Whew! Made it back in late last night, AND ITS 24 DEGREES OUTSIDE!!! Man I miss Texas already! What a trip. I learned a lot, shot my first javelina, earned myself a new nickname (thanks to JSOG), and met some great people. I feel humbled to have been included in this hunt.
Where to begin? I guess background info first. I have been hunting with traditional equipment for about 6 years now. I took an interest in archery in high school, bought a piece of junk browning recurve that was ~ 70 lbs, attempted to shoot it for a couple of years and then hung it on the wall.
My brother, Christopher, picked it up and actually got to where he could shoot pretty decent with it. It eventually began to delaminate and my brother surprised me with the gift of a Herb Meland Pronghorn longbow as a replacement gift.
I got back into the sport with that bow, and through Chris met Charlie Lamb. Lamb has been a big influence on Chris and I, helping to guide us and show us the ropes. There to answer the silly newbie questions, and point us on the correct path.
I shot my first deer with a bow in Weston, Missouri 5 years ago, and I have been in love with traditional archery ever since. I still feel like I am standing on the shoulders of giants on this site, so I kind of lurk on Trad Gang, picking up tidbits and asking some questions here and there. Thanks to all who have given me advice, whether you knew it or not.
Christopher made it down in 2004 for the first Texas Sweat, and had a blast. I have been salivating over stories for the past year. Charlie and Curtis extended an invite back last summer, and having heard the stories from everyone, I couldn't get the deposit in the mail fast enough. The past 9 months have been a blast. (anticipation is half the fun).
I had trouble getting off work so I had to arrive on Thursday evening after the rest of the gang was settled in. (Still trying to figure out how I managed to secure a bottom bunk…thanks Charlie!) The gang made me feel right at home right off the bat, and we even had time for an evening rabbit hunt before bed. Up early the next morning, and Curtis took me out to show me the ropes.
He took me to a prime spot, gave me advice, and like every good teacher, backed off to give me space to figure out things on my own. I shot rabbits and stalked the entire first day. Scouted with the gang in the afternoon, and sat on a roadside with fresh hog and javi sign for the evening.
Nothing can prepare you for the terrain in south Texas, and I just soaked it all in the first day. That evening, after dark I got my introduction to rabbit hunting JSOG style: off the sideboards of a suburban with Timo, Rusty, Curtis, JSOG, and probably some others that I didn't see, cause I was to busy trying to hold on for dear life. It was a blast!
Saturday morning Lamb took me over to a prime javelina area, and just like the rest of the guys sacrificed a prime location, gave me some ideas, then sent me out to figure it out.
I found a nice 4 way intersection to watch for about ¼ mile in each direction, and watched for movement. Later, I found a clearing with fresh tracks and set up in a brush blind for mid morning. I was about half asleep when 14 Javelina came out of nowhere about 80 yards uphill angling across the clearing toward Charlie's position. They were moving with a purpose toward Charlie's area, so I didn't pursue them any further.
Lamb picked me up for lunch and we stalked some Javies (I'll let him share that story) and headed back for lunch. We came up on Curtis, JC, Terry, and Timo on the trail of a hog that Curtis hit earlier. I learned so much on blood trailing (or better yet, the lack thereof) in Texas, and it was a real treat to watch it all unfold.
After overrunning the hogs trail, we back tracked and located the fat little porker, just 40 yards from where Curtis shot him.
I had a feeling about the evening hunt. I don't know if everyone experiences this, but sometimes things about an area just feel right. It has happened for me in Weston where my brother lives, and on the family farm. After time spent scouting, things just sometimes come together. That feeling turned out to be true this day... beyond my wildest dreams.
The 4 hours ahead of me this day would unfold a story that touched me deeply and showed me the forged link between our hunting heritage, expressed through traditional archery and the fellowship of brothers with the same passion.
After lunch on Saturday Timo picked up on a second round of flint knapping. I have found arrow points, like most of us, in the past, but I never really had an appreciation of the art until I saw it happen in person. Knapping truly is an art form and Tim makes it look so easy. Timo gave each of us a hand knapped point at the end of the trip, and it was a fitting souvenir for a great trip.
Charlie and I headed out in the afternoon to work on some more scouting, and plan strategy. I stalked around in my area some, but I really felt like the area I had found that morning would produce, so I decided to park myself back in the brush blind for the afternoon's hunt. I spent the hours before sunset watching the Green Jays, Pyroloxia, and quail feed. Besides the bird life, nothing appeared.
The day began to move into that magic witching hour when all things become possible and my gut feeling remained true. The sun gradually set and heavy shadows flowed across mesquite and cactus.
Just about the time that I began to feel it was getting too late for anything to happen, shapes appeared out on the edge of the clearing, 70yds south of my blind. Javies!
They moved gradually toward me, feeding and meandering about. Everything happened fast. One moment the group was way out of range to the south, and the next several large Javies moved in from the sides of my hide, 18 yards out from my position.
The light was poor, but I felt confident in the shot. I picked a spot on a big one as she angled, slightly quartering away, and I let my arrow fly.
I didn't see the arrow hit, but I heard a wicked crunch followed by some serious squealing. The javi pulled some figure skating moves, turning circles and doing a figure eight before diving for the brush to the east.
The commotion continued for another 5 to 10 seconds before ending abruptly with a series of huge crashes and squeals. Suddenly there was nothing but the sound of my heart pounding, threatening to rupture my eardrums.
I have been lucky in my harvests in the past. I always get excited when I immediately see the animal, but when it comes to nut cutting time I seem to smooth out. The shakes always hit me AFTER the shot when I know everything is out of my hands. I sat down for a bit, got my knees back underneath me and went out into the clearing to look for my arrow.
About 20 yards out I found my arrow buried in the dirt. Blood covered the shaft from the Razorcap broadhead to the nock.
My Sunbear recurve named Sage, had drawn blood again! A complete pass through showing, bright arterial blood.
My experiences from earlier in the morning had shown me how poor a blood trail can be in this thick brush and absorbent soil. I followed tracks into the brush to the east, and began looking for a trail.
By this time darkness had fallen on the scrub country and my headlamp was proving inadequate for the job.
I hit a GPS waypoint, and walked out to find Charlie.
Charlie knew something was up when we met back up, and we proceeded back to the area to look for my Javi. We went into the brush about 20 yards from where I'd last seen my musk hog, but could find no sign of blood.
I was pretty heartsick, and really worried I wasn't going to be able to recover this pig. Charlie suggested heading back to camp, fueling up with another incredible supper (hats off to our cook Marcus). Everyone congratulated me on the hunt, and I was told that others in camp had had good success also.
Dave Stinson got a hog and a Javi, Jeff Struberg punched a Javi, Curtis had his Hog, and JSOG had slain a badger.
I got in on a bit of the skinning after dinner, though that wasn't much more than holding onto a leg here or shining a light there. JSOG and Eric are pretty slick with a skinning knife.
I think we were all pretty tired, and the prospect of digging around in the brush for an hour or more this late didn't appeal much to any of us. These guys are great, and despite the late hour and lack of energy, six guys loaded up to jump on the blood trail. I had a rock in the bottom of my stomach, but I felt some relief that perhaps with this quality crew, we could turn up my Javi and put the period at the end of the sentence for my first pig hunt.
Terry, JC, Curtis, Charlie, Eric, and myself arrived at the site to begin the blood trail. I gave them the details, pointed out references, and we fanned out to look for blood, but were finding nothing.
Curtis suggested that I move back to the blind and give the searchers directions based on where I heard the death throes of the javelina. Everyone figured it had to be close, but it was some thick stuff, and zero blood. This went on for about ten minutes. Nothing, and I figured things were pretty much finished. 9:30 at night, zero light, zero pig. It just sucked!
Then one of the guys sings out, "Found it!"
Suddenly I am 8 years old on Christmas morning all over again. Amazing how a hunt can bring out a huge swing in emotions. Screw the cactus, I hotfooted through the brush to have a look at my javelina. The gang gathered around and I was heartily congratulated by everyone. The Peccary had run about 40 yards from where the hit occurred and made her final stand in a small open area between cactus patches.
Suddenly Curtis got really quiet and in a hushed tone said," Guys look by the head."
I just sat back down on my haunches, totally silent for about 10 seconds. We all had goose bumps as we stared dumbly at the ground by the Javi. Each of us knew that we were experiencing something unique that would never likely happen again.
Sometime in the past, others carrying weapons not much different than those we carried that evening, had hunted this very place. A perfect stone arrowhead lay next to my dead Javi! Who knows what events transpired to leave that stone point for us to find - but make no mistake, nobody there that evening believes that it was by accident. We were all meant to experience that moment and share it with our brothers.
We as traditional archers choose to do things the hard way: To go back to our past and forge a bond with our hunting ancestry. We do this symbolically every time we pick up our bows, and put our own spirit and energy into practice, the craft of bow and arrow, the hunt, et al.
For some reason, unknown to me, I was put in that place, at that time, and as Curtis put it best: We were all standing in two places at once, on a bridge between the present and the distant past. Only the Maker that brings everything together in such ways knows how long that stone point had been laying there. I still am totally in shock that I would be the one blessed enough to have been given this gift. This link to our past.
I am so pleased to have done so with honor. A clean quartering away shot from less than 20 yards. All that time practicing, and my arrow was guided cleanly to the kill. To experience it alone would have been one thing. To experience it with kindred spirits was beyond words. I hope that I have done the experience justice in this retelling.
I believe that we are given insights into the meaning of life all the time. Our Creator speaks to each of us in different ways, and the best we can do in this world is remain open to receiving those moments... and what a moment this was!
