This is a story about one of those rare days when things just work out well and you have success that you probably weren’t really entitled to. I arrived at my hunting block just before sunrise on Anzac Day, where exactly two years prior I had taken my first antlered fallow buck with the bow. I felt like it was a lucky day for me and I hoped for a repeat performance.
It was well after the peak of the rut so I was surprised to hear a persistent distant croaking! With the sun just rising, I quickly covered the ground to find a mature buck with a single doe bailed up among the limbs of a massive fallen tree.
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They were on a hillside and despite it being heavily timbered, mainly with ironbarks and stringybarks, I couldn’t get any closer than about 40 metres — usually beyond my effective range.
The buck was obscured by the main trunk of the fallen tree, which was suspended parallel to the ground by its branches. I could only see the lower part of his chest.
I was panicked into action as the doe spotted me and threatened to run. Without considering that my arrow would probably strike the tree trunk, I drew and aimed directly at the little bit of the deer’s chest that I could see and fired.
Had I had time to think, I probably would not have taken the shot but fortune was on my side!
I was recovering from a debilitating illness and was forced to reduce the draw weight of my bow by 15 pounds. The heavy arrows I was using tended to lob noticeably in flight. I was still surprised to see just how high the arrow arced before it disappeared behind the log.
Unseen to me, the buck had turned to run and the arrow had struck him as he quartered away. He emerged with the fletchings protruding behind his ribs. He and the doe, in full flight, disappeared around the hill.
I sat for a moment to allow the hit to take effect but after only two minutes the what-ifs got to me and I had to follow! On rounding the base of the hill I was rewarded with the sight of the buck literally belly up with the arrow head protruding from behind his right shoulder.
Against all odds, Anzac Day had produced again.
— by Mark Sturman
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