, the spirit of God enveloped me. I could feel His presence.
I go to church early this time of year. This Sunday morning was not all that different than other Sunday mornings. I was greeted by the pre-dawn moon and stars. Silent night. All is calm. The moon lighted my way to my seat. As I sat quietly in the dark morning allowing the cold breeze to wash my face, the pink hint of a new day filled the sky. No artist could paint the canvas I witnessed this morning-or any other sunrise or sunset. It was as if God was gave me a front row seat to watch the rebirth of a new day. It was spectacular.
The steeples of my church are not straight. There no crosses atop them and they bend in the wind. But the steeples in my church still arch towards the sky, as if to pay homage to their creator. They are prettier than any man-made church steeple. I feel at home in their perch.
Though I was the only person in my church, the spirit of fellowship was strong. The choir was wonderful as usual. I was serenaded to any number of beautiful songs by the birds who signaled the arrival of dawn. I closed my eyes and let them sing their songs to me. I smiled. How Great Thou Art.
As the dawn's light opened my sanctuary to my tired, old eyes, I slowly and quietly turned my head to and fro to see what other of God's creatures was in my sanctuary. The gray body of a whitetail deer materialized out of the fog seventy yards in front of me and then disappeared back into the sanctuary. Squirrels chattered. The distant sound of ducks added to the splendor. I thanked God for being alive to witness the beauty of His creatures, both great and small.
Dead leaves quietly drifted to the forest floor. As I watched individual leaves fall and coat the forest floor with their beautiful shades of yellow, orange and red, I was literally watching God's natural cycle of the Fall take place in front of me. If you haven't sat quietly in the woods and watched thousands of leaves fall lazily to the forest floor, you are missing one of God's most beautiful art shows. Go and watch this and you will thank Him for it.
Even amongst the beauty that surrounded me, my predator extinct was on full alert. That's natural, the way it is supposed to be during this season of harvest. As I slowly turned to see what was behind me, three does cautiously picked their way through the underbrush towards me. They sauntered directly under the tree I was sitting in. It wasn't time to kill. It was time to observe and learn. The time to kill and feed my family is coming soon.
Watching the deer amble by reminded me that I had a special invite to this beautiful sanctuary, which is their home and my Season Of Harvest Church. I can think clearly there, have conversations with God. In this church there is no clutter, no e-mail, no cell phone, no pagers, no one to steal my attention. I'm at peace there. I like to be alone there with just my thoughts and memories and rest and recharge my internal batteries.
In a mere few days, the woods will come alive with activity of buck deer. And I will be there in this sanctuary to bear witness to it-as I should be. To be somewhere else would be against who I am.
Something from deep inside me pulls me to Season of Harvest Church. If you listen closely, you hear the voice of God in the wind as it blows through leaves and the treetops. Enter quietly and be still and you'll be welcomed into the sanctuary where you will witness the beauty that God has created.
I went to Church this morning
The church I attended wasn't awash in religious rituals. My seat wasn't a polished wood pew and there were no hymnals or bibles at the church I attended. Nevertheless, the spirit of God enveloped me. I could feel His presence.
I go to church early this time of year. This Sunday morning was not all that different than other Sunday mornings. I was greeted by the pre-dawn moon and stars. Silent night. All is calm. The moon lighted my way to my seat. As I sat quietly in the dark morning allowing the cold breeze to wash my face, the pink hint of a new day filled the sky. No artist could paint the canvas I witnessed this morning-or any other sunrise or sunset. It was as if God was gave me a front row seat to watch the rebirth of a new day. It was spectacular.
The steeples of my church are not straight. There no crosses atop them and they bend in the wind. But the steeples in my church still arch towards the sky, as if to pay homage to their creator. They are prettier than any man-made church steeple. I feel at home in their perch.
Though I was the only person in my church, the spirit of fellowship was strong. The choir was wonderful as usual. I was serenaded to any number of beautiful songs by the birds who signaled the arrival of dawn. I closed my eyes and let them sing their songs to me. I smiled. How Great Thou Art.
As the dawn's light opened my sanctuary to my tired, old eyes, I slowly and quietly turned my head to and fro to see what other of God's creatures was in my sanctuary. The gray body of a whitetail deer materialized out of the fog seventy yards in front of me and then disappeared back into the sanctuary. Squirrels chattered. The distant sound of ducks added to the splendor. I thanked God for being alive to witness the beauty of His creatures, both great and small.
Dead leaves quietly drifted to the forest floor. As I watched individual leaves fall and coat the forest floor with their beautiful shades of yellow, orange and red, I was literally watching God's natural cycle of the Fall take place in front of me. If you haven't sat quietly in the woods and watched thousands of leaves fall lazily to the forest floor, you are missing one of God's most beautiful art shows. Go and watch this and you will thank Him for it.
Even amongst the beauty that surrounded me, my predator extinct was on full alert. That's natural, the way it is supposed to be during this season of harvest. As I slowly turned to see what was behind me, three does cautiously picked their way through the underbrush towards me. They sauntered directly under the tree I was sitting in. It wasn't time to kill. It was time to observe and learn. The time to kill and feed my family is coming soon.
Watching the deer amble by reminded me that I had a special invite to this beautiful sanctuary, which is their home and my Season Of Harvest Church. I can think clearly there, have conversations with God. In this church there is no clutter, no e-mail, no cell phone, no pagers, no one to steal my attention. I'm at peace there. I like to be alone there with just my thoughts and memories and rest and recharge my internal batteries.
In a mere few days, the woods will come alive with activity of buck deer. And I will be there in this sanctuary to bear witness to it-as I should be. To be somewhere else would be against who I am.
Something from deep inside me pulls me to Season of Harvest Church. If you listen closely, you hear the voice of God in the wind as it blows through leaves and the treetops. Enter quietly and be still and you'll be welcomed into the sanctuary where you will witness the beauty that God has created.
Keep smiling!
Dennis
Dennis
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Chuck Gravel
- Posts: 481
- Joined: Sat Jul 11, 2009 12:01 am
- Location: Lebanon, NJ
bowhunting
what does bowhunting mean to me?.......life!!
it's just a lot easier and better since excalibur came on board; just wished i had started out with a crossbow; would have alot more deer to my credit;
it's just a lot easier and better since excalibur came on board; just wished i had started out with a crossbow; would have alot more deer to my credit;
Hunt hard, respect what you hunt and waste no meat;
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one shot scott
- Posts: 7023
- Joined: Wed Sep 10, 2008 10:20 pm
- Location: Ontariooh ohh
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Doe Master
- Site Admin
- Posts: 4741
- Joined: Sun Jun 25, 2006 7:57 am
- Location: Baden , Ontario
Thank you B-Logger and Woody for both of those reads . I wrote this article in 2001.
On any given day someone at work will ask me if I've had any success in my hunting. I know that what they're really asking me is whether I've filled my freezer with venison, or not. When I tell them that I haven't taken a deer yet, I frequently get one of those smiles that says, "All that time and nothing to show for it. Your nuts".
Success means something different to everyone. If I hunted strictly to put meat on the table, I guess I would be a little nuts. Spending a fraction of that time in some money making endeavor instead of in a tree, would buy far more meat than one deer could offer.
I don't think that I've ever had an unsuccessful hunt. I sat in my stand a couple weeks ago and didn't see one deer, but it was one of the most enjoyable hunts I've ever had.
I climb into my stand and look at my watch. It's 4:30 pm. I look at a dark cloud bank that is unique to an autumn sky. the blue/gray clouds are the perfect backdrop for the autumn collage of greens, yellows, reds and browns. The sun breaks through the clouds and brings out the brilliance of their color, and I realize that what I'm viewing cannot be captured in any photograph. God's own masterpiece is spread out before me.
As the afternoon wears on, the temperatures begin to fall. I sit and listen to a lone frog weakly croak out the season's last song. If not for me, there would be no one to hear him. I close my eyes for a moment to hear him sing. I already anticipate his return in the spring when the "frog song" will be nearly deafening.
From behind me the chickadees announce their arrival with the sound of fluttering wings. How often they have entertained me within arms reach and rescued me from the boredom that sometimes accompanies a long day in the woods.
A smile rests on my face as the chickadees and titmouse orbit my stand. They are so completely unaware of my presents, that their perch alternates between my knee and my arrow. As they migrate toward the swamp that I hunt, I give a quick word of thanks to the Creator for their brief visit.
My stand overlooks Butcher's creek. The quiet babbling of the passing waters is soothing. I am unencumbered by the tasks of the day and all the noise assosiated with it. There's a noticable absence of telephone, television and the hum of machinery. I bask in the stillness of nature.
Darkness begins to overtake the day, and I lower my bow to the ground. As I begin to climb out of my stand, I see two racoons making their way to the water's edge. I linger there for a few minutes to watch them. They bear a striking resemblance to the two bandits I've seen on my front porch, eating the cat's food. For tonight, I'm just content to watch them. We can argue over porch ownership another day.
There's an undeniable chill in the air. My son must have started the woodstove. As the faint smell of chimney smoke reaches me, I think of all the places that I've lived, and I think of how blessed I am to be living out my dream of living in these woods that we've aptly named Journey's End.
So many places I've called home,
but my dreams have led me here
A quiet place with room to roam
among the woodcock and the deer
Where the chimney smoke reaches out to me
like a welcome on the wind
With a promise of warmth and shelter
at every journey's end.
In the gathering darkness, I walk back to the house. My wife asks, "How was hunting?" I smile and tell her that it was good. "Did you see any deer?" she asks. She smiles and shakes her head when I tell her, "Not a one".
[/b][/i]
On any given day someone at work will ask me if I've had any success in my hunting. I know that what they're really asking me is whether I've filled my freezer with venison, or not. When I tell them that I haven't taken a deer yet, I frequently get one of those smiles that says, "All that time and nothing to show for it. Your nuts".
Success means something different to everyone. If I hunted strictly to put meat on the table, I guess I would be a little nuts. Spending a fraction of that time in some money making endeavor instead of in a tree, would buy far more meat than one deer could offer.
I don't think that I've ever had an unsuccessful hunt. I sat in my stand a couple weeks ago and didn't see one deer, but it was one of the most enjoyable hunts I've ever had.
I climb into my stand and look at my watch. It's 4:30 pm. I look at a dark cloud bank that is unique to an autumn sky. the blue/gray clouds are the perfect backdrop for the autumn collage of greens, yellows, reds and browns. The sun breaks through the clouds and brings out the brilliance of their color, and I realize that what I'm viewing cannot be captured in any photograph. God's own masterpiece is spread out before me.
As the afternoon wears on, the temperatures begin to fall. I sit and listen to a lone frog weakly croak out the season's last song. If not for me, there would be no one to hear him. I close my eyes for a moment to hear him sing. I already anticipate his return in the spring when the "frog song" will be nearly deafening.
From behind me the chickadees announce their arrival with the sound of fluttering wings. How often they have entertained me within arms reach and rescued me from the boredom that sometimes accompanies a long day in the woods.
A smile rests on my face as the chickadees and titmouse orbit my stand. They are so completely unaware of my presents, that their perch alternates between my knee and my arrow. As they migrate toward the swamp that I hunt, I give a quick word of thanks to the Creator for their brief visit.
My stand overlooks Butcher's creek. The quiet babbling of the passing waters is soothing. I am unencumbered by the tasks of the day and all the noise assosiated with it. There's a noticable absence of telephone, television and the hum of machinery. I bask in the stillness of nature.
Darkness begins to overtake the day, and I lower my bow to the ground. As I begin to climb out of my stand, I see two racoons making their way to the water's edge. I linger there for a few minutes to watch them. They bear a striking resemblance to the two bandits I've seen on my front porch, eating the cat's food. For tonight, I'm just content to watch them. We can argue over porch ownership another day.
There's an undeniable chill in the air. My son must have started the woodstove. As the faint smell of chimney smoke reaches me, I think of all the places that I've lived, and I think of how blessed I am to be living out my dream of living in these woods that we've aptly named Journey's End.
So many places I've called home,
but my dreams have led me here
A quiet place with room to roam
among the woodcock and the deer
Where the chimney smoke reaches out to me
like a welcome on the wind
With a promise of warmth and shelter
at every journey's end.
In the gathering darkness, I walk back to the house. My wife asks, "How was hunting?" I smile and tell her that it was good. "Did you see any deer?" she asks. She smiles and shakes her head when I tell her, "Not a one".
[/b][/i]