Evolution of a Bow Hunter: Part One

Editor's Note:  Normally one reserves the bottom of an article for notes on an author.  However, in this instance, I don't have your normal news release or "How To" type article.  I have a story.  A story that I feel we should all read about a fellow FishingBuddy.COM member who loves the outdoors.  Even more, loves life after what many of us may have given up. 

Clint Lindemann (pictured left) is a living example of the model we should all use to shape our own lives.  Attitude, perseverance and desire.  Please take a few moments and participate in Clint's story.  Listed below is part one of a three part series.  Part two will follow in the coming days.

Evolution of a Bow Hunter:  Part One

I was introduced to bow hunting when I was 13 years old by my cousin and some of his friends. They would pick me up and bring me to some of their top-secret hunting spots and drop me off. It would usually be at the end of the shelter belt, end of trial or draw, or a section of river bottom that they wanted me to push toward them. I was really too young to know what I was doing but figured I didn’t really care because I was outside and hanging out with older guys and that is always cool when you are younger. I soon realized that all I was there for was their grunt work. I would walk miles of old deer trails climbing over trees, walking through water, and crawling under bushes trying to push deer toward the guys posting on the other end of my hike. I don’t think that first fall anyone harvested any deer, but I was hooked on bow hunting and have been ever since.

The next summer in between baseball practice and games I worked on our family farm trying to raise enough money to buy my own bow and all of the attachments. At this time I was 14 years old and had my drivers’ license. So after baseball would come home and either jump in the combine or grain truck and work till dark. After saving enough money I went up to Fargo and bought my bow for $300 and with all the other necessities it totaled around $500. I didn’t care how much it cost because I knew I was going to enjoy it.

Being the novice bow hunter that I was, the next day after school with my bow in the back of my ‘86 Chevy Cavalier, I drove to Miller’s Service and bought a Bow Whitetail license. I drove out west of Lucca on some of our farmland and decided to sit at the end of a shelter belt that I had seen deer use as a cover trail when I was combining earlier that year.

I remember it as if it was yesterday. I got out of my car grabbed my bow and started walking toward the belt. All I had one for camouflage was Sigco Seed jacket I got for my uncle, blue jeans, and nothing for camouflage on my face. There was corn on the east side of the belt and a coulee on the south end of the belt. So I decided to sit on the south and figuring they would probably need to drink sooner or later. I did not have a blind set up or a tree stand so I just decided to kneel on the ground and wait for Mr. Big to walk by. I wasn’t there more than 10 minutes and I heard some rustling in the corn and I almost crapped my pants! I remember thinking it could not be a deer, it must be a raccoon or a loud squirrel. But against all odds a doe poked her head into the shelter belt and stared right at me. I was shaking uncontrollably and we stared at each other eye to eye for what seemed to be forever. Then to my surprise, she didn’t spook and walked off to the north. I could not believe she didn’t get scared by me or my scent. Being a novice hunter I did not have any cover scent. After settling down I realized that even if I wanted to shoot her I couldn’t have because I didn’t have my arrow locked on my string (must’ve gotten bumped off during my shaking).

After calming down I heard another rustle in the corn. I figured it was another doe, maybe her fawn from earlier that spring. But to my surprise on the same trail with a doe came, a 4x4 buck poked his head into the shelter belt and stared directly at me. I proceeded to dittle in my pants again…

We stared into each other’s eyes for a brief moment but he must’ve been more interested in the doe and started to follow her. I raised my bow, drew back and let my arrow fly.

And that was all it was because the next thing I knew my arrow was at least 2 feet over its back bouncing off trees. He didn’t even move he just turned around and looks at me and slowly walked away. He evidently realized he had nothing to worry about.

If I wasn’t hooked before, after that night, I was definitely a Bow Hunter for life. Over the next couple of weeks I would go out hunting from time to time and try my luck but with no success. It became clear not only did I need to practice shooting and controlling my nerves more, I also had more to learn about whitetail tendencies. And of course, more schooling was needed in being a smarter hunter. My starting point was reading Outdoor Life magazines and asking my Uncle Floyd and other people that I knew about bow hunting.

That fall I decided not to go out for football, instead work on the farm and go hunting whenever I could. It wasn’t just bow hunting. After school I would drive home and grab my single shot 16 gauge shotgun and bow and drive out to the field and either hop into the Versatile or John Deere and plow or chisel plow until dark. But on my way out to the field I would jump a couple of my favorite duck’s sloughs and plink a couple of mallards or teal. When I got home, I would usually breast them out and throw them in the freezer or the frying pan. Because I didn’t go out for football and most of my hunting buddies were in football, I spent a lot of my time by myself learning how to hunt and shoot. I learned that you can learn a lot by yourself just spending time in the outdoors making mistakes and learning from them.

On the weekends I would go out with my buddies who all had pump shotguns or semi automatics and show them where all the ducks were. Jealously (albeit kind) would develop because I could shoot more ducks with my single shot shotguns than they could shoot with their semi autos. I would have one in my chamber, one in my hand and another shotgun shell hanging out of my mouth. I could get three shots off and drop something every time. And in the meantime they would shoot three shells and maybe get one duck. I don’t know how many ducks we shot that fall but it was one of the best times in my life: driving around drinking Mountain Dews, chewing tobacco, and smoking the occasional cigarette. Thank God gas was only around a dollar those days because we put on thousands of miles in that Chevy Cavalier which even got 36 miles to the gallon.

We would wake up on Saturday mornings to drive around scouting deer, looking for spots to sit for bow hunting that night. During afternoon breaks between duck hunts we would find places to build stands for bow hunting. All of them were permanent stands made out of any type of old 2 x 4's that we could find. Old rusty nails, a hacksaw, and a hammer were all we needed to build the scariest stands anyone would ever feel comfortable on.
Once November turned the corner the days for hunting became less and less because wrestling practice usually went until 6:00 each night and tournaments took up most of the weekends. However, during Christmas break of that year we would have wrestling practice once a day usually in the mornings and after that we would go trudging through the snow looking for deer. Northeast of Enderlin in the “Hartford Valley” there was always a big group of deer that wintered there. We would spend hours pushing deer back and forth but no one ever got a real good shot.

On December 28 during one of our hunting expeditions my life would change for ever.

Myself and two of my friends decided to push the whole mile of river bottom from one section line to the next. We dropped off one friend at the north end of the valley and another friend and I went to post at the other end. The friend who was walking towards us did not have a bow but he brought along his .22 caliber rifle because rabbits and squirrels were plenty.

As we were posting at the south end he could see our friend coming towards us but there were no deer. I started to get up when I realized that my friend was aiming right at me. The next thing I knew I was flat on my back and I could hear some yelling. I remember lying there not been able to feel or move anything. I had a warm and tingly feeling all over my body. It was the weirdest feeling in the world. The next thing I knew my friends were looking down at my asking me if I was hurt and then they realized that the bullet went right through my neck. They asked me if I was in any pain and to their shock I said no, but now I know why.

I probably wouldn’t be here telling you this story if one of my friends did not step up and take control of the situation. He packed my neck with some of the snow, reached in my pants pocket and grabbed the keys and ran back to the pickup. I later learned that if he would not have done that I probably would’ve bled to death. I was conscious the whole time this was going on. I later learned that when my friend was running back to the pickup he didn’t think twice crossing a flowing river. Combined with adrenaline and cold water he was so bad he dropped the keys into the water. Luckily, they landed within clear sight.

During all of this I still can remember hearing the pickup start up and him driving about a mile and a half to the nearest farmstead where he called the ambulance. Soon after the sound of the ambulance grew from a murmur which I swear I could hear all the way from Enderlin grew into a loud growl as it reached me. Getting lift into the ambulance is when I lost consciousness.

Please check back for Part Two...