Episode #14: A Daughter's Earned Hunt

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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. I'm Grant Richardson, your host, and this is our second season now. We want to welcome all the new people joining us and thank those, a great big thanks to those who've been following us thus far. This episode is really about the birth and journey of a new hunter, a traditional bow hunter, and the challenges faced and lessons learned hunting the hard way. And it's entitled A Daughter's Earned Hunt. It was a colder day than usual for October. The clouds swirled above us as the sun played hide and seek, and I'd moved the deer target to a different position for a third time and beckoned for her, my twelve year old daughter, to turn and shoot again. As she began to draw her hunting bow, focusing on the weathered deer target, my mind flashed back to younger days, watching her fling arrows with a bandit and laughing at each shot she made whether she struck the target or not. And in those days it had been fun, safe, serious fun, but now her expression changed. She was still having fun, but her intention spoke of a level of serious now that was evident in every kinesthetic motion of her releasing an arrow. Her focus on what she was doing spoke with authority and experience far beyond her years, but that was exactly what I had told her was needed if she was going to bow hunt for deer. I would accept no less than continuous practice and good dedication to shot placement, and I admit I've never had to remind her of that. It was a given, and it was something she had learned following me around for the past few years. This now was a new beginning. It was her first, her time, and she would lead the way. And little did I know how much the start of her journey many years ago both would become a learning curve for her in walking her path and becoming a bow hunter. But now I was becoming her student as I took in her process and her experiences. Having fun was important, but as we discussed, a new fun level of intent would be required if she was to hunt with her bow. And she understood this, and I held no reservations about her shooting ability at all. She had demonstrated her competency over the past year with the short hunting recurve she had received as a Christmas gift, and she wielded the short forty pound bow with authority, but hunting the hard way would require a rule of three she was well aware of. Focus, pressure, and flight time. After almost thirty minutes of shooting, I stopped her and beckoned her to sit down with me. So I asked her, how do you feel about it all? She stared at the target face, then back to the sky, then again at the three D deer target where her last air of the session was stuck low and behind the foam animal's front leg. She turned and smiled. I'm good, Dad. Let's go home. A week later we drove to the Ministry of Natural Resources office to pick up her outdoors card and her hunting license, and she was all smiles as she picked up her first deer tag and held it up for me to see with her name printed across it. It was a colder day out that day. The skies had dawned with brilliant yellows and reds that only an autumn day can, replete with Mother Nature's paintings among the tree lines and cut cornfields we drove by on our way to the farm. The farm, as I call it, was once worked in the mid 1800s. Primarily being used for cattle back then, it was part of a payment package of an officer who had been in command of the structure of the nearby lock system from the War of 1812. A large stone house was its main structure renovated decades prior by my parents. A creek and beaver pond frames the frontage of the property. A remnant system once part of an ancient glacial river. From there the land rises to a ridge and upland cover, connected with cedar fences lined with buckthorn, apple trees, hawthorn, and wild grapes. A haven for wild rough grows. Normally she'd be looking for roosting mallars and the squeals of wood ducks landing on the water below our archery range, but today she was all business. She dressed quickly into her hunting gear, she'd been letting air outside for the past hour, and was careful to ensure everything fit the same way she had been practicing with her bow all fall. I want to shoot some more, she said, and she made her way out to the back target area and began to warm up. My father walked outside and paused as he was about to say something important, but seeing her he stopped and watched with a grandfather's gaze. Looking back, he nodded at me in recognition of her shooting. Turning, he looked at her again and said, Have fun, kiddo. She smiled in return. I wanted this year, her first actual hunting herself year, to be all about her path. She had taken great care to scout early on all the way back to the winter prior walking the trails in the snow leading into the large cedar swamp. She had picked her stand set up one August sunny day as we rove with judo's and blunts in the nearby pathways, taking turns picking out trophy stumps and rotted cedar posts that adorned the edge of the cover nearby, describing in detail to me how she had assessed each shot. I had a stand set up for myself for those few chance days I would be having on my own this year, but for now my sole focus was on her season, not mine. We had gone back one rainy day a week after to set up her blind and brush it in well ahead of the season, and she shot out of it several times, and we had left it alone for weeks now. She jumped out of the truck and walked over to the cedar. Hanging her backpack from it and adjusting her quiver onto her back, I watched the sun and nearby pines dance their late day shadows across her face as she earnestly made sure all her kit was squared away. It was getting a little later on that I wanted for her first hunt, but this time she was the boss. She returned and without a word nodded at me silently that she was ready. I thought for certain she would take the fastest route into her stand, and as we reached the five directions path that split up the main walk in, she paused. She looked back at me and pointed towards the opposite path the way around her stand from the east. I want to go around, she whispered. The wind is coming right out of the swamp. If we cut across the other way, it will blow our scent across the entire field to the beds, she remarked. I agreed internally and nodded at her, and we continued on slowly, as she stopped every ten feet or so to look and listen. Almost halfway to the setup, she stopped and knelt slowly, and I followed, kneeling down past the golden rod, waving back and forth like an audience to our movement in the fall wind. A dear dad, she whispered, and pointed slowly to the opposite side of the fallen weather cedar fence we had handrailed on the way to her chosen spot. I'd strained to see what she was referring to, but I finally made out the silhouette of a large doe slowly feeding her way across from us. She's into the clover out there, she said. We watched the doe feed out of sight almost a hundred yards away for several minutes, and she turned to me pointing forward to the trail and walking at a crouch. We continued our way to her setup. After getting adjusted for a few minutes, she knocked an arrow and falls through her bow several times to ensure she still had plenty of clearance to shoot. What do I do if a grouse comes by? she asked. What about a rabbit? It's not my hunt, dear, I said. That's up to you. She seemed to be catching on the theme of things by now and smiled brightly back at me. The swamp we were sitting on, the edge of, settled down now and grew quiet. The area was a remnant overgrown beaver swamp, once connected to a massive series of nearby wetlands, part of a historic glacial waterway. It contained one smaller pond surrounded by thick cedars and impassable tangles of buckthorn and fallen ash trees. There was one massive bedding and feeding area, and she was set up right on the far edge of it, the blind tucked in between two large bedding areas and a conversions trail. We watched a woodland vole come out from underneath a large chunk of roots beneath her feet, running amok inside the blind looking for food. Is that the at risk kind we talked about, Dad? And I nodded back yes to her. She tossed a cashew nut from her snack stash in her pockets. One of her hunting must haves is a pocket full of mixed snacks. It grabbed the curved nut and proceeded to try to shove it back where it had come from, finally achieving success after several minutes of rodent comedy. It was almost a half an hour into our set when a clunk was heard across from our trail. She looked over at me. Was that the fence line, Dad? I nodded yes to her without saying anything. Moments later footpalls could be heard coming towards us accompanied by leaves and sticks cracking. A soft grunt cut the air from the same direction, and she tensed up and looked over at me. Breathe, I whispered. She took a couple deep breaths and exhaled. I looked up to see down the run where the noise had come from, and could see what looked like cedar branches moving in the air. It wasn't directly on the run, but I thought in my mind immediately Buck, taking the secondary path right inside the thick stuff. The more I looked, the branches became antlers, and I made out the shape of a buck slowly ambling across the trail to her offside. After several minutes she stared at me, and I just whispered Buck in a low voice to her. She had her bow half raised at that point, and she stared intently out in front of her shooting lane, the three blade VPA broadhead edge gleaming in the dull light. The deer was in a hurry, and he took his time sauntering down the path and stopping and veering off as he came in, checking the area carefully. The wind was good, even though it picked up somewhat, and he was out almost forty yards and closing at this point. Finally he stepped out. From my daughter's angle she could not see him, but her bow was now raised. He was one of the largest deer I had seen in some time in the area and looked more like a small elk than a white tailed buck against the backdrop of the cedar trees he was walking amongst. Now around twenty yards away he continued to close the gap to her off side, where she could not see, and she looked over at me as if asking me what to do, and I raised my hand slightly and gave her the take your time hand signal we'd used and mouthed the word focus to her. Minutes later he walked by her left side, towards a shooting lane, no more than fifteen yards away. She saw him moving as he stepped out, and I could see her eyes narrow as her bow came up to half draw and slowly let down again. At this point I could not believe what was happening. The fact that my twelve year old daughter was about to get the shot at one of the largest deer I'd seen in my entire life began to hit home. I was confident in her shooting ability as the buck came up to a small cedar and rubbed the far side of the tree with his antlers. She came to full draw for a moment and slowly let down again. He was possibly twelve feet away facing away from my side, his entire vitals exposed from where I was sitting. His dark guard hairs bristled, and I counted ten points on his great crown as his breath left his nostrils in the frosty late afternoon air, swirling upwards into the lower branches of the cedar tree he stood beneath. She came to draw again and slowly let down as the great deer stood facing away from us for a moment. Then taking a step, he jumped back onto the trail he had come down and walked away as slowly as he had come in. We heard him give two soft grunts as an echo to his great presence as he departed, and I looked over my youngest child gripping her short recurve. She stammered, Dad, my heart is pounding. What's wrong with me? She was shaking a little. Just breathe, dear, it's normal. Take some deep breaths, I whispered. Be careful, he may come back. There had been a door round behind us earlier, and I thought, it's who he's after. After a few moments she smiled at me, gave me a thumbs up, and beamed a smile that could have ignited the sun itself. That was crazy, she blurted out. It was, I said, trying to hold back my own excitement. We sat together for the remaining light of around an hour, listening to the barred owls awake and cry and hoop back and forth to one another across the south end of that north side swamp, and said nothing. The sunset encircled the nearby lone oak on the walk and trail, setting its yellow leaves blazing with color for a few short minutes and we smiled at each other in its grace. It grew dark as she beckoned to me to hand her bow case. I kept my recurve in its own case and stood, allowing her to exit the blind first. It took her several minutes to get out as it was brushed in heavily to blend into the surrounding cedar deadfall we'd sucked it, sat it in, and she exhaled deeply once she was standing again. She slipped her headlamp on, pointing to the tree the bucket rubbed, realizing just how close he had come to her head in position. Stepping forward slowly she checked his tracks and knelt down close to the ground, studying them for details. She shook her head slowly. Dad, she turned to me, he was huge. We walked out, and as we passed two small cedars a few feet away, she said, Dad, these gotta go. They're in my way when he came out. And I may have taken a bit of heat for that on the trip home. I could now see what she meant. From my angle they were unseen. She led the way out of the woods, negotiating the trail like an expert, walking directly to the parked truck over half a mile away from her stand. She didn't speak anymore until we got into the truck. She looked over at me and grabbed me for a hug. Tucking her bow, quiver, and hunting pack into the back of the SUV, she jumped into the front seat staring out the window. Her eyes looked wild. I didn't want to shoot, she said. The side was covered by those cedars, Dad, she trailed off. I couldn't believe he was so close. I could see him breathing. She looked more like a kid who had just gotten off a roller coaster at a fair ride. She did not fall asleep as we drove out that night. I let her talk without interrupting as we made our way home. I listened as she relayed her feelings. She had come to terms with for the first time as a bow hunter, why she had drawn a few times at the deer, why she hadn't shot again and again, and I relayed to her how proud of her I was for making the decision not to shoot. She asked me, would you have shot? I looked at her. I wasn't hunting, deer, I said back and reminded her that she had made a good choice. When you do take that shot, dear, I said, it will just fall into place. She nodded slowly at me. The hard part you have down, you had him close. You're a hunter, not a shooter, I reminded her. You made a good decision. My father greeted us as we arrived for a quick debriefing. What did you get other than a cold butt and a hungry gut? He asked her as she stepped out of the truck and regaled him with the details of her first hunt. Refraining from teasing her about the shot, I listened to her future plans for the hour drive home that night. For first time being the hunter and I the watcher, I would not have wanted to change a thing. It was a perfect first hunt for her, and one she will remember for her entire lifetime, and I will never forget. My daughter learned more that night than I had my entire first year bow hunting, and she hadn't even let an arrow fly. Following me around since she was little, I began to realize just how much she had taken in those years gone by by just observing and participating in the way she had. The game of hunting with the stick and string is one of inches, if not inches and miles. It's about getting close and getting good at getting close. I'm firmly of the mindset that failure is the better teacher than easy gain success. Something that is worked for and gained through effort and work is processed and appreciated for the output and gaining whatever it is. And so to speak, in this case hunting. More so with the traditional bow, getting good at closing the gap. It's a learned process. We had several more hunts after that afternoon, and her independence for her young age makes me especially proud. She has no arrogance, just a learned connection with her own experiences as she leads the way into the forests. I followed her most often this fall past, and I allowed her room to grow and learn to follow her own path into the woods, much the same way I was taught to walk in the woods in my youth. We had a great season, and I focused on her most of it, allowing her as much time as she wanted to hunt. I did manage to get out a few times alone, and I realized after those hits how much I missed her company, and I look forward to more adventures with her on future hunts. I had some close calls myself and made even a few trademark Burkhart haul passes, so to speak, wanting her to get a chance this season. And I did take a buck the second last day of her dear season here. But that is another story for another time, and one I will share with you in the future. I've been asked often about my daughter's ability to shoot a hunting weight bow, and I will elaborate and share some tips that I've learned along getting kids involved in both archery and bow hunting, and specifically how our youngest developed her shooting over the years. And years. Yes, it takes time. Oh, to the three of our kids to bow hunt and all enjoy shooting bows and own their own as well. And Archie was part of a routine as young kids for them. It was just part of it. It was not presented as a huge deal. It was ingrained into their upbringing, along with reading, writing, martial arts, and cooking skills. It was just something to do. Why? Old world skills built independence and confidence. They create a stronger individual. The byproduct of both of these is independence from relying on another system to acquire food, someone else, instead of yourself. And the same went with fishing for them. All of them learned how to tie flies and fish for their food from a very young age as well. Along with those skills, they were taught that the woods were a place to not just explore but embrace as part of their own ancestry, that they belonged there. That they have a place in the woods and fields as well to live and acquire food and if needed, thrive, not just survive. They have a fail-safe built into them because of this. If modern society fell around them, they have an edge at least. And I'm not talking about prepping, I'm speaking about the mere skill set that empowers them to have that edge for clear thinking. Our son was on a leadership trip as a young teen when the group practically got lost. And while the older leader was trying to use the cell technology to locate their position, he stopped and listened and said, Hey, I hear traffic that way. There's only one highway near us, it's got to be that way. And it was. As with anything, with stress, cooler heads prevail. My point is that the solution can be solved with technology for certain, but we have as a species become so reliant on waiting for others to solve our problems, our emergencies, that we as a society tend to become paralyzed when coming face to face with adversity. We as a species would have not survived without finding ways of functioning in the face of said adversity that are natural for us. We included non-sport combative martial arts training in their youth as well, in order to ensure they had tools of self-discipline and the ability to stop violence if need be when confronted with it. And apart from self-confidence, it gave them that ability to deal with someone actively resisting them in the face of danger. It taught them that these things existed in the real world and they would require the ability to deal with it. That's the first step. My philosophy is to make it routine. Most kids love to watch an arrow fly, which leads to my next point. Let them have fun. Give them a very lightweight bow and teach them to have fun apart from form. Most kids I see have an intuitive way of handling a bow once shown the basics. And in fact, I see a lot of kids shooting better form, form-wise, than adults that have learned it later on in life, simply because the kid isn't going down the bunny hole of self-assessment. And it's just shooting. In other words, simplification, not overcomplication. When it comes to bow weight, keep it low until they develop the ability to handle further weight. This will take time and keen observation. When my daughter was around six or seven years of age, it was evident she was growing out of her 15 to 20 pound bow at her draw length. She just was. When she hit eight, she began shooting a 30-pound bow that was around 24 pounds at her draw length at the time. And for almost two years or so, and a lot of shooting with that at her draw length, she grew to almost 36 pounds with that bow by the time she was 11. Now remember, she's tall for her age and had begun shooting a lot since she was two and a half years old. In Ontario, she would need to hit 40 pounds, around 39.7 for deer and turkey at her draw length legally. She shot her hunting bow at 39 pounds the first year and worn up with her older bow before shooting the heavier one. After a year or so handling that short tapered limb recurve very well, she wasn't getting tired. There was no straining and she handled it carefully. And at this point, going up in weight with any child, there needs to not be any push to push them into something you're not ready for and worse off, even injure them in the process. I left the shooting up to her and never pressured her. She would be ready when she was, not when I wanted her to be. And she has shot that hunting bow now for almost two years and shoots it very well in her effective range of around 15 yards. She pokes it to 25, but hunting-wise, she keeps her shots close. She's been now shooting for 11 and a half years of her life. Think about that. How many arrows is that? It's a lot of arrows, I assure you. She took to shooting, I must say, very naturally, and apart from a couple of tips and some questions she had, I very rarely commented on her form unless I saw her getting tired and made aware of it to prevent injury. She's a better shot at her age from watching me and shooting herself, finding where she's dialed in on than I was at her age, that's for certain. The only pressure I've added to her shooting is realistic hunting shooting for her bow, not target faces or poor position shots on 3D targets. Ensure you follow state and provincial laws where you live regarding bow weight and allow them to take their time to get good at shooting a bow and emphasize safety and fun. Any questions, let me know. I'll help out best I can. We need more youth involved in shooting and hunting with traditional gear. I want to give a big shout out to Ron from Standing Wolf Archery. He was kind enough to host me on his podcast, Bush Stories, you can find on YouTube, and he makes some really high quality archery gear and accessories. Tabs, arm guards, rests, strike plates, and quivers. Check out his podcast on YouTube, Bush Stories, and you can find him online at Standing Wolf Archery and on. Instagram as well. Thank you for all the feedback that we received, the feedback from our podcast on Damon Howitt's return to the archery world. Josh Boram, the new owner, is keen to get things going, but not at the sacrifice for both excellence and high quality craftsmanship that Damon Howitt bows are known for. If you haven't already, check out our YouTube channel for a full video on the interview with Josh. If you're looking for a youth bow that will be a lasting hand-down recurve, check out the Damon Howitt descendant Dreamcatcher. Made in weights of 20 to 25 pounds with brace heights of six and a quarter to seven and a half inches. It will handle well for most youth at 48 inches in length and only 15 ounces of mass weight. This bow is a high-end recurve and it's made to last. And check it out on Damon Howitt's website. Lastly, we are very excited to announce we're launching our book, a project almost two years in the making: The Code of Traditional Archery, Walking the Path, The Legacy of Traditional Bow Hunting. We've got a foreword from the man himself, E. Donald Thomas. The Code of Traditional Archery is a book reflecting on the hunting journey of traditional bow hunting. And this book goes through the ethics and the process that guides us along our journey. And you can follow along in a story-teach lessons learned format that is both earnest and organic in approaching the true process of a hunting legacy. And my intent was to bring back traditional bowling to its intended roots without the need and facet of technology. You can find our book on our store or through Amazon and its in-store retailers. You can also check out on Instagram and Facebook pages coming up for an official announcement of our book as well in the next week or so. 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 on our platform message based on the three pillars of the code of traditional archery. Weapon proficiency with a 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. If you haven't already, check out Compton Traditional Bowers, a great organization that ensures the traditions of bowling with a stick and string is alive and well, not only now but for generations to come. You can find our podcast wherever you listen to podcasts, especially on Audible and Amazon podcasts online. Thanks again for listening in. We encourage you to immerse yourself in the art of the stick bow. Shoot straight and walk with us.