With spring turkey right around the corner, I thought I’d share a cautionary tale about missing shots and having it haunt your dreams…
My family and I are in Hawaii for a couple months and, although the surf’s been great, I’ve been itching to get out in the field to chase some game. Amazingly, my friend got us an invite to hunt a unique stretch of private land that is known to hold some big goats, pigs, and possibly turkey and sheep. Not having brought any hunting gear with me, I had to borrow some, including a bow that was 3 inches shorter in draw length than mine. But I was able to fly a few practice arrows on the mark, so I felt confident enough to seal the deal if given the chance.
The day of our hunt the conditions were rainy and poor – highly unusual for this part of the island – which could keep the goats bedded down for the day, but we pressed ahead anyway. Our guide hiked us down to an area that wasn’t particularly productive for him in the past, but could be good today given the rain. Within 45 minutes we heard a goat calling directly ahead and, sure enough, we glassed a nice large brown billy about 150 yards in front, moving straight toward us. With the wind at our face, we decided to hold still behind a tree and let him come to us. Right on cue, the billy closed the distance to about 80 yards of us. But as I nocked my arrow and started game planning my stalk, I hear my buddy “ho, brah… forget that brown one, check DIS one out.” I look up and see an even bigger black billy appear out of the brush, moving up toward us to feed. Decent sized billies in this area start around 22 inches, but my buddy had estimated this black one at 26, maybe larger, with a heavy build and a beard hanging down to his chest. So I snuck off to head down a culvert and stalk the big boy to where he was feeding.
I sneaked to about 20 yards and slightly above him, but he was directly in front of me, partially blocked by some trees. In hindsight, I probably should have taken this shot head on, but I didn’t feel comfortable with this chest shot between trees, so I tried to sneak around the tree to take him broadside. As luck would have it, I crunched hard on some lava, and the big billy rose up and started trotting away. So I called to him “baahhhh” and he slowed down slightly enough for me to let fly a moving shot at about 35 yards… MISS. As I started cursing myself, he miraculously stopped at about 50 yards on a rock with the other brown billy, so I re-positioned for a second shot and WHAM-O, I somehow step through a hole in the lava rock and take a hard tumble down the hill. UNBELIEVABLE. Goats were gone, this time for good.
On our hike back to the truck, I held hope for a second (really, a third) chance to find another, or maybe even scare up a boar, but all I ended up bagging was some humble pie. These days I try not to beat myself up about hunting miscues, but this one will particularly haunt me because we practically did everything right, up until the shot. All I know is when I get home, I’ll be practicing my bow more, and dreaming about that big black goat that still roams the Hawaiian countryside.
-- Jason
My family and I are in Hawaii for a couple months and, although the surf’s been great, I’ve been itching to get out in the field to chase some game. Amazingly, my friend got us an invite to hunt a unique stretch of private land that is known to hold some big goats, pigs, and possibly turkey and sheep. Not having brought any hunting gear with me, I had to borrow some, including a bow that was 3 inches shorter in draw length than mine. But I was able to fly a few practice arrows on the mark, so I felt confident enough to seal the deal if given the chance.
The day of our hunt the conditions were rainy and poor – highly unusual for this part of the island – which could keep the goats bedded down for the day, but we pressed ahead anyway. Our guide hiked us down to an area that wasn’t particularly productive for him in the past, but could be good today given the rain. Within 45 minutes we heard a goat calling directly ahead and, sure enough, we glassed a nice large brown billy about 150 yards in front, moving straight toward us. With the wind at our face, we decided to hold still behind a tree and let him come to us. Right on cue, the billy closed the distance to about 80 yards of us. But as I nocked my arrow and started game planning my stalk, I hear my buddy “ho, brah… forget that brown one, check DIS one out.” I look up and see an even bigger black billy appear out of the brush, moving up toward us to feed. Decent sized billies in this area start around 22 inches, but my buddy had estimated this black one at 26, maybe larger, with a heavy build and a beard hanging down to his chest. So I snuck off to head down a culvert and stalk the big boy to where he was feeding.
I sneaked to about 20 yards and slightly above him, but he was directly in front of me, partially blocked by some trees. In hindsight, I probably should have taken this shot head on, but I didn’t feel comfortable with this chest shot between trees, so I tried to sneak around the tree to take him broadside. As luck would have it, I crunched hard on some lava, and the big billy rose up and started trotting away. So I called to him “baahhhh” and he slowed down slightly enough for me to let fly a moving shot at about 35 yards… MISS. As I started cursing myself, he miraculously stopped at about 50 yards on a rock with the other brown billy, so I re-positioned for a second shot and WHAM-O, I somehow step through a hole in the lava rock and take a hard tumble down the hill. UNBELIEVABLE. Goats were gone, this time for good.
On our hike back to the truck, I held hope for a second (really, a third) chance to find another, or maybe even scare up a boar, but all I ended up bagging was some humble pie. These days I try not to beat myself up about hunting miscues, but this one will particularly haunt me because we practically did everything right, up until the shot. All I know is when I get home, I’ll be practicing my bow more, and dreaming about that big black goat that still roams the Hawaiian countryside.
-- Jason
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