The walk to my deer stand is short, and this morning I squinted to watch the edges of my path a little more than usual. Two skunks had been hanging around a couple hours earlier and as I walked, I wondered how I would deal with such an odiferous mess if we met unexpectedly. Not a pleasant thought but fortunately they were long gone by the time I climbed the ladder and secured my harness to the tree.
Welcome to the 2024 Missouri firearms deer season. For me, the opening weekend was pretty uneventful. Truth is, I’d been sitting in my tree stand for several days. All the shadows, rubs, scrapes, and squirrel nests were already memorized. Local deer were catalogued thanks to cameras and sightings. A change in permits, weapons, and clothing were the only difference, and even then, I decided to continue hunting with my bow during the early morning hours.
Four days earlier it was a different story. The first two weeks of November saw the rut ramp up to a frenzy. At least a half dozen bucks chased does as I sat in my front row seat, bow hanging nearby. But now, the woods have grown quieter. Hard to know precisely what changed but I suspect resident does are not as inviting as they were, and bucks have simply moved along to greener pastures.
I don’t hunt the big forests or fields. Our home sits on a ten-acre wooded lot with expansive woods to our south and west. We’re on the edge. A few homes nearby but spread out mostly with plenty of room for deer to hide. And from our little sanctuary I can find a deer hunter’s peace temporarily, especially on the quiet mornings when the wind plays fair and the presence of neighbors is soft. And plenty of ways to find satisfaction, given certain limits and constraints.
On Saturday as the morning sun edged upward along the eastern horizon, the carpet of oak leaves in front of me changed from dark gray to a deep reddish orange brown and my memory began to recall other hunts, other times, and other places. And when a sliver of the rising sun pierced through distant branches, I felt the first cold cut from a wisp of wind as the morning stirred and awakened. And as the squirrels cut acorns above, leaves rattled downward in the breeze, and the temperature slowly rose from a stark chill, I felt today would be difficult. I pulled my collar closer and watched more keenly while my mind wandered through memories of the heart.
Sunday morning had immediate promise. I had been seated only minutes when a silhouette emerged on the woods path at 50 yards, 15 minutes too early. I watched two does and two fawns quietly walk the path, evenly spaced, movement steady. A forest caravan travelling with a destination in mind, breaking rank at 10 yards as the path opened near the driveway. With no concerns in sight, they proceeded onward into the cedar thicket in front of the house and likely down the back-alley trail to the deep woods behind the barn. Minutes later, another silhouette trailed behind. Still too dark to see at 40 yards if a buck or doe, it stopped, nosed my camera guarding the nearby scrape and crossed away in front of me. The download told me later it was doe number three.
Up until now, my constraints have been mostly self-imposed. This year I’m hunting for the freezer but the family group, a doe and two buck fawns, get a pass. Last year, the same doe raised two fawns on us, and they’re both still hanging around often travelling with the adult at a distance, and now considered fair game. This year she had triplets but one did not make the autumn calling, likely falling to coyotes. We share this property with an understanding and respected tolerance, and for this we get to enjoy their company from a respectable distance, and they get to live nearby in relative comfort. Sitting on the front porch watching the deer, bedded down at 40 yards as they watch you is a treat. Yet, the deer understand the arrangement very well. They are always prey, even when they seemingly behave less so, and it doesn’t take much of a violation of the understood accord for traditional roles to re-emerge.
Constraint number two involves the bucks. The largest, a ten pointer and an eight pointer have been declared fair game by the front-porch court with no dissenting opinions. All others get a pass, for the moment. At some point the meat hunt will take on greater urgency, and accordingly, the rules may change a bit except, however, for the aforementioned family group. Converting deer on the hoof to packaged freezer meat is challenging enough, even when the resident herd is abundant, so why handicap the contest? A friend will often say about passing shots, “I’m just not as mad at them as I used to be.”
By mid-morning on day two my outlook on things was different. Brown and down seems too harsh of a stated goal but not far off. The family group still gets a pass, but my feelings are changing about the little bucks although the nice in-betweeners will likely maintain their immunity. So what’s shifted in the span of 24 hours?
Truth is, I have an affliction for which there is no apparent cure. You see, I’m a duck hunter and after three days sitting in a tree, the marsh is calling me back for another run. The weather is changing and the ducks are coming, and deer hunting is starting to feel heavy.
Yes, I want meat in the freezer but for me, deer hunting is no longer a quest, it’s a respite. A hiatus. A much-needed break. I guess I could be more efficient. More deliberate. But then I’d have to abandon some of my rules, the limits and constraints that create likeable elements of fair chase, things that keep it fresh and enjoyable. And as the Missouri firearms season closes I have yet to secure the venison I seek but have enough duck meat for a couple pots of gumbo and some mallard pastrami. And yesterday snow covered my woods, marsh water became too hard for decoys and webbed feet, and with 45 days remaining in the archery season, my choices have now become a little easier.
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