An Encounter with a Doe

It was the weekend after Muzzleloader Season. We had two weekends to go before the start of Rifle Season. We all went down on Saturday to finish up the mountain of chores left. Saturday evening, Angus and I did some scouting. On Sunday morning, Angus left early to scout Hammond North and Knowlton’s Corner. I slept in and rode out after sunrise to Garbage Pit to put a skirt on the treestand.

It was getting on towards Nine when I finally got up the ladder and started working. I was in my Carharts, bibs and barn coat, yesterday’s socks and underwear and hiking boots. I climbed up, belted in, pulled up the duffle bag with the camo skirt and set about putting pipe insulation onto the shooting rail. When the pipe insulation was on, I threw two remaining scraps down to the ground for later retrieval. Then I sat down. It was a beautiful, blue-sky morning. That is when I saw her.

She was younger doe. She might have been the one from last weekend. I had dropped the hammer on her at last light on Saturday, but the cap had failed. She was staring my way less than 30 yards from the stand now. I was busted for sure.

Or not. She stayed where she was, trying to make up her mind. I think the falling pipe insulation had caused her consternation– that and all my banging about on the stand. As I sat there, waiting for her to bolt, I realized she was not looking at me, but rather at a point under the stand. She had no idea what was up the tree.

For the longest time, she stood in that same spot. She pawed the ground, stamped. Her warm breath clouded in front of her, as did mine. This would have made an easy off-center brisket shot. Unsatisfied, she turned broadside for a bit, before going behind some cedar trees. Finally, when nothing showed itself, she got bored with the whole idea and wandered off towards the stand at Virginia.

So, shaman, you saw a doe. Big Stinkin’ Whup!

Well, there was a lot more going on there. For one thing, there I was up in the last stand where I bow hunted. This next weekend will be the 6th anniversary of my last bow hunt. I realized as I watched that doe that bow hunting, which was a huge part of my life, is rapidly disappearing in the rear view mirror. For another thing, I realized that over 30 years of deer hunting had left me with a lot of mixed feelings about that doe. On the one hand, I just wanted to marvel at her. On the other hand, I was a bit peeved. I had a lot to do and so little time to do it.

Honestly, I really have to catch myself anymore. Deer have become so plentiful around the house in town that I sometimes have to remind myself that coming upon a wild deer in the woods is still something special. Back home, they are getting to be a bit of a nuisance. A pair of them were beside the truck the other day, the dogs did not even bother with them and got in without either side reacting.

Even twenty years ago I would have thought of this visit as a special occasion. In bow season, I might have shot. More than likely I would have held off, saving my tag for a buck. Still, having that doe at the stand would have felt like a hard-won victory that had taken many hours of work, and a silly amount of dedication, and a fair amount of shirking of various responsibilities to make it happen.

Thirty years ago? I would have been shaking like a leaf with anticipation. My head would have been filled with garbage from magazines and few friends that claimed they knew something about deer. There just HAD to be a buck around there somewhere, prodding her along with his antlers, pushing her ahead to scout for him. (Yeah, folks really did believe that back then.) Thirty years ago I would have not dreamed of shooting that doe. I was determined to make my first deer a buck– an 8-pointer or bust. This was at a time when I still was wondering about that odd noise I was hearing. It sounded like something sneezing. It took me a couple years to figure out it was coming from a deer, and a couple more to realize that it might not be a good idea to stuff mothballs into my wool hunting clothes before putting them away.

Thirty years had taught me a lot, but thirty years had also taken its toll. Thirty years ago, I could not have held still. As I sat up there, I realized it was far too easy to stay still– not like the old days. When I started hunting, one of my biggest hurdles was trying to stay still enough. Nowadays, I have to look at my watch to know when to get up and stretch.

I had quite a while to watch that doe. A lot of stuff wandered through my head. I realized how silly obsessions with things like scent control, camouflage, UV(!) , and such can be. There I was in my smelly old chore clothes, banging around on a metal stand. I had on a white T-shirt under my jacket. I had been caught out in the woods in full sunlight, and the tree stand, if anything only accentuated my presence. Still, the doe could care less. All the time I was within her gaze, she was within easy shooting range with a bow.

After a good long time, maybe 10 minutes, the deer got bored and moved on. I finished putting the blind material up, zip-tying it around the pipe insulation. I unhooked, came down, picked up the scraps of pipe insulation and headed back to the truck. I felt like my life had passed before me and that in some small way the fellow who had come down the ladder was different from the guy who had gone up. Hunting is like that some times.

I radioed Angus that I was rolling over to Knowlton’s Corner to pick him up. Angus had seen nothing and was ready to come out. It was time to get on to chores.

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