Boyhood bow hunting misses the mark

Deer season is finally here.

That means hunters all across Wisconsin are gathering truckloads of equipment and heading north for the exciting activity of waiting around in a tree stand and catching frostbite.

As a lad, I went bow hunting for deer many times. I was only 12 when the Great Outdoors beckoned.

“Come,” a voice whispered as I daydreamed during Social Studies. “Come marvel at my autumn foliage and hunt my plentiful 12-pointers.”

Then, like a sucker conned into buying a cheap used car, I dropped $20 for a hunting license.

Every fall weekend, I’d grab my junior-size compound bow and try my luck in a cornfield behind the house. I could literally hear our back door slam from my “secret spot.”

For the first couple hunts, it was fun. I felt like a stud in my tree stand, wearing blue jeans and a Badger jacket. Camouflage was not an option for me, having given my savings to the DNR.

But as the weeks passed, I grew restless because the deer were always out of range. That changed one morning, when my big opportunity finally came ... Read the full story in the Nov. 19, 2009, issue of the Ripon Commonwealth Press.

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