Hunt'n Seaz'n

My partner and I are in the midst of our 27^th deer-hunting season out here in the Valley. I don’t own a gun and do not hunt. In our first few years out here, my misgivings about guns (all the harm they create in urban environments) and my disinclination to hunt (killing an animal with a gun seems to be beyond my capability) caused the yearly arrival of hunt’n seaz’n to be something we dreaded. We were startled by the blasts of rifles resounding from the woods and were quite intimidated by the sight of macho dudes patrolling the back roads in their large, gun-racked pickup trucks, looking to spot deer.

Thankfully, we have found that our anxiety about the season has gradually dissipated over the years—for several reasons I’ll go into below. I still have no interest in hunting or owning a gun, but we wince much less now when a rifle goes off and worry far less about a stray bullet coming our way. Part of our being more at ease is some kind of “proof of the pudding”: we’ve had no close calls over the years. (However, as soon as I write these words I recall the teenage son of a visiting hunter who once accidently discharged his loaded rifle in our driveway, just a few feet from me. Would that be considered a close call? Closer than I cared for.)

As we have gotten used to the hunt, and have come to know neighbors who are serious hunters, we’ve relaxed quite a bit. We know these folks respect the land and its critters. They have lived close to the land all their lives, and have their diets importantly supplemented with venison, turkey, squirrel, raccoon, woodchuck, and other wild creatures. We still would rather not have armed people wandering through the woods around us, but recognize that the knowledgeable hunters are the primary thing that controls the burgeoning deer population (unless you want to count the automobile). 

Yet we remain cautious, while no longer fearful. We stay out of the woods on Saturdays, when the number of hunters soars. We wear blaze orange when we stray beyond our immediate clearing. We also remain concerned about our dogs, since we allow them the freedom to run; we’ve never tied or penned them. We highly value their patrols that have so far kept deer from the garden (unlike many of our neighbors, who have had their veggies repeatedly decimated). The dogs do not roam the woods—they stay pretty close to home—but they might look a little too much like a deer to the careless hunter.

Over time, I have come to understand that not all deer hunters are to be feared, and, in fact now am able to discern three types of hunters that come round:

1.    The local, experienced folks, who hunt for food: They are careful, plan their shots, and hunt in sensible places at sensible times of day. They call us to ask permission to walk our land and let us know when they will be out there. We’ve come to appreciate their skills, the need for them to keep the deer population in check, and the fact that their presence discourages that of the other two (less desirable) types of hunters.

2.    The lazy, local hunter: He drives the back roads and is not at all averse to shooting from the window of his truck. He knows these remote backwoods and the fact that the game warden is unlikely to intercept him. He tosses his beer cans and other trash along the road. When he bags a deer, he rarely butchers it, but is more likely to cut off a tasty shoulder and dump the rest of the remains along the road.

3.    The city boy: He heads for the hills with a few buddies, for the thrill of firing their guns at most anything that moves, sometimes after downing a few beers. He knows someone who has a piece of land on which he can hunt, but often lacks a sense of where the boundaries to that land lie. He roams the woods, unfamiliar with the proximity of houses. He tends to reveal his presence at dusk, when the light level falls, but has not yet bagged his deer. How? He has come all the way out here to shoot, dammit, and shoot he will. We wince at all the repeated rifle discharges, as daylight fades, knowing they really can’t see any prey.

In our first few years out here we worried about encountering the second two types of hunter. Fortunately, our overwhelming experiences have been with the first type—the local guys who really need the food and respect Mother Nature.

Our dogs, however, feel quite differently about deer-hunting season than we do. They may cower a bit when a nearby rifle blasts off, but they relish the feast of deer parts that get scattered through the woods after the hunters leave. They love legs and innards. They’d much prefer to gnaw on a weeks’-old, moldering deer part than eat the dry dog food that comes from a bag the rest of the year.

Just when we were beginning to relax a little during hunt’n seaz’n, the state extended it a few years back, from a couple of weeks in late November to six weeks that end in early January. Now we must be wary for much longer and curtail our walks in the woods for much longer. Oh well… life can get boring when it becomes too comfortable.