Hunting Season

 

  When I was in high school I shot an unsuspecting bird off a post with a friend's .22 rifle. The bird lay on its back kicking the air before it died. I didn't call myself murderer, but I didn't kill any more living things until I moved to Roseau County. A different friend gave me a .22 and said, "You'll need this for varmints."

   I shot several squirrels and woodchucks until the kicking legs before death got to me and I switched to live trapping instead. I know moving an animal from its environment is usually a death sentence, but it's a better option for the animal than being shot. I rationalized this by dropping the squirrels at the same spot in the wildlife refuge five miles from home. I hoped previous captives would show the new critter the ropes on arrival.

   Deer hunting season started here last Saturday. I’ve never killed a deer myself. Correction, I’ve never shot a deer. I’ve killed two deer with my car. It was their fault. They ran right in front of me. The first one ran off into the dark. I didn’t look for it since I was on my way to work. But based on the look of my front end, the deer wouldn’t go far. 

   The second deer also jumped in front of me as I drove to work in the dark. He lay on the road still alive. A guy came along and wanted to put the deer out of its misery, but his pistol jammed. He got it unjammed, administered the coup de grace, and I helped him load the deer into the back of his truck. 

   I have not shot a deer or ever seen one being shot. I have helped drag a dead deer out of the woods. It's awkward work, all flopping legs, neck and head. I've watched a deer being gutted and skinned. What a piece of work is a deer. I admire the deer's ability to survive in the woods, to endure the long nights of our brutal winters. They say when a pine needle falls in the forest, the eagle sees it, the bear smells it, and the deer hears it. Deer also have great night vision, but they're near sighted. This may explain why they exercise poor judgement when crossing the road at night. 

   If hunters ever say there are no deer around, they're kidding themselves. Every spring I see dozens of deer in the fields enjoying the sun, probably congratulating each other for having dodged another bullet. The deer are out there. The ambitious hunters get out of their stands and make a drive. I've never witnessed a drive, but I've heard the stories. The hunters formulate a strategy. They put the strategy into motion. But the deer sometimes act irrationally. Steve Reynolds told me that on a drive once, two deer ran the wrong way directly towards him. If he hadn't shot them, they would have run him down.

   More important than the deer are the deer camps. Deer camp can be a mansion or a drafty shack. It's a place to sleep and eat, to drink beer and shoo the mice back to their holes. Evening entertainment is the telling of deer stories. Hunters love telling and listening to deer stories whether they happened forty years ago or that afternoon. The deer come and go, but camp and the stories are forever.

Our deer camp  trophy— courtesy of Steve Reynolds