The Impatient Bow Hunter

One thing is certain, archery hunting in Maine is the true mark of the impatient outdoorsman. Apparently genetically cursed, lacking the simple ability to wait, these poor sportsmen are forced to endure long and unnecessary hours in stands and blinds waiting for a miracle. As soon as those first few leaves drop and mornings begin to carry hints of frost, these desperate souls, lacking an ounce of self restraint, head into the woods with lustful thoughts of seared tenderloins and turkey salad sandwiches. Don't these idiots know that in one short month they can use a gun?

It surprises me that in this day and age of laser beams and cruise missiles, among us there are those foolish enough to enjoy the self abuse of pursuing whitetails and turkeys with technologies barely above that used by cave men. Like shooting big game animals in Maine isn't hard enough with a firearm, bow hunters are truly suckers for punishment.

If these sportsman were only born possessing the ability to wait until the woods swell with hunters in November, maybe they would be more apt to "stick" or "poke" a deer as the animals are driven through the woods by hordes of florescent orange clad hunters. Even better, dissolve the Maine Bow Hunters Association, send them to archers anonymous and give them all guns!

Here I sit in my bargain bin climbing stand, uncomfortably and precariously hanging approximately 16 feet up a rotten old maple tree. It appears my situational awareness indicates I am where the deer are not. A game of yards, not having to be played were I simply to have in my hands a high powered rifle. Deer, turkeys and even a brave coyote tease me by walking past 75 to 100 yards away, at an appallingly rate of regularity. Though they challenge my resolve, I am a bow hunter and proud to be impatient.