By now Don Davis’ wife Penny has her new Bamboo and Osage longbow, originally made by Captain Eric Kanitz for my wife Karen, but re-gifted to Penny by Karen when Karen’s longbow-killed pig got Penny thinking that maybe SHE could be a bowhuntin’ woman, too.  Plus, Penny took notice of how many times her husband Don sidled up to her to say “you look hot” or “man, you look hot”, or very similar sweet endearments while she was wearing camouflage clothes in camp last month, and she might have wanted his attention in bowhunting camp next year.  She did look pretty good, and the competition was stiff for good looking girls in camp.  There was also the “Big Eatin’ Woman” competition between the tall girls in Camp, Jeanette and Karen, over which one could put down more of Chef Craig’s pork entrees during dinner. Jeanette won at 7 full pork plates to Karen’s 4, but the record book has an asterisk because Jeanette didn’t absorb a full glass of strong brown drink with each plate as the other contestant did. 

 So Penny has her new bow, and Don is struggling to find someone to teach her to shoot it, because he gets distracted around Penny, and says foolish loving things like “Your brace height is too low,” or “find your anchor,” or “use your dominant eye,” and Penny’s heart gets so full of love she throws the bow down and can’t continue.  So if you know anyone, give Don a call.  I recommended my method to him, which was to have Penny become a Karate Black Belt like Karen before trying to teach her archery, because that pretty much kept me from saying endearing things while Karen learned to shoot, although it did take her an extra couple of years to learn using that method.  And I still limp a bit when it rains.

 But what started all of the bow sending and teaching was two weekends in March and April, when we got together with Don and Penny and Don and Lori Thomas to hunt pigs and the Florida Small Game Grand Slam (Possum, Raccoon, Armadillo, and Squirrel). Lori Thomas was pretty much the only small game grand slam participant, while Karen and I chased pigs, and Don chased Penny.

 These were Karen’s two first hunts ever, and she was very brave in agreeing not to shop for a new outfit, but rather wear my old mismatched camo clothes, and a new pair of black rubber boots from the Wal Mart.  That outfit is very stylish in certain circles, and even got a raised eyebrow from Don Davis, when he wasn’t circling Penny around the skinning shed.  The pigs certainly seemed to like Karen’s camo, because we could not walk a mile from Camp without running into a pack, or herd, or a pod or sounder or whatever you call the things when they travel in schools.  

The only problem was that Karen forgot to tell me something very important until we were ready to leap up and unleash the terrible fury of our longbow ambush on a pod of pigs walking toward us in a darkened field.  Right as I was about to cry havoc on those porcinus dramadas, she leaned over, and using that little kid’s whispery scary voice from the movie the Sixth Sense (you know, “I See Dead People”), Karen said: “I’m scared of pigs.”    Well.  I had to tug on her overly large camo shirttail to keep her from backing out of the pasture like Scooby-Doo and Shaggy, while we had a discussion.  Rather than use a lot of the language that was actually used, which the editor would just take out of the story anyway, let me say that we negotiated a temporary holding action, during which Karen got to watch the pigs until she was so scared that she figured she had to attack the pod or be eaten.  So she stood up and flung an arrow in their general direction, which at least cleared the end of her bow, stuck in the ground, and frightened the pigs away.  It was funny, I don’t care who you are.  Unless you were Karen.

 Well, that very afternoon the pigs welled up in front of her again (I DO think it was her outfit), but this time there was a good 100 yards of open flat land between us and the herd, so Karen generously offered to let me do the work  (which made me think that maybe she HAD done this before).  So I set out over cow pies, grass clods and ant mounds on my belly, took incoming from fire ants, held my ground, and finally at 30 yards I rose up and sent a shaft broadside into a black pig (Black is easier to see at my age), which dropped right in its tracks as a personal favor to me.  Karen rushed up (after all of the work was done) and went off chasing the remainder of the pack, but the sunset closed down further hunting camp operations for the day.  Jay 1, Karen 0.  I’m not sure how many times Don and Penny scored, but they seemed happy.

 A few weeks later, to be fair to Karen, Don and Penny asked us back to the lease.  This time, Karen had the benefit of having watched me show what not to do (the fire ant bites were healing nicely, thank you), so she was ready to go solo.  There didn’t seem to be as many fashion conscious pigs early in the morning, as none were running to Karen’s outfit, but they were apparently just sleeping in, and we collided with a school of them just as we were settling down for a nap.  Karen took off like a shot.  At least if the shot can low-crawl like a snake.  Again, we had chosen pigs which were thoughtless enough to position themselves without stalking cover between us, so Karen had to cover 70 yards of flat ground on her belly.  But apparently her belly doesn’t drag up as many insects as mine does, so she made it to within 20 yards without incident.

The whole “I’m Scared of Pigs” thing seemed to be old news, as I watched her stand up, draw her 50 pound Adcock fully, and let fly. Then, THUMP! The sound of hitting a ripe watermelon with your knuckle.  The field of dreams exploded and it all happened kind of fast after that, with pigs galloping, Karen shouting “I hit it!” while climbing a fence (really pretty funny watching someone try to get over a barbed wire fence with a bow still in hand), and me trying to keep her in the vicinity of the arrow hit while she was determined to run those pigs down.  Sigh.

The arrow is the key to all archery hunting.  The weight, spine, match to the bow, broadhead, arrow flight, and where it finally hits are all vital to the hunt.  But moreso, it’s the arrow AFTER the hit that tells the tale and sets the course of events in proper motion.  I was all about the arrow questions:  where did you hit him; in what direction did he run, how much arrow was sticking out, etc.  Karen was all about the answers: Maybe in the chest, I don’t know, I’m not sure, etc.  But, while I stared at the ground to carefully measure my next words, there was her arrow at my feet, stuck in the dirt.  Karen was upset immediately, before I could say anything.  “I can’t believe I missed!  I was sure I hit him” she cried, until I pointed out with my toe the bloody feathers and shaft.  A thump and a complete pass-through.  Nice job for a virgin hunter.  She was BEAMING!

Teaching Karen to trail and track the mortally hit pig was fun and exciting, and took us deep into the swamp for an hour or so, but Karen’s pig was laying dead 80 yards away, victim of a perfect quartering away, back to front, double lung pass-through arrow.  She was roundly congratulated by everyone at camp, and can’t wait to get back in the field with her longbow in hand.  Which brings us back to Don’s wife Penny and the new longbow Karen gave her.  I don’t think it was Karen’s success on the hunt that made Penny want to take up traditional archery, or the congratulations and attention of the boys at camp.  In the end, I think that Penny figured that if she could learn to archery hunt with Don, she would spend more time out in the field with  her camo outfit ON, and less time back in camp with her camo outfit … well …. less time back in camp.  It’s just a theory, though.