Masting Aftermath—Part 2

Another remarkable facet of the masting process is that oak trees somehow communicate with each other, so they all mast simultaneously. If instead, a tree created an abundance of acorns solely on its own schedule, the widespread acorn abundance would never occur. It is not known exactly how the trees cooperate, but it seems likely that they do so by floating chemical signals on the wind. Oak trees for thousands of acres around get in sync with each other and mast together, collectively outwitting the local critters.

The animals that are enjoying the masting feast around here are those mentioned earlier (squirrels, mice, deer, and blue jays), as well as pigeons, ducks, woodpeckers, and bears. In fact, long ago, farmers would release their domestic pigs in the forest in masting years, to fatten them up for free. The acorn nut is packed with nutrients: proteins, fats, carbohydrates; and minerals like calcium, phosphorus, and potassium.

The rub for the animal diners is that that the oak tree also imbues the acorn with tannins; they taste bitter and mess up an animal’s gut, preventing most of these nutrients from being absorbed. Clever animals have evolved a counter tactic by burying the acorns or placing them in an exposed location where rain can slowly leach some of the tannins out. American Indians—a very clever animal—used to soak cracked acorns for days in water, to make them more edible.

So, what will be the aftermath of a masting year around here? Obviously, the oak trees “hope” that come spring we will see many small oak saplings popping up—some to become mighty trees one day and keep the oak forest in perpetuity. As to the acorn-eating critters, they will eat well this winter and probably produce a prodigious amount of offspring next year. Come next fall, they will encounter harder times, however, when no masting happens, and some of them will perish. That’s the way of nature. There’s no cruelty or design to the process. Some critters must die for other to live. It’s part of the great recycling program.

There is one more interesting aftermath of a masting year that I recently discovered, while talking to a neighbor. He is an excellent hunter and keeps his family’s freezer well stocked with venison. He’s found that deer hunting this year is a little different. He says that normally he can perch in his tree stand and in time, deer will wander by, as they browse for food. This year, however, the deer aren’t moving around much, since they can stay in one location and chow down on an abundance of acorns. He has to go find them. Next year, when acorns are back to normal, he may once again be able to hunker down in his tree stand and have them come to him.

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.

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.