Misses

If you've never missed then either you're lying or you haven't spent very much time hunting. I've missed plenty of animals, and what's interesting is that I remember the times I missed just as well as the times I didn't.

The first elk I ever missed was the first elk I ever shot at. She was only thirty five yards away, but I was nervous-shaking so bad she could have been five yards away and I'd have still sent the arrow low. A whole herd came in on the trail you can see to the right of my fletchings. In my haste I guessed my twenty-yard pin onto her chest and let it fly, but afterward paced off thirty five yards from where I sat to the tree.


The first time I ever missed with my 12 gauge (in fact the first time I ever shot it) was the morning after I bought it, which was also the opening morning of pheasant season. I had convinced my dad to let me have my Christmas gift early because my little single-shot 20 gauge I was used to wasn't enough gun for pheasants. The dogs flushed two roosters twenty yards in front of us and I pulled the trigger, which slammed the gun into my teenage shoulder and filled the air with lead. It wasn't until the bird landed unharmed in a nearby field that I realized I could and should have pumped the gun and shot again.

I can't number how many broadheads I've left in trees. I actually climbed this one and dug the broadhead out after missing a large 4-point. He smelled me at the last moment and spooked just as I released the string. The blades cut through his breath and struck the tree 80 yards down the mountain. I don't know what came over me after that. I guess I was just frustrated and digging into a tree was my way of "sticking it to the man"...well..."to the deer".


Once we brought our girlfriends on the bowhunt with us. We were dumb then. On one morning Jake and Brooke went up into a patch of Aspens and had a buck stand broadside at 19 yards away. He missed, which was not at all like him at that distance, and he couldn't come up with any good excuse until Brooke turned out one of her now famous quotes: "Jake, I think you missed because I was praying that you would." He didn't speak to her for awhile. Later when a buck walked into where my girlfriend and I sat, I let her take the shot. I think she missed on purpose because her arrow never reached half the distance between us and the deer before sticking into the ground. Maybe there's a connection between both meanings of the word "misses".

The easiest shot I've ever missed was at a rabbit with a .22 pistol at six yards, (don't laugh).

The biggest deer I ever missed was described in an earlier post about the hardest hunt I've ever been on.

The miss I regret the most was when I missed the target and glanced the arrow up the hill, through the trees, and into the neighbor's deck. Thank goodness they weren't out having a family barbecue right then.

The worst miss I've ever seen was when my girlfriend's dad blasted a deer through both of its hind quarters at twenty yards away, while seated in the passenger's seat of my truck, rifle resting out the window! If he hit it, then why does this count as a miss? Because the deer he hit was actually the doe next to the buck he was shooting at!? It was one of those times when I was embarrassed and I wasn't even shooting the gun.

The most unbelievable miss I've ever had lead to this picture:

We were heading off the mountain for home when we rounded a corner and spotted this little last-chance buck. It was a longer shot than I would have taken, especially at such a tiny deer, but a friend we were hunting with said he needed the meat and he'd tag it, and he talked me into it. During the time from when I released the string to when my arrow hit the dirt 65 yards out, the buck had turned to face away from us, which allowed the arrow to slip right between his hind legs. There was no blood on the arrow, in fact it never actually went in him, so that's why I'm technically counting it as a miss; yet 100 yards uphill we found him dead near a pine tree. How you ask? I'll spare you the unpleasant details and just say I didn't have to use a knife to cut him open when I went to field dress him. One blade of my broadhead did that part of the job for me.

I took this video 60 seconds before I missed this buck in Idaho two years ago. I had patiently watched these bucks all summer on private property, and knew their patterns, so I was not buck-fever-ing at all. 45 yards away broadside. I have no excuses. The truth is I just sucked it up because I didn't practice enough that year.

I don't mind missing. If we never missed it wouldn't be hunting, it would just be killing. The fact that you're never guaranteed is what makes the hits that much sweeter. Whether I end up with my game on the grill or not, the challenge of it is what makes both hits and misses stick in my mind to be told and retold at many campfires to come.

Nebraska Doe, Utah Buck, and "I shoot professionally"

Well, we made it to NE after spending a new gun's worth in gasoline alone, but I like it here a lot. We've moved in and school is starting next week. You can see the house and read up on all that on Courtney's blog.

It's opening day of hunting season in Utah today and all my friends are up in the hills without me. Instead, I'm pity partying while staining my porch in the hot, saturated air of Lancaster county. JD shot his first bow-kill deer this morning at only eight yards away just after sunrise.


I'm proud of him. He is one of those guys that when he says something, that's how it is. No exaggerations. No fish stories. Often after meeting fellow outdoor-lovers, they proceed to entertain me with stories of their special access to private land with "monster" deer, or that they teach fly tying classes and compete professionally in archery competitions. Then, when you get to know them better you realize that the fly tying lessons they teach are actually to their younger brothers once every other month, and that they shot once in a competition where Dave Cousins attended, and their private land access belongs to their nephew's dog's first owner's brother who said to stop by anytime he's in Mexico.

After awhile you tend to believe only half of what people say, but not JD. He said he has a dog that is trained to follow his hand signals to find downed birds, and sure enough, I've seen Lily follow his directions into the most ridiculously thick of places and come up with a bird in mouth. When we found this buck earlier in the year he said he was going to shoot it when hunting season opened, and he did. It's refreshingly nice. Here's the video of us scouting.

I saw my first Nebraska whitetail on a drive the other day. It's a blurry picture but I was thrilled. I can't remember the last time I got so excited about seeing a boring old doe.


Hopefully soon I'll have pics of my own to post of me in camouflage with a little buck and my bow in hand. But my hunt doesn't start for another month, so till then I'll probably keep making posts about pics I have from the good old days.

Box Canyon of the Henry's Fork

Every year around Memorial Day, certain large aquatic bugs leave the sunken boulders they have called home and crawl toward the shore of my favorite river, -the Henry’s Fork of the Snake in Idaho. Once out of the water the nymphs cling to a nearby rock or branch, and from inside their armored shells they emerge as Salmon Flies:

For a trout, the start of this hatch means the start of a thanksgiving feast. For a week or so, Salmon Flies hover over the water to mate and then fall onto the river to lay their eggs. This hearty, easy meal entices the usually bottom-feeding big fish to come to the water's surface; and such fish are also the reason I've come to the water’s surface for the last three years in a row.

Last year plans with friends fell through, and my ever-patient wife decided she'd rather go with me than have me go alone, so off we went. There is no better way for her to tell me she loves me than to put up with pouring rains while trying to read...

...hail storms putting holes in the tent...

...and grizzly bears...

...all so that I can hook into a few six-pound rainbows. The trout in Box Canyon are not only fat, they're smart, and they use the river's swift current to their advantage. On more than one drive home I've found myself favoring my left arm for the steering wheel because of the soreness in the other "fish-fighting" arm.

On every trip so far I've been able to watch Osprey bring fish to their nest overlooking the canyon.

Here I am casting, wondering if Courtney has taken the picture yet. Turns out she was taking a video.

You can't see this in Nebraska!