When I arrived in North Dakota my good friend and guide Bob Bartz met me at the airport.  As we waited for my luggage, I came to the sickening realization that my bowcase was missing.  After a few anxious moments Bob assured me that I could use one of his bows until mine arrived.  The remainder of my first day in camp was spent shooting, sighting-in, and just plain getting comfortable with the new equipment.

 After a nearly sleepless night, we headed out for our mountain top perch to glass for deer feeding in the sagebrush bottoms.  Almost immediately we spotted deer, however none were the "shooter" quality we were after.  We spent all day glassing the rock ledges and shaded crevasses with little success.  As the sun was setting over the rugged horizon, Bob spotted a bachelor group of five mature bucks feeding across the valley toward a narrow gap in the butte.  He immediately instructed me to run around the butte and ambush the group as they fed through the pass.  With the light fading, it seemed like ten miles but I finally reached the saddle as the first big five-by-five stepped into view.  Not having time to get set and use my rangefinder, I hastily estimated the distance at forty yards, drew the bow and released the arrow sending an orange blur inches over the huge mulie's back.  As I cursed the airlines under my breath, I watched the gray-haired monster bounce off.  Suddenly, the second buck of the group appeared on top of the saddle.  I was determined not to miss again.  I carefully ranged the distance, strung another arrow, drew the bow, picked a spot and released.  The arrow took an eternity to cover the fifty-two yards before passing through the four-by-four's heart.  He whirled and ran only twenty-five yards before expiring. 

 As I approached my first mule deer, I stood silent, unable to explain the range of emotions I had just experienced. Going from utter defeat to overwhelming success in a short time is hard on a guy, but it is part of my personal quest that I will never forget!