Episode #9: Immersion

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Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:00

Welcome to the Code of Traditional Archery, brought to you by Primitive Stone Archery and the founder Grant Richardson. Welcome to the Code of Traditional Archery. My name is Grant. I'm the owner and founder of Primitive Stone Archery. We want to welcome all the new folks just getting involved in traditional archery and bow hunting and welcome back our faithful listeners as well. Thanks for the support. This is episode nine of our Lessons Learned podcast series entitled Immersion. I learned the art of hunting without hunting, so to speak, when I was very young. My father's dad being an avid old school outdoorsman influenced my appreciation for hunting since I could walk. Slow down was his motto. You'll miss out on what's right in front of you. Indeed, many of the lessons I learned from him still resonate to this day. I had around 12 years of my young life with him until he passed on to the great hunting grounds, where I'm sure he casts for rising brook trout with a split cane fly rod and chases pheasant scrouse and his favorite upland bird, his beloved timberdoodle. He was from older Stocked, an adept carpenter, welder, and leathersmith, a master gunsmith. He also made jewelry, was a master decoy carver, and he won several carving contests in both showing and gunning categories. Apart from those pursuits, he was a master tracker and hunter and had been a conservation officer back then and game warden with the Ontario Lands and Forest Fish and Wildlife Service. His basement was filled with decoy patterns, half finished decoys and other birds, and of course gunsmithing tools. His small shop adorned with sketches, stencils, and of course, several posters replete of dogs playing poker. We spent most of our time, however, outside of that busy shop basement, walking just as the sun was rising, his favorite time of the day it was. Fewer people about, he would say. Gives us time to see things before they hide from sight from the rest of the world. He'd been walking that early fall with an old recurb my uncle had given him. I need to get used to the weight he told me, even though the bow was feather light. I would get up quietly and amble my way down the stairs to his room, wake him up slowly and reach up for the book of North American birds he had sitting on his shelf, a large compendium. As he woke, he would quiz me on what was what and try to steer me away from the upland bird color plates they're in, not often being successful. He just wanted to give me an appreciation for all the birds in the forest and the fields, and what they represented as much as the game birds did. We were out the door before anyone else, and on this day he was very intense and excited to show me something he refused to disclose to my eager young pleadings. We walked down the path behind the house, stopping to grab some raspberries that were still there quietly before my grandmother woke and chided us for eating what was little left of them at the time. We crossed the highway and stepped into the then now crown land, which is really a series of large overgrown natural grass fields from an old retired hospital grounds. There was a spring fed stream cutting through the middle, and a beaver pond at the far end, bordered by a large sandy area and hardwoods beyond. As a child, I had roamed these woods and fields. I was around ten at that time, and often we found broken pottery, shards, arrowheads, and old tin pieces as this area had been a trading point for the Huron Wendot First Nations peoples. We stopped on the edge of the hardwoods which ran out into a small meadow and into a short ridge that flowed into the fields. We knelt, and he pointed out to a small oak tree that stood across the field some hundred yards away. Stay in the shadows, he said, and watch that tree. After almost forty minutes and my young brain growing restless, he pointed again and said nothing. However, the area behind the tree was moving now, as if the branches themselves were breaking free from its restraints, and I strained to see what I was looking at. Outstepped a deer, a large buck that had shed its velvet, and we watched him for several minutes picking up acorns from the ground before he tapped me on my shoulder and beckoned me to follow him. Into the scrub we went, and we walked slowly but surely along the stream that cut the middle of the land. Brook Trout lived in that stream. My number one fish as a kid, and one could still catch him amidst the many creek chub that resided there as well. I had seen my first wild ringneck pheasant there one morning walking along the gravel road picking stones up for his gizzard before running off to hide in the tall grasses as I gave chase fruitlessly. Today though was different. We were walking inside the bush path and not on the road, and once we were within seventy yards or so of where the deer was, he paused and beckoned me to kneel. Go get close to that deer, he said, not taking his eyes off the tree where the buck, still snatching acorns from the ground, was ambling around slowly. I stared at him. His silence was answering me sternly without words. I got up, bending low and began to sneak by him. He grabbed my leg. Stop, whispering. He pointed at the grass bending with the wind, pausing for several moments. Keep that grass bending to you as you go to him. I understood, but doing so without being seen by the buck would prove difficult. I ended up crawling to the deer mostly, and when I popped up to get a better look, all I saw was the white flag of the deer running full pelt and great bounds back into the protection of the opposite woodlot. I walked back to where my grandfather was sitting near the creek, on a stone, flipping crickets that he'd caught into the darkened waters. So how'd that go? he said, not taking his eyes off the expectation of a rising trout to his terrestrial offerings. Not so good, I said. Why say that? You got into rifle range easy, he said. But if you want to fling arrows at him, you'll need to get into stone throwing range, he laughed. This is the deer's ground, he continued. He lives here, and you need to learn what your ancestor did to get close to him. He beckoned to the oak tree. You know where he lives and eats. Now work on making the wind, your friend. But I warn you, oftentimes he's a fickle foe, he said in a warning tone. And the last thing he asked, What else do you think you need to do? I had no idea. As he raised himself up, have a plan, he said, and we began to walk down the gravel road to home, chatting about the deer, speckled trout, and pheasants. Planning is of great importance, and equipment is just the beginning, and the shot process you choose is the bolt that holds the entire mechanism for success in place from the weapons platform itself. The hunting piece, though, it's the fabric of the entire process, and often forgotten in the realm of technology we live in these days. It is that very thing, the synchronous blending of hunting with the stick and string, that demands so much of the user. Unlike other forms of hunting which require little prep and practice, like modern firearms, comparative to traditional archery, that is, hunting with a stick bow requires an intimate knowledge and understanding the nuances of the type of bow and method of hunting you've immersed yourself in, including terrain, weather knowledge, in addition to animals that inhabit the ecosystems you'll pursue them in. Much like the art of fly fishing, traditional archery requires you to develop an operating system that ultimately fits you, the individual. And I speak of this a lot. You'll notice this in the podcast, that individual piece. For one cannot walk into a store, just grab a fly fishing kit, and begin to fly cast and fly fish without some constraints. Apart from getting hung up in nearby trees and learning how to cast, let's touch on that for a moment. For the very idea of a constraint means that there will be barriers to success through learning by failure. Developing a hearty way of sustaining oneself through this process involves understanding of what we are truly capable of and facing down our ego at the same time. Learning about the fly rod, line weights, how to cast, leaders, tippets, and flies. Developing the ability to read the water you're fishing and which flies to use at which time. The presentation of said flies to the fish matters right down to the entomology of the water's ecosystem. And all this leads us to a process which refines over time. The final analysis is to get the fly cast to the fish, and so as with the bow getting the arrow to the desired target, be it a target face or animal. This analysis becomes critical when pursuing game with a stick and string. And it separates the archer from the bow hunter, and I dare say it will cause you much introspective thinking along the way. The steps in between, the preparation, weigh heavily in the principles in learning how to hunt close. And this component to success is at times a steep ascent, and it is inevitable that the teaching vector never does stop and that growth never ceases. Being properly prepared will enable you to have an intimate knowledge of your equipment and how it functions for you. This will help you to adapt and evolve, refining the effectiveness in real-time situations with confidence and without hesitation in your equipment. I had the week off to hunt and been sitting from a stand situated near a large creek in Slough. It was a classic wetland riparian habitat. As well as a great stand for hunting, the runs the deer used to navigate through the dense cover connecting the area. It was an area only approachable by canoe, and I slipped into the water taking care not to let the limb tips of my recurve slam into the thwarts. The sun was high in the sky by that time, but I had time to paddle quietly up the former glacier or runoff river that was now small beaver creek. Across the old beaver dam now missing a sizable chunk in its center, sat a mink looking for dinner. It watched me paddle right through the dam gap mere feet away, looking like a sleepy brown, furry statue in the sunlight. I slid the canoe into the reeds and when close enough slowly hopped out onto a log I'd positioned to beach the old Sears canoe onto quietly. It was a heavy beast, but well suited to that creek and river. A flight of blue winged teal buzzed my head as I sat watching them, navigating the upper reaches. I had just come into that little area, and almost like a fighter squadron buzzing on a mission over my head, they twisted in midair, showcasing the sky blue patches on their wings. Focusing on the task ahead, I carefully picked my way to the edge of the woods and noted several tracks leading to where my stand was situated. This was an easy walk and one I had mastered over the years I had hunted here, but I had yet to take a deer. Not from this area at least. Today I had an urgency though. Soon the creek and pond would freeze and become hard water as the incoming forecast that week told of consistent below zero temperatures and snow. I had changed my tactics when inclement weather had come in, and after an hour or so of winds blowing against me that day, making the tree stand feel more like a ship about to keel in a storm, I opted to climb down to still hunt the nearby open areas surrounded by tall stands of cedars adorning the nearby fence lines. I had stocked this area prior and knew the train well. At times the wind did mess with you, but it was a decision I made, and I was sticking with it. The area was one that tempted the senses. It broke into openings, encircled with remnant apple trees now growing wild from the once cultivated farmland nearby. And I loved this area. Its old cedar fences now hang low and overgrown, provided plenty of food and cover for whitetails, and the trails that crisscross its landscape stood out like deer highways and set my heart beating wildly. There was a lot of sign. I noticed the buck immediately, and not that I didn't notice the doze he was with, but I did not have a tag for them that year and had not seen a buck yet this season. He stood out against the skyline near a half fallen fence rail and was framed by the clouds as he slowly fed his way on the rise he was cresting, and I began to devise a plan to stalk him. The fact that he was trailing four does in the wind direction made this plan problematic. The wind was blowing all over, left to right, swirling. Five sets of eyes and noses would also be difficult to defeat, and the terrain being fairly open and flat with sparse trees an additional obstacle to getting within arrow range. My strategy was bold, however, I knew the prevailing wind was coming across the field and to my left. I watched them as they browsed for several minutes, ensuring the wind was checked slowly to the direction I knew it was coming from. One older solo doe was the maven of this bunch and she was checking her back and wind constantly, and she would prove to be probably the biggest obstacle I had that day. After almost a half hour watching them pop in and out of the edge of the cover, I put my strategy into action. I decided to skirt them completely. If they continued to move in the direction they were down the fence line, I'd be able to pop out around fifty yards from them and sneak in for a shot. It took almost an hour and a half of slipping in and out of the sparse cedars which dotted the terrain. The deer didn't seem to be in a big hurry that day, and I spooked to Cubby a grouse at one point, who ran a mere feet from me as if knowing that I was not after them that day. I knew the area would begin to close off at the end of the field I was following the deer into, and I'd lost sight of them a couple of times, so I began to force my way into the problem I knew was coming ahead of me, the issue being large swaths of old cottle fencing, the cattle back then being used herding them in with buckthorn instead of fence lines, waiting for me at the choke point, and I opted to box that as much as I could. Navigating that was painfully slow, and I inched my way to the edge of an old beaver pond and watched as it began to feed. They started to bed down one by one. This now became a game of wait and see, and at one point the wind blew at my back and a sudden gust across to where the deer had only been minutes earlier, which I figured had blown the stalk. But after several minutes the buck stood up and walked to a small red pine. He began to rub his antlers now, the brow tines shaving slim strips off the tree, and he shook his head, sending the lower branches of the young conifer in all directions. I had gotten fairly close at this point, and didn't expect the buck to stand up at that edge of the fence line he was in, so I was half sitting and half kneeling with my bow arm canted almost at a forty five degree angle to clear the brush I was partially concealed in. As he turned away to look back at the does, I made several attempts to try to get a shot off, covering several feet on a crouch, coming to half draw twice and even gaining some ground in his direction. I knelt slowly, ensuring I had good stability and raised the recurve, launching the arrow across the meadow to where he stood. As I released the shaft, one of the does caught my motion and stood, but it was too late. I looked back to see the buck faltering as he came to a halt next to a break in the fence line. The does had now gone, running into the thick cover and darkness of the cedars, snorting and wheezing as they vacated the area. Several minutes later, I came to the realization I'd just taken my first spot and stock Whitetail, as I walked up to him and sat down to take a breath. I ran my hands across his neck and onto his antlers covered in pine tar, and a sense of deep appreciation flooded over the moment as I paused to reflect on the life he must have led. The skies began to sh darken and sharply with the premonition of snow incoming, the wind picked up. It was incessantly whipping at the nearby trees as they bent to its will. It was a long drag out to the canoe, and with the sun tipping into the horizon I began to work on the deer and the tasks that lay ahead. Truth be told, I had hunted that area many times prior and been busted by the wind or was seen as I snuck around attempting to accomplish what had just transpired. The difference was in having a solid strategy and tactics to work that piece of land that finally came together, because the past and the history of lessons learned made the matrix work for me. The learning process of the strategy had hit home, and not everything had gone right that day. The wind had changed somewhat and I was running out of cover quickly. But the tactics that won the day. I'd taken my time, I hadn't pushed it, and the prior failure of rushing too fast, not checking the wind, and not being patient enough had educated me how to slow down and focus on what was right ahead of me. I'd been spurred on by ethics in the process of patience and confidence in my kit. And the challenges presented that day were a path I'd walked many times prior, but I'd failed as many times as well. If continuous success in bringing game home is the driver for you in traditional boning, I'll tell you, you'll need to rethink that. I'm not trying to discourage you, but that's not to say you won't be successful. But this method of hunting is significantly more difficult due to the fact you need to get close. And embracing that difficulty is part of the learning curve. I see folks all the time who are just starting out, adding to the bow setup or drastically modifying how they shoot, buying new things, clothing, all these different things to try to increase success when all they need to do is get out in the woods and fields and hunt. Full stop, end of story. Now, don't get me wrong. It's your process, but for the new folks out there getting into the sport, I highly recommend keeping things simple at first. And once you've got a good idea of what you're doing shot-wise, then add or subtract from your own equation your process. A common problem I see all the time is folks getting into shooting a stick bow and going down the bunny hole. And I've said it before, analysis by paralysis and paralysis by analysis before they actually get a baseline for themselves, a yard stick of some flight time to measure their ability from. It takes time. I still shoot all year round to stay on point with my own shooting, and I don't deviate from what I know will work for me. In other words, the basics. Know the area you're gonna hunt and have some terrain knowledge. Understand the habits of the game you're gonna be hunting, its betting areas, feeding areas, and movement routes according to both the land and the season, and do your research and planning. Know your limitations in both shooting and positions, and ensure you're confident in your equipment without hesitation. And, you know, it sounds simple, but shoot with the clothes you're gonna be hunting in. You know, notice I talk about training a lot, not just shooting. It should be fun and serious also. Shooting many 3D rounds will help in some ways, but again, it's sanitized pressure. You've got the discomfort of other people watching you, but you don't have the discomfort of the environment, the terrain, you know, wearing bulky clothing, all that stuff. Challenge yourself from adverse positions and ranges. Add elements that are true hunting shots into your practice so you can adapt and recognize good shot angles. I only practice on courting and broadside targets. Why? It's burned into my muscle memory to take advantage of high percentage shots and recognize them cognitively when they present themselves. It's pretty simple. You got to put in the time. It's soon wild turkey and deer season down our way, and we're getting into some frost warning nights now, finally, and my senses are once again getting attuned to the incoming autumn season. And we've got some exciting announcements to make for this week. Our fall archery promo, bow hunting 101, introducing to shooting, is now$97 for the entire program. And this is a great intro to shooting program, regularly$2.97 value, and it will benefit anyone, regardless of platform, compound, or traditional. And you'll find the link for that in our comments. We're also launching our YouTube channel, the Code of Traditional Bow Hunting. And in conjunction with that, we're giving away a recurve bow to go along with it. Everyone who follows our channel, likes a post on our YouTube, and comments on our YouTube, then shoots us an email to our admin, will be entered in to win a brand new 40-pound right-handed takedown recurve bow. This bow is modeled off the Black Hunter Recurve. It's a great starter bow. See the email and link in our comments. We also have our store open now. Check out the link in the comments for access to our awesome merchandise. And I will say we've got a lot of questions about our shirts and hats. These are really high quality shirts. The print is on the front and the back. Um and the ball caps are all fully embroidered as well. And they're super high quality shirts. I can't tell you when I got them how pleased I was with them. If you haven't already, check out Compton Traditional Bow Hunters, a great organization that is ensuring the traditions of bow hunting with a stick and string is alive and well, not only now but for generations to come. Thanks for joining us. We appreciate all the positive feedback we've been getting from folks all over the world. This confirms for us the intent we have and our platform message based on the three pillars of the code of traditional archery. Weapon proficiency with the stick bow, ethics to guide us on our collective journey, and conservation and stewardship in order to protect the wildlife, woods, fields, and waterways we hunt as our themes are resonating. Good luck to everyone heading out. We hope your bows bend and that your arrows find their mark. Thanks again for listening in. We encourage you to immerse yourself in the art of the stick bow. Shoot straight and walk with us.