The stuff of dreams

Isn’t it funny how weeks of agonizing over a decision are forgotten in seconds when temptation arrives on the scene?

The past week has seen the opening of the deer firearms season, one of the holiest days on the outdoor fanatic’s calendar. I greeted the first dawn beneath an oak tree chosen on the spur of the moment.

Due to a severe case of laziness, I hadn’t brought my tree stand into the woods. Instead, I was sitting on a small seat with my back against the aforementioned white oak, watching where woods, picked cornfield and soybean field all meet. As gray light began to creep through the woods, I could see that my decision had been correct because there were already several deer within eyesight.

As the sun rose, I saw several does and other deer of indeterminate variety lounging around the area. As I watched them, The Decision reared its ugly head and the long internal debate began anew.

Since last year, when I took an unimpressive eight-point buck, I began to have the sneaking feeling that a good deer hunter would be more discriminating in his choice of animals. I eventually decided to confine my hunting efforts to does for a couple of years in hopes that the bucks in our hunting areas would grow larger racks.

I decided that the best way to do this would be to purchase just an antlerless deer tag, thereby removing all temptation to shoot an undersized buck. Through winter, spring and summer, I was content with this scheme.

However, as deer season approached, I began to discuss the idea with friends. Uniformly, they looked at me as if I had been snorting gunpowder solvent or possibly cavorting with the devil. “Everybody gets a buck tag!” they exclaimed, horrified at my decision.

Finally buckling to peer pressure, I broke down and purchased a buck tag two days before the season. I repeatedly assured my conscience that only a massive, giant, elk-like buck would draw fire from my shotgun. With a firm sincerity, I set off lighthearted into the woods on opening day.

I have reached the age wherein I understand that it is easy to make a resolution when not directly confronting seduction. After a lifetime of failed diets and other vices that have never been successfully overcome, I knew beforehand that human flesh is weak. Unfortunately, this prior knowledge did little to calm the mental storm that arose.

Conviction began to wane the moment I saw the buck. It was a non-descript six-pointer, heavy bodied but not a trophy by even novice hunter standards. In fact, it was just a smidgen larger than what is called a “basket rack.” As it drew closer, the debate inside grew louder.

The deer was following the trail of twin yearling does that had been within 10 feet of where I sat; concerned about the unusual tree-colored lump but unsure if I represented danger. They eventually walked away, still confused but leaving a heavy scent trail for the buck. He was following, 15 minutes later, on the still-hot track.

The deer stopped within 15 yards, suddenly sensing my presence. He stood, just as the does had, black nose sniffing audibly in the light wind, trying to decide if I were a threat. As I had already shifted into shooting position, I watched his upper body over the sharp front sight of my gun.

To shoot or not to shoot, that was the question. Shakespearean paraphrasing aside, I was painfully confronted by my choice. There were two opposing forces that reached the crux at the moment over the black barrel: simple want of deer meat versus a well-intentioned and publicly made vow.

I have often admitted that love of meat is a primary motivation for my deer hunting. I enjoy the woods, the camaraderie of the hunt and the deer but I also dearly love those packages of toothsome venison nestled in the freezer during the rest of the year. So does my family.

However, I certainly want to help improve the trophy potential of our deer hunting areas, for both my hunting buddies and myself. While I have one mediocre 10-pointer hanging over the desk where this column is written, there is room for more and bigger deer. There is also the enjoyment of that occasional, peculiar bittersweet pleasure when seeing a buddy leap for joy over his downed trophy.

What to do?

Greed and desire won when I fired. The deer ran a few yards and collapsed, a clean single-shot kill that pleased the red gods after a good hunt.

The buck didn’t exactly feel like a major victory but it certainly wasn’t a defeat. Instead, I had bagged an elusive trophy, something that is far too rare in day-to-day living: satisfaction.

It was enough.

For this year.

Photo: U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service

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