I gun hunted from the ground my first two seasons with no success. Looking back, I am not sure why I was unsuccessful, considering there were deer EVERYWHERE around here in the 90's.
(This was prior to the game commission's decision to kill them all off)
When I turned 14, my uncle bought me a PSE Spyder compound bow. He was a big PSE fan and traveled to different 3D style competitive shoots. The same year, my dad bought a 10 foot ladder stand and we hung it up in the woods behind the house. I practiced all summer and felt like I was competent enough to hit a deer at 20 yards. If nothing else, this would give me another month in the woods. My dad didn't get home from work until 5 PM on weekdays, but gave me the go-ahead to sit in the ladder after school by myself if I wanted.
I came home from school one day, changed into my camo, grabbed my bow, and headed into the woods. At that time, I had a camo vest that I used to carry all of my gear which included my license, a flashlight, and a piece of rope in the game pouch. I had a large Buck fixed blade knife on my belt that resembled something Crocodile Dundee might carry. No backpack, no kill kit, no cell phone, no GPS...none of that, crazy huh?
On my way out to the stand, I heard the sound of deer running in the crunchy, early-October leaves, so I stopped. At first, I was frustrated because I assumed that I had bumped them halfway to the ladder and likely ruined my hunt for the night. However, I quickly realized that the crunching was coming from behind me and getting closer. I wheeled around to find a group of 3 does staring at me from 20 yards away.
I drew my bow as slowly and as smoothly as I could and just when I got to full draw, the string hit the brim of my hat and knocked it down onto my face. Unable to see, I had to let down, this time in a panic, and not so smoothly, and knocked the hat off of my head with my free hand. By now, the lead doe was stomping, snorting, and head-bobbing at me. I drew back quickly, settled the pin behind her shoulder and let my first ever arrow aimed at a deer fly. All 3 deer snorted and took off through the brush.
I was told when you shoot a deer with a bow, you were supposed to wait at least 30 minutes before tracking. However, I had no clue if I had even hit the deer, so I decided to walk up to where she was standing to see if I could find my arrow. When I walked up to the shot site, it looked like something out of a horror movie; there was blood...EVERYWHERE. I didn't know it at the time, but she had ducked my string, and instead of hitting the vitals, the arrow went through her neck and severed the jugular. Because she had already been running prior to the shot, the blood apparently sprayed out like a garden hose.
I knew I was supposed to wait, but my excitement got the best of me. Besides, there's no way any living creature could bleed that extensively and still be alive, right? I started slowly following the crimson runway through the woods, but stopped when I heard and saw a deer run off 30 yards ahead of me. DAMNIT, I knew better and I still blew it. That was probably my deer and I just bumped her in to the next county, I know it. How could I be so foolish? I stood there angry, berating myself for the next 15 minutes, trying to figure out what to do next.
I finally decided if that was, in fact, the deer I shot, it likely wouldn't matter how much longer I stood at this spot. I might as well follow the blood trail another 50 yards and verify if that was her or not. I took 2 steps toward a downed log on the ground, and noticed a white belly on the other side. I froze. Adrenaline took over...you know, again. Wait, is THAT her? I looked at the chest cavity. No movement, no breathing. Also...no hole? Hmm...
I took another step and saw a gaping wound in her neck, and then it all made sense. I crept forward, held my breath, and poked her in the eye with an arrow, waiting to be kicked in the shin or stomach. Nothing. She's dead. I got her. I just shot my first deer. By myself. On the ground. With a bow...
I let out what I can only describe as my best Iroquois battle cry. Anyone within earshot was likely startled and confused...
Now what? I have no clue. I ran at a full sprint through the woods back to the house. Just when I rounded the corner of the garage, I saw my dad pulling into the driveway. He saw his son come around the corner...sweaty, panicked. He jumped out of the truck...
"What's wrong?"
"I got one!"
"Got one, what?"
"A deer!"
"You shot at a deer?"
"No, I shot a deer!"
"...and we need to track it?"
"No, I already found it! It's dead! It's a doe"
:: Pause ::
"...What?"
"C'mon Dad! Get changed and let's go! I can take you right to her! I don't know what to do next!"
Haha - I can't even imagine what was going through his head...
I took him to the deer and he started laughing. "You shot it in the neck?"
"I didn't mean to, it just kind of happened that way."
"Alright, well let's tag her and gut her. Grab that leg and roll her over."
I rolled my long sleeve down over my hand and reluctantly grabbed her bloody front leg...
"Are you serious? Don't be a P%$$Y. Grab the damn deer."
He field dressed it for me, thankfully, since I had no clue what I was doing. I remember being more grossed out about the milk that went everywhere when he cut into the udder than the actual guts. It was only an 80-ish pound doe, but to me it felt like I had just killed a wooly mammoth with a spear. We didn't even drag it out; we lashed the legs together, put a big stick through, and carried it out of the woods on our shoulders.
I actually killed 3 or 4 more with that bow, and a couple with a flintlock muzzleloader before I ever finally shot one with a rifle in the my mid 20's.