Chronicle of the Hunt 2014

[Because "chronicle" sounds more impressive than "story"]

When people ask what kind of shooting stick I use, I'm always a bit embarrassed to admit it's a 20-gauge single shot. Most people hunt deer with a high-powered rifle, which gives them probably three times the range. A good friend jokes that I should get a gun that will shoot further than I can spit. But today I put another deer on the ground, my third. It was a big doe (in my eyes, anyway) and fulfills my goal of getting one deer each year. It will be enough for plenty of green bean casseroles, chili soups and home-made pizzas.

My choice was largely driven by economics and simplicity. Even new, it's a sub-$150 gun (mine was less, from a pawn shop). I've got one shot, I want it to count, and I won't pull the trigger if I'm in doubt. I also love that I can break it open, making it obviously safe, no fiddling or searching for a safety button. Perfect for a newbie like me. Yes, it's got limited range, but my hunting grounds are thickly wooded. I've also come to learn how stand placement can make a big difference. I've gotten comfortable with it; holding, aiming and firing are natural, automatic. All that being said, I am not prepared to rule out graduating to something more substantial at some point.



This season I've been thinking about how to define a hunt. There's the cliché, of course, of the crafty hunter stalking his wily prey, a great battle of wits. For me the hunt is not nearly so glamorous, a series of often mundane tasks over several weeks. There's hauling the deer stand out of the garage, deciding where to place it, picking up my Big Game Harvest Report Card, gathering my gear, and then sitting in the woods, still and quiet.

It then culminates, hopefully, in the firing of a single shot, and a deer on the ground.

This year the pattern held. My hunt consisted of several afternoon sits, plus a couple of mornings. I saw quite a few deer (or a few deer several times, who knows!).

Normally seeing a deer is fun but routine, and we see plenty on our daily forest hikes. They regularly graze on the weeds in the yard, and we admire them through the windows.

But sitting in the woods, holding a gun, is altogether different. The time I'd most like to remain calm and still my heart races, breathing rate increases, and I struggle to refrain from great spasms of movement and noise. I'm certain there are many who remain cool as an ice cube. Perhaps I'll get there by my 8th or 9th deer. Or perhaps I'd rather continue struggling.

This year I scared a few off climbing into the stand, and on two nights had them come and bed down a few feet away, just past shooting light and out of view in any case. One time I had one walk up and look right at me. I raised my gun and it ran off at the movement, and I realized I never had a shot in the first place, she was on the wrong side (#rookiemistake, but hey, I AM a rookie!). On another evening they walked behind my stand, and the next day I turned it to face the other way. I may have fallen asleep once (OK, twice) in the still and peaceful woods, and Kate chided me to tie myself into the stand. On more than one occasion, I saw nothing but the trees in their colorful autumn robes, and returned home fulfilled.

One evening walking back to the house at dusk after a hunt, I saw a nice doe just a few feet from the flowerbed, no doubt searching for an evening snack. For a few seconds I watched, debating whether to actually take a shot, but she eventually sauntered off and saved me from possibly making a very foolish choice. I wondered if this year would result in a goose egg.

At times the morality of hunting is murky to me, which is surely a character flaw. For most of the hunters I know, it's not murky at all and I envy them. In lieu of moral certainty, I place my faith in the brother and sister-hood of hunters, the science-based game laws, and the honorable men and women who enforce them. Even the recorded voice of the friendly lady on the harvest report line brings a smile to my face.

On the morning of November 10th, I decided to sit in the woods for about an hour before work. The remnants of a glorious fall were tenuously clinging to the trees. About 20 minutes in, I heard a rustling nearby. A minute or two later, I saw a deer, then another. Eventually I saw the third. I think two of them spied me, but I suppose I was obscured enough to seem harmless, so they stayed nearby. They shuffled one way, then another, my heart drumming, my chest heaving, certain they would spook and run.

Surely they were onto me, keeping their distance, trees and brush between us. But eventually deer, trees and brush aligned. I fired and the big doe fell where she stood.

I still can't say I enjoy the killing, although there is something grossly appealing about pulling a trigger, hearing a loud boom, and watching an animal drop. Physics can measure the milliseconds between trigger pull and impact, but for me it is instantaneous.

But if I'm willing to order a hamburger from Sapphire Thursday's (and I most certainly am!), then I'm willing to partake in the harvest, skinning, cutting and this year for the first time, the grinding. That may end up being a story of it's own.