Deer Season!

(I really should have taken my hat of for this picture)

Deer Season started Saturday morning, and for all you city folks who don’t know, it’s a pretty big deal out here. In Platte County getting your first deer is like the transition from boyhood to manhood. Being a tough, country girl, I had to get one too in order to prove myself. Last year I killed a little buck, and it felt pretty good back then. This morning I went out and sat in the cold deer blind for a little over an hour, but I scared them all off walking out there in the first place. Don’t tell Dad, I’m still his little Deer Hunter, though I would rather just be his little Deer Tracker. Don’t get me wrong; I got buck fever tried for a trophy buck this season, but I’m too impatient for that. In the afternoon I went back out and immediately saw four doe grazing in the pasture before I even crossed the fence line. I played a game of stealth with them at first, walking a few steps and then stopping to see if they would flee. I got about half way across the pasture before they finally did run, and that took about fifteen minutes.

After I’d scared them off and set up my blind I only had to wait another twenty minutes for them to show up again. I started counting them on the far hill; first two, then four. The sun was starting to set when I saw my buck walking on my side of the hill toward the doe. At this point I was still waiting for something else to show up. He chased a doe back my way, but she evaded him and he started to run his scent on a tree. I would have taken my shot then, but he blended in so well I could not tell him from the forest he was surrounded by. I watched the does on the far side of the hill for a little while longer, still counting; six, then eight. I was amazed when I could count ten deer all together.

Something scared them my way, and I realized that the group consisted of nine doe, and a single-antlered buck. They came closer, and I started to calculate which one would be the best to bring home. Should I wait until tomorrow and see if something better comes along? Should I wait, because I would have to do all my work in the dark? The light was fading fast. Should I not shoot at all, and let them all survive to enjoy watching them through the long winter? Is that the wrong thing to do for the purposes of over-population? I was unsure, but then I decided. If I didn’t shoot tonight I would come out tomorrow and the same things would be going through my head. I would be disappointed with myself and feel as if I were letting my family down, even though I would only be letting myself down with these thoughts.

They were all headed right into my line of shot. I took aim at the buck, tried to steady my nerves, and took the shot. The rifle sounded as loud as standing next to thunder and for a moment I was dazed. As they say, time slowed down and I watched the buck run into the brush until I couldn’t see him. “Oh, no,” I thought, “I am going to have to track him, and it’s getting dark fast.” 

I was terribly excited, my adrenaline was high, and I wanted to run down the hill and see if my buck was there. First, I looked for my rifle shell that had been ejected when the rifle fired but couldn’t find it in the growing darkness. Then I reloaded the gun incase I had to put the deer out of his misery upon finding him. I turned on the safety and carefully crawled out from the blind. I walked down the hill watching and listening for movement. If he were still alive, he could be very dangerous and attack when I came close. I was ten feet away when I realized he was lying in the weeds, not twenty feet from where I had shot him. It was the perfect shot too. After I had gutted him I found that his heart and lungs had exploded; he had been killed on impact.

Excitedly, I ran back to the top of the hill. Dad was already in the driveway looking for my signal. Did I get one, or was I coming back empty-handed? I howled my pleasure, yelling, “Bring the truck! … And the camera!” I finally had time to find my bullet shell in the last gleaming rays of the sun and ran back down the hill to safely inspect my buck. I carefully approached him, admiring the beauty of an animal created to blend magnificently with the woods. He really was beautiful.

When Dad got there with the truck he took a picture of my buck and me. It was a nice picture, if you don’t consider all the blood. Last years was not nearly as good. For one thing, this deer was a lot bigger than last year’s, and a lot harder to clean. I had gotten better at it, but Dad still had to help me with the hard parts. Don’t you get squeamish now; this has been a part of life for thousands of years.

I called the information into the Conservation Department and soon Mom and I were on our way to Clark’s Custom Meat Co. up in St. Joseph. They are the place to go for meat processing in the area as far as I am concerned. The service is great, and the meat is even better. I always feel welcome there.  It was late on opening night, yet Ms. Clark was still in a pleasant mood. I teased the boys, telling them that I wanted the horn, and asked if I could keep the hide. Ms. Clark told the boy to fold it up so that it would keep its moisture and when he asked how I told him to fold it like a bed-sheet. “I’ve never folded a sheet in my life.” He answered. “Well, maybe you should.” I told him right back, but then gave him several thank yous as he carried it back to my truck. Ms. Clark thought that was pretty funny, telling my Mom that she was glad to see a girl who can take charge. She related to me that large men had come in and didn’t want to have anything to do with touching that deer, acting rather squeamish themselves while she had to handle everything. They must have been city slickers that go to closed hunting ranges where they raise the deer specifically for hunting and then field dress them all ready for the processors. And here I come, asking for the hide so I can go home and tan it myself. Ms. Clark even gave me a contact to call and ask about the tanning process.

On the way home I called the family to tell them the good news. Supper had been put on hold as soon as Dad had heard my shot. I still don’t know how he knew it was me… But as soon as we got home we had deer steaks from the little buck I had shot the year before.

The next day, Deer Season was still in full swing. I went to the gas station out on the Interstate and visited with the old men who go for coffee and camaraderie almost every morning. P.J. and Dennis were there, some of my Grandpa’s good friends. I told them about the three-pointer that should have been a six-pointer that I had gotten the day before, and they told me a few Big Buck stories, themselves.

P.J. told a story of how his sister and her husband hit a twenty-eight point deer on the Interstate. That’s huge!! I have only ever seen ten point deer living and in the wild. He asked if I wanted to see a picture of it and got me really excited. P.J. pulled out his phone and showed me a picture of a black man with dread locks sticking up on top of his head. This is Camden Point humor… And, unfortunately, I laughed.

We also spotted the Conservation Agent pulling into the driveway, following a truck with a camouflage four-wheeler in the back. This was his big weekend. The men came into the station and weren’t bothered, but I bet the agent was walking around checking truck beds for deer without the proper tags. If you are going to hunt, do it legally.

Everybody in northern Platte County goes hunting at some time or another, as I said, it's like a rite of passage. And I passed with flying colors this year.