Hopefully I can make the words for this be as funny as I am imagining it in my head.
A few days before the start of firearm season, I got a call from Matt Marx, longtime friend and NEBRASKAland contributor who started deer hunting a few years ago and now rarely does anything else through the fall and winter.
“I missed 3 times,” he texted me, which deserved an immediate return phone call.
“Okay,” he started, “When I first saw the buck, an 8-point, he was standing behind a thicket. I stood, got into position, and waited for him to step out. When he did, he stepped right into a swamp. You know, the one that’s right in front of my stand? He was about 30 yards out. I put my sight on his heart, control my breathing, and release. The arrow goes right over his back, less than an inch, and crashes into the water. The buck startles, looks toward the spot where the arrow landed, and stands there. I guess he thought it was a fish or something. I nock another arrow, pull my aim down slightly, and release. This arrow goes two inches below the deer, splashing and sinking right beneath him. Again he startles, and again I nock another arrow.”
By this point, I know where the story is going, as probably you do as well, but I still couldn’t stop smiling.
“On my third shot,” he began again, “My up and down was perfect. I mean perfect. Yet when I released, I was 2 inches in front of him. Another arrow in the water, and another arrow lost. The buck had seen enough by then, blowing at no one in particular and running away, his nice, white rack shining as he did. So, with no arrows left, I left the woods an hour early.”
Man, that’s a rough story, I told him.
“Yeah, that was an expensive hunt,” he said. “So, uh, when does rifle season start again?”