As the end of the season drew to a close, I was starting to realize that I was gaining, but not fast enough.
New snow on the ground was providing critical information and detail about what was moving where, and when, but the more-or-less haphazard foraging tracks had been replaced with straight shot runways. Despite thoughtful consideration, study, observation and tracking to get me down to a 45 minute window, it still proved not enough and exact movements of the herd alluded me.
As the final weekend unfolded I was convinced that hunting pressures from below my ridge, wind patterns, and a brother-in-law who’d taken a shot with his muzzleloader on the far side of the range had greatly rearranged the patterns I needed to get within 30-40 yards. Sunday afternoon as I stood at the wall of windows of the home I watched new snow begin to fall and spoke a silent message to the herd that we’d resume in October, and for now I wished them the best against the toils of winter, coyotes and men with no heart. I turned to Brenda and let her know I was home for good and invited the kids to help me pack away the gear while I removed the broadheads from my arrows – A bittersweet activity.
I tried hard that evening not to think about it anymore. I told myself I could begin scouting in a few weeks, but for now I needed to recharge and focus on the Holidays. I decided I would go snowboarding Monday morning to help. Life was finding a new balance with a new winter season and the next morning I returned from the mountain with renewed enthusiasm for the other sport I love. A settled 4-6 inches from the snow I’d watched out the window the night before proved to be quite a treat.
As I unloaded the truck in preparation to head into town and a desk, I visited with a neighbor enjoying a late start as well. And then I saw it … a decomposing jack-o-lantern on my stone wall was knocked to the ground. I chose to investigate. As I neared, I saw them.
A set of tracks.
And another.
Now three.
And this one could have been a fourth, and looked big, looked late to the party compared to the other 3 sets … a tell tale signs of a buck.
Regardless of exactly how many there were, and who was what sex, the trails indicated they did not pass through. Rather, that night the deer came into my yard and rifled through Brenda’s garden as they searched under the apple tree, chewed away at the rotting pumpkins and otherwise stomped around enough to make it look as if they’d gathered for a winter ball. Like they knew it was over, and a celebration was to be had.
Laughing with my neighbor we marveled at what appears to be the herd’s understanding that the jig is up. And I felt honored that they chose The Shire’s porch to celebrate.
For several months I hunted them with everything I had. I left the home at 4 a.m. I stood silent in the woods until it was dark. I mentally battled mild hypothermia. I took hours to move silently across stands of trees into position. I studied wind patterns and set out into the forest accordingly. I practiced. I shot arrows from all angles. I shot arrows amidst mowing the lawn to simulate elevated heart rate and fatigue. I dialed in a rifle kill shot from 100 yards. I read almost everything I could to understand their behavior in the time that I had. And I got close a few times, and even released a drawn arrow once.
So in a unique sort of way, I felt honored they’d chosen my yard to feast. Was it taunting? You could see it that way. But me? I see it as a tip of the horns, so-to-speak. A subtle message that they know who I am and know I am now an element of their habitat that they cannot ignore.
And in the end, that’s why I started this. I look forward to seeing them again. I look forward to the hunt, and the kill, but in the meantime I have accomplished exactly what I really wanted – I became part of the wilderness cycle around me.
And the deer themselves told me.