gobblinglawyer
FNG
- Joined
- Jul 1, 2018
- Messages
- 59
The Cemetery Bow Hunt
Damn I love this thread. Here goes one from back in the late 80’s when I had just started bow hunting…let me set the stage for y’all. I’m 16 years old and armed with a High Country Safari with 2117’s and Muzzy 125’s. I drive out to our Jefferson Co., GA hunting lease for an afternoon bow hunt.
It was early October and the leaves were just starting to fall. The best bow spot on the club was an oak head right beside an old Civil War cemetery. Gen. Sherman burned the town of Louisville about 5 miles up the road on his “March to the Sea” and folks always said there were a few dead soldiers buried in there. The place always freaked me out (ghosts are bad but Yankee ghosts are some next level shit!) but my Dad had jumped a huge buck in there when he was bushhogging earlier in the year.
I’m feeling brave that afternoon so I grab my Summit climber and hit the woods. How the hell I didn’t die in that thing is a mystery. Of course it makes perfect sense to climb 20’ up a tree with no safety belt and then step over and erect a tiny seat while balancing on a platform that’s 16”x22” wide…but I digress. That’s how we rolled in the 1980’s.
I was hunting over some white oaks and remember the hunt being very nondescript and rather slow. When I climbed down the fun really started. I take the climber off the tree and drop one of the damn wing nuts (if you know you know!). Dammit…after 10 mins of searching in the dark in oak leaves I find it and head out. It’s a moonless night and dark as Satan’s asshole. I start the long walk toward the truck.
As I walk I hear something walking directly behind me in perfect step..I take 2 steps and it takes 2. I try to ignore it but am convinced Sherman’s boys are coming to get a Rebel they left behind. Shit I wish I was old enough to own a pistol! I’m panicked as hell. I stop and the noise stops. I spin around and shine my Mini Mag light…nothing!
I take another step and it takes one. I decide to take off running and it runs right with me step for step! All the while I’m thinking…Dammit y’all! I’m a goner! Mama and Daddy probably won’t even notice until I’m missing 24 hours! They always liked my sister better anyway!
I’ve always been called smart so I devise a plan quickly. I’m going to whip out my Buck knife while I take 3 steps, spin, and dive on the sombitch and it’s every man or ghost for himself! Here it is! The moment of truth! Out comes the knife, I take the 3 steps spin and dive backwards and come face to face with……..my damn bow rope. In all the haste with the missing wing nut I forgot to wind it up and put it in my pocket. Along the way the hook end picked up a stick and sounded just like General Sherman coming to get me.
Still scares me just thinking about it and that was 30+ years ago. I abandoned hunting that spot after that too. We may have lost the war but I’ve got enough sense to not tempt fate again after that night! Y’all watch out for those bow ropes stalking you on the way out!
Damn I love this thread. Here goes one from back in the late 80’s when I had just started bow hunting…let me set the stage for y’all. I’m 16 years old and armed with a High Country Safari with 2117’s and Muzzy 125’s. I drive out to our Jefferson Co., GA hunting lease for an afternoon bow hunt.
It was early October and the leaves were just starting to fall. The best bow spot on the club was an oak head right beside an old Civil War cemetery. Gen. Sherman burned the town of Louisville about 5 miles up the road on his “March to the Sea” and folks always said there were a few dead soldiers buried in there. The place always freaked me out (ghosts are bad but Yankee ghosts are some next level shit!) but my Dad had jumped a huge buck in there when he was bushhogging earlier in the year.
I’m feeling brave that afternoon so I grab my Summit climber and hit the woods. How the hell I didn’t die in that thing is a mystery. Of course it makes perfect sense to climb 20’ up a tree with no safety belt and then step over and erect a tiny seat while balancing on a platform that’s 16”x22” wide…but I digress. That’s how we rolled in the 1980’s.
I was hunting over some white oaks and remember the hunt being very nondescript and rather slow. When I climbed down the fun really started. I take the climber off the tree and drop one of the damn wing nuts (if you know you know!). Dammit…after 10 mins of searching in the dark in oak leaves I find it and head out. It’s a moonless night and dark as Satan’s asshole. I start the long walk toward the truck.
As I walk I hear something walking directly behind me in perfect step..I take 2 steps and it takes 2. I try to ignore it but am convinced Sherman’s boys are coming to get a Rebel they left behind. Shit I wish I was old enough to own a pistol! I’m panicked as hell. I stop and the noise stops. I spin around and shine my Mini Mag light…nothing!
I take another step and it takes one. I decide to take off running and it runs right with me step for step! All the while I’m thinking…Dammit y’all! I’m a goner! Mama and Daddy probably won’t even notice until I’m missing 24 hours! They always liked my sister better anyway!
I’ve always been called smart so I devise a plan quickly. I’m going to whip out my Buck knife while I take 3 steps, spin, and dive on the sombitch and it’s every man or ghost for himself! Here it is! The moment of truth! Out comes the knife, I take the 3 steps spin and dive backwards and come face to face with……..my damn bow rope. In all the haste with the missing wing nut I forgot to wind it up and put it in my pocket. Along the way the hook end picked up a stick and sounded just like General Sherman coming to get me.
Still scares me just thinking about it and that was 30+ years ago. I abandoned hunting that spot after that too. We may have lost the war but I’ve got enough sense to not tempt fate again after that night! Y’all watch out for those bow ropes stalking you on the way out!
