Wisconsin has a “9-day gun deer season.” Gun Deer Season. I’ve thought that’d be a good name for a band. Maybe a head banger group or an edgy country band. Regardless, each year about a half million people, clad in orange, heavily armed, go out in the woods to blast at whitetail deer. Wildlife management is the official line. About 190,000 head were culled from the herd this season according to reports.
Deer hunting started and ended after two seasons for me. Hunting was something we did as a farm family. Small game like rabbit, pheasant, and squirrel mostly. We ate what we shot and put the guns up for the season. Oh, the guns would come out if a racoon got in the chicken coop or a rabid skunk turned up in the barnyard. Useful. My dad liked pheasant hunting. One of the few times he’d take a break from farming. He also joined some friends on a trip up north most seasons during the nine day gun deer season. That ritual ended one year after suspect circumstances never fully explained.
My hunting was solitary. Just me and my pointer dog. A neighborhood friend, Gary, went rabbit hunting with me with some frequency. Both of us were solitary by nature so we worked well when we did hunt together. One year I decided to try the nine day gun deer season. I went out in the woods by myself. It was great. I did see a few deer but never took a shot. Just no big motivation. In the following season, Gary asked if I’d like to join him and some of his friends for a hunt over in the next county. That idea seemed cool so I went along.
That day we met a group of guys on a town road. Interesting cast of people: a spattering of kids like me; some older guys; one woman. One of the older guys was in charge, or at least had a plan and was giving instructions. Some of us would take up positions on one end of the woods, the rest would go to the other end, spread out, and march toward the standers. This was a “drive” he said. The idea was to walk though the woods and “drive” the deer out. “Shoot ’em when ya see ’em,” he said and he and the rest of the drivers piled into trucks and headed for the other end of the woods.
My spot as a stander was part way up a hill not far from the road. A couple of the other standers went up the hill one stopping on the top the other going over the other side somewhere. This “drive” business was new to me as much as was hunting with a group. While certainly plausible, the plan had one obvious hole in it I couldn’t help but notice. In short order there would be a line of people with guns all walking toward me looking to shoot deer. Our orange garb was our bullet proofing, I guess. Also trusting the guy pulling the trigger to notice. I knew Gary and another fella Steve, but the rest were strangers.
I took up a spot next to a tree where I could see around me. Truthfully, I was hiding behind the tree and peeking out. Suddenly: BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAMBLAM BLAM. Some kind of battle broke out. BLAMBLAM BLAM overlapping gunfire. Here comes a deer running full tilt. Reflex seized the moment. I pulled up, lead the fleeing animal along and squeezed off a round. BLAM. It went spinning tumbling over where it lay struggling to stand. Shit. I went over to it and shot it in the head BLAM.
A couple more shots went off up the hill then it got still. I was looking down at the dead deer at my feet. What a damn mess. It dawned on me I was having an okay day in the woods up until that moment. The first shot went through the hindquarters. Kiss any decent meat goodbye there. Then here comes this guy down the hill yelling, “I GOT IT! I GOT IT.” I was still torqued up and my impulse was to clock this stupid ass because there was no way this deer was his. He kept repeating, I got it I got it I got it doing a weird dance-like thing, eyes bugged out of his head, waving his gun around.
“Whoah fella. Take a breath,” I told him. While I was still in the mood to argue about the deer on principle, it dawned on me I didn’t want this damn mess anyway. Out behind our barn were six half beed Angus steers eating themselves fat on corn silage and grain. Meat wasn’t needed for anything and the concept of sport had died with a bullet in the brain of this poor dead deer. “Helluvashot there buddy,” I told him. “Oh, thanks man! Will ya help me out here?” Still being on edge myself I managed to mumble something back at him about a nice hunt or whatever. Then I turned around and walked out of the woods.
EPILOGUE
Twice more I participated in the nine day gun deer season. In both cases I had a license but didn’t carry a gun. Wise to the whole concept of a drive, I volunteered into the driver side, dropped people off and then left. By myself in the woods I was fine. Deer, I learned, were also wise to the drive. They’d lay low and still, let the hunters walk by and then run the opposite direction. Out by myself, away from the hunt, I saw a lot of deer.
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