The Deer Hunt

We are in the midst of deer hunting season—that time of year when the surging population of these large herbivores gets modestly diminished by their sole remaining predator: Homo sapiens. Long ago, wolves, cougars, and other large carnivorous animals checked the size of the deer herd. But now those wild predators are gone and deer are exceedingly abundant—for either their own good or ours.

The problems for us: they munch our gardens, carry Lyme disease, and joust with cars. The problems for them: they become crowded and disease prone. In recent years state officials are increasingly concerned about the spread of chronic wasting disease—a progressive, fatal disease that resides in the brain of deer. The apprehension is that it will decimate the wild herds and even may be unhealthy for humans to eat, although there currently exists no evidence that people can be infected.

When we first moved out here from the city 25 years ago deer hunting season was rather intimidating to us. The sound of a rifle being fired just over the ridge was startling, the sight of gun-toting guys roaming the woods (or cruising back roads, spotting deer from truck windows) was unsettling, the reports of human fatalities were tragic, and the remains of discarded beer cans and deer carcasses along these back roads were offensive.

Twenty-five years later we have adapted to the hunt. We are more aware of the manifold problems of a large deer population, we’ve grown accustomed to the sound of guns, trust local hunters, and we appreciate the occasional venison that our neighbors gift us with. It’s far healthier than feed lot-fed, antibiotic-stuffed beef.

State officials certainly have a deer dilemma on their hands. I don’t envy the hot spot they sit upon—tugged one way by suburbanites who are angry about their munched gardens and fender-bender repair bills, another way by health officials who warn of disease epidemics, another way by folks who feel that Bambi should never be targeted, and still another way by hunters who chafe at one more regulation they must comply with.

One response in our part of Virginia has been to extend the deer-hunting season, from a couple of weeks in November to two months that end in early January. Furthermore, hunters are allowed to shoot half a dozen deer during that time (although some old hands get far more than that, while the game warden tends to look the other way).

The “deer problem” is evolving rapidly, as are the “solutions,” as we learn more about the complexity of the situation. It’s another case of humans tampering with nature’s balance and then experiencing the consequences later. Hunting season will necessarily be with us for some time yet. I’m glad we don’t get as alarmed as we once did—but I still involuntarily flinch when a rifle shot blows away the quiet of the woods.