Bowsite.com

This way those who have the first edition will have access to the entire book--and those who don’t can see if they enjoy the way the stories are written and laid out. The Audible version has also been updated and can be downloaded for free if you have the original.

The Official Book Trailer is attached here as well and hope you like it.

With whitetail season just around the corner, and this year’s Hunter’s Moon forecasted for Halloween night, I thought I’d share one of the stories in the book entitled…… “Hunter’s Moon.”

Thank you for the support—it is greatly appreciated!

Hawkeye

It was October 21, 2018, and I was headed to southern Iowa for my first bowhunt of the season. Work commitments and a family wedding had kept me out of the timber thus far, but I could stay away no longer. A cold front had engulfed the Midwest since early October, digging in and becoming the norm. In fact, it seemed that Iowa was under a weather dome, with a bowhunter controlling the thermostat. Frosty mornings and cool evenings were a daily occurrence, and the deer were on the move. I contemplated where to hunt that afternoon—with one buck on my mind.

I moved up the hill and along the timberline, finally reaching my stand at 5:00 PM. As I approached the tree, now only a few yards away, I looked up and stopped on a dime. A mature doe had risen from her bed and was staring right through me, threatening to end my hunt before it started. Even worse, the wind was blowing over my shoulder toward the doe, surely confirming her suspicions.

Almost a year had passed since I hunted this stand, and I paused a moment to take it all in. The corn and clover were thriving, while hedge apples and acorns littered the ground beneath me. A mixture of green and rustic-red painted the oaks, while hickories, walnuts, and sugar maples displayed deep yellow hues. I could see cherry trees and gooseberry bushes through the timber, their leaves a striking, sunset orange. It was a perfect evening, with steady winds and cool temperatures, and I felt blessed to be there. After ensuring the coast was clear, I sent a text message to my wife, letting her know that I had arrived safely. I then put my phone away and sat back, hoping to catch a glimpse of a few deer before sundown.

When he cleared the timber and stepped into the open, I could tell he was a young ten-pointer, no older than three-and-a-half and would get a pass. I left my bow on the hanger and took some photos as he moved through the food plot.

As they moved within 10 yards of my stand, the buck suddenly froze and stared in my direction. The wind was still in my favor, blowing out of the southwest and down the ridge. I couldn't fathom what was wrong, but within seconds he was gone, dashing across the field and out of sight. I slowly turned and peered into the forest but saw nothing.

I assumed the buck had crossed my entry trail and caught my scent, a reasonable explanation, and one I was content with. I was getting settled when a grunt erupted from the ditch behind me. It was so loud that it almost startled me off the stand. Somewhere between a grunt and a growl, another deep bellow echoed from the hollow. I carefully lifted my bow off the hanger and turned, waiting for the buck to appear.

For so many years, I had envisioned a giant standing in this position, glaring into the field with broad shoulders and a massive rack. I had pictured his strides as he approached from my left, the trees I would use as cover to conceal my draw, and where I would stop him before releasing my arrow. All of these dreams and scenarios played out over the next few seconds—except one small detail.

A twig. One….small….twig.

As the buck strode across the field in the fading light, I hit my anchor and mouthed a soft grunt, stopping him at 27 yards—right behind that twig. I could hear Mr. Murphy laughing, before whispering in my ear, “You didn’t see that one coming, did you?”

I can’t say that I panicked, in fact, I was surprisingly calm. Here I was, at full draw on one of the biggest whitetails I have ever seen, with his vitals obscured by a lonely, lifeless twig. I normally shoot sitting down, so I had to rise up and lean to my right. Upon doing that, my field of view expanded, and although it was an awkward angle, I was steady as I pulled through the shot.

I could hear the buck crashing through the corn stalks, and then all went silent. I sat down and collected my thoughts, my mind sifting through the possibilities. There was no doubt that it was a lethal shot, but finding the buck would be a tall order. I had no clue where he entered the corn, as my view was obstructed by a cluster of oaks and Osage orange. The moon was climbing higher above the tree line, its luminous rays growing brighter with each passing second. I crawled down from the stand and crept over to the impact site, expecting to find my arrow. Having no luck, I quietly backed out with plans to return the next morning. The buck needed time, and despite a healthy coyote population, I had to be patient. Hopefully, we would find him at first light.

After a thorough search around my treestand, with no sign of blood or my arrow, we spread out. I circled around the corn and walked along the timberline, checking trails and fence crossings. As I approached a heavy runway that led into the forest, I looked down and caught a flash of red. There was a small patch of blood on the pasture grass, leading toward a hardwood ridge and thicket. We backtracked through the corn and quickly found my arrow, with its shaft and feathers coated in crimson.

We slowly moved into the timber with our senses on full alert. The sign was sparse but steady, with dark droplets on fallen leaves, and streaks of red along sapling trunks. Fresh footprints were also evident, as large depressions followed the blood trail down the ridge. We had covered over 100 yards, and still not found his first bed, when we heard a flock of crows cawing. They were a good distance away, but with the blood trail waning, we all wondered if they had found something.

Don, Seth, and Mitch moved down toward the creek, while I veered left into the hardwoods, praying we’d find a clue that would give us direction. I was getting nervous when I saw Don motion toward Seth, who was now on the other side of the waterway. Don had seen something, and then Seth did too. They were moving in that direction when suddenly, Seth hollered, “He’s right here, Eyad! Get your bow!”