by Forrest Breedlove
After reading all the draw results for the elk hunting states I found myself without a prime bull tag yet another fall. Instead of heading back to Colorado to chase public land elk in OTC tag units I opted to put the vacation time into Midwest whitetails.
Over the last 4.5 years I have proudly put many hours into nailing down great stand locations on the Shawnee National Forest in Illinois. My first year hunting the Shawnee was 2006 when I arrowed my largest buck at the time. He was a solid 9 pointer that dwarfed any buck I had ever tagged in my home state and to say I was proud of that deer is an understatement. In July of 2007 I spent a long weekend scouting and prepping stand locations that resulted in tagging a160 pound doe on the second day of the season in 90-degree heat. When I returned in November I snort wheezed a buck across a private cornfield into my hide inside the adjacent public land. Unfortunately the heavy cloud cover and thick foliage made the 20 yard shot impossible as last shooting light faded away thus ending my 2007 season without a buck. That hunt revisited my thoughts hundreds of times as I prepared to fill my 2008 either sex bow tag.
On Monday, November 3rd, I left the house at 2:30 in the morning to make it to Illinois in time to drive around the area roads checking out the crops and plan an afternoon hunt. After climbing an extremely steep hillside I scaled a small red oak on a ridge littered with oaks of all shapes and sizes. This tree would provide me with a clear view of a large private bean field in which I could see if any deer came in to feed and where they came from. The evening concluded with the sightings of 2 does, 2 fawns, and 3 bucks with one being a definite shooter. The observational evening hunt fueled my fire and optimism.
The forecast revealed conditions would be less than ideal the following day but with a brisk South wind I would head to one of my sweet spots. Parking at the access area was followed by an invigorated 1.3 mile trek uphill to a funnel between a large CRP field and the hardwoods I had hunted the previous evening. After hanging the stand I climbed in well before light and awaited daybreak on a balmy 54-degree morning.
As first light broke so did a stick behind me. Turning slowly I saw a big body and immediately knew it was a buck. At 45 yards and coming fast downhill out of the CRP I bumbled to get my bow up and ready. Trying to confirm what I had originally thought to be a shooter proved difficult due to the thick brush, low light, and very few seconds I had. Confirmation came as he entered my only shooting lane. Bleating with my mouth, dropping my binos, and drawing my bow in one uniform motion he paused. Before I could settle in he started walking again. A louder bleat echoed throughout the timber as he jolted to an abrupt stop just before exiting the shooting lane all together. As many times before my pin floated around on that perfect spot and off it went.
Since everything happened so fast I wasn’t sure about my shot. Thinking I heard the distinct sound of him pausing and bedding I became very nervous and the gusty winds were not helping matters. As the morning progressed a flock of turkeys started pitching down and filled the draw with yelps, clucks, and tons of scratching. Among the turkey commotion I was positive I kept hearing him stand, walk, and bed again. Blood was visible through my Golden Rings but still I remained unsure. After waiting a full 6 hours I braved the climb down and slowly eased over to the blood and saw it was only the beginning of a prominent blood trail. What I thought was him bedding was actually him dropping into a dry creek bed. The tracking job was quick and easy as it ended just on the opposite hillside and my assumptions about the shot were proved wrong as I closely viewed the entry of a perfect heart shot. It is amazing the sounds you think you are hearing when your imagination is running wild.
At that time I felt one of the greatest sensations of accomplishment I can ever remember. As I held this massive bodied buck all the hours of driving, studying aerials and USGS topography, contacting biologist and wildlife officials, talking with locals, foot scouting, and many days sitting in stands flashed through my mind. Thinking, “This is what hunting is all about, The HUNT.” Not what he scores, not how old he is, not how much he weighs, but the simple satisfaction of doing everything right to take an animal. No matter how much hunting success my future holds I hope I never lose the true concept of what this sport we love is all about. Ladies and Gentlemen, this is bowhunting!
