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Go For The Gold

All highly successful archers have one thing in common. They know their equipment well and use quality products. When they get an opportunity, whether it's a once in a lifetime buck or a national championship, they know they can rely on their equipment and focus often leads them into "the zone", where success is automatic, not accidental.

When I'm in the zone, I'm not hoping my arrow flies true. I KNOW it is. Start with quality PDP equipment, for People Demanding Performance.


Follow our social media accounts to discover our stories and images of successful PDP Archers. When you find your skills improving with our remarkable accessories, you too could be featured on this site! We would love to hear from you! Submit photos and stories to sales@pdparchery.com


Not Today Tom

Not Today Tom

I ran into 4 gobblers in a waterway which separates a wheat field from a corn field about to be planted, & they ran back down the waterway towards the river, then cut through the nearly waste high wheat below a terrace. I slipped in the waterway, bending over to keep out of sight as I ran to the terrace, then turned into the wheat field above the same terrace ridge. Staying bent over so my torso was horizontal with the top of the wheat as I ran to catch up with them. Peaking over the ridge I saw I was gaining on them, so after a few more yards I draw my longbow while horizontal as I raised, locking onto the closest one at 32 yards, only his head and upper neck visible in the wheat. The arrow smacked him at the base of his head, cutting off part of his top vertebrae, but amazingly he flew a few yards before going down. He rose again when I ran at him, able to keep a few feet off the ground as he crossed the field, landing along the far side of the field. I gave him a few minutes, then slipped quietly along the woodland edge, hoping to find him. No sign of him for a block on either side, so I slipped into the center of the wooded strip & worked it back, finding blood to trail him several yards, indicating he'd turned in the direction I was heading. Seeing nothing as I neared the end, I swung to the far side to circle back, finding him hiding under a cedar, his head barely off the ground. Not taking a chance I shot him in the head, but he'd nearly bled out. Lucky day...

The Buck Stops Here

The Buck Stops Here

I slipped the canoe into the river Monday evening, paddled 3/4 mile against a strong current, and beached it under a big sycamore where a bald eagle had been perched near her spring nest. There were already six does & fawns along with 16 turkeys in the wheat field, so I had to slip through the crunchy leaves to get within 30 yards of the field, then crawl close to the edge as more deer poured into the field. I couldn't move enough to put  on the extra clothes I'd packed, so slowly hung them on branches for a make shift blind, removing dry leaves slowly to sound like the fox squirrel which seemed to tolerate me just a few away. The turkeys filed past me on the way to the roost, and I  was tempted to try for the head of the closest tom, but didn't want to jeopardize the setup. Darkness was threatening as four more deer came off the ridge to the field when I heard deer approaching over my left shoulder, working the wind better than the others, but unable to catch me as my scent drifted across the river.

It was late enough I slipped the binoculars up to identify the buck following her, and could see the defined full neck of the old buck. The doe fed past my shooting lane at 20 yards as he eased onto the field edge. Broadside at 25 yards, I couldn't tell if there was any light brush or weeds which might deflect my arrow in the low light, so pivoted to prepare for a shot through the clearing as the doe worked deeper into the field. After five minutes he still hadn't approached, but I could see movement the size of his head just off the shooting lane, like he was grazing on the wheat. Darkness was enveloping us as another five minutes passed, while the calm night air carrying his heavy rutting scent to me, giving me the confidence to hold tight as he finally entered the clearing. However, it was a foraging raccoon I'd been watching, followed by another! Knowing I needed to force the issue I leaned back to find him in the same position. Taking the shot, which appeared clear, I wasn't completely surprised to hear my arrow tick a branch, causing him to jump and swing around into the clearing, looking back in the direction of the noise. My longbow was quiet enough the doe had remained feeding, which kept him somewhat calm. He alternated his intense gaze from where the arrow had passed him and the branch as I nocked another arrow, slowly drew my bow as he locked onto me, and held for a few seconds for arrow I thought I'd missed when a solid, steady thump of a deep hit came back. He whirled and ran across the neck of the field, snorting hard twice after reaching the brush, then continued up the ridge where he blew three more times, unlike any mortally wounded deer I'd heard before, but likely trying to alarm the doe so she'd follow him. I waited a few minutes for things to calm, knowing the entire field had heard the ruckus, then sent another arrow where he had been standing to mark the spot, causing deer near me to trot away and allowing me to slip back to the canoe. I had a 7pm meeting to make, and it was after 6pm, but allowed myself a peaceful trip down the river. by starlight, the current doing half the work.

I returned with my father at 9:30 and followed the trail as it turned along the ridge, dropping down into the bottom where he'd came from, as I heard a pack of coyotes howl in the direction we were heading, even though they should have been able to smell us. The trail was diminishing as we entered a grassy flat, further challenging us, so I swung around in the direction of the coyotes to find two pair of eyes, a little too yellow and narrow for deer, glaring back from two directions about 75 yards away. Continuing between the two I found him at midnight, already molested, already molested by the devils.

He appears to be 6-7 years old, an old fellow by deer standards. He'd taken an antler tine to his abdomen during an earlier fight, puncturing an intestine, and another underneath his chest, so I'm not sure he'd have made it through the winder. One side of his rack noticeably smaller, whether from an old injury side or genetics remained to be determined, but either way it as time for him to go...

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