As we reach the end of the general firearms hunting season for deer, I believe both regular readers might find it interesting to review the personal deer diary of an outstanding hunter.

Unfortunately, that hunter didn’t keep a journal.  Therefore, we’re forced to share the pages from our own Deer Diary.

Day 1- I see a giant buck within taking three steps into the woods and later nearly trampled by three more deer.  Reminder to self: write a column about the experience but don’t try to be a real professional outdoor journalist and claim that you tagged the biggest one after a 500-yard running shot.

Day 2- Lots and lots of deer sign.  There is an exceptionally friendly squirrel that lives in the tree next to my stand.  I’ve named him Claude.  Unlike other squirrels, Claude realizes I’m sitting there and frequently comes by to sit and stare at me.  Perhaps he’s lonely.

Day 3- Nearly attacked by a squadron of songbirds.  Apparently it is a mixed migration as there are all sorts of small woodpeckers, chickadees, cardinals, waxwings and other birds I can’t identify flitting around my head.  Often they are so close that I can hear the cat purr-noise of their wings as they fly near my head.  No sighting of deer in two days but Claude stopped by to say Hi.  He’s getting on my nerves.

Day 4- Nearly scared myself to death when I walked past my trail camera in the dark.  One moment I’m creeping along in the pitch-black forest and then a strobe light explodes, encouraging my heart to begin doing wind sprints up and down my gullet.  At least we know there is one interesting picture on the film but still no deer.

Day 5- What a wonderful sunrise.  The indescribable beauty of the day forest framed by a watercolor sky is impeccable.  Still no hide nor hair of the stupid deer.
Day 6- When I was goose hunting, I saw no geese but ran into five deer.  When I’m deer hunting, there are no deer but plenty of the feathered sky-carp flying around overhead.  What exactly is the definition of madness?  Claude needs to watch his back.

Day 7-  I have hunted good and fine and honorably for one week and only seen four deer on opening morning.  Taking an optimistic approach, I realize that that season is only half-over and there is plenty of time to take a trophy buck.

Day 8- It rained today.  What a wonderful way to spend the limited hours of your lifetime: pretending to be a rain-soaked stump.  To heck with optimism; I don’t know why I’m doing this.

Day 9- What do you think happened again today???  It has often been mentioned that you can be driving across a Sahara desert at noon on July 4 and run a great chance of hitting a deer with your automobile.  However, when you are totally camouflaged, doused in doe urine that costs ten dollars per miniscule bottle and have been sitting quietly for hours in prime habitat, there are no #$%@* deer within 100 miles.  Claude has fled for this life after seeing the look in my eyes.

Day 10- I watched a snail crawl along the edge of a straight razor.  It was laughing at me…

Day 11- Today we took a break from hunting and browsed several self-help websites on the Internet.  I feel much better and the voices in my head are no longer telling me to harm Claude.  Too late, I suppose…
Day 12-  What a great day!   We changed our hunting venue to another property and found all the deer that had been hiding.  In one hour, we saw about 15 deer, including three large “shooter” bucks.  Unfortunately, we took no shots but things are looking up in the waning moments of the season.

Day 13- The existential philosophers advocated living without hope to avoid disappointment.  I hadn’t realized until today that Sartre and Nietzsche were deer hunters.

Oh, we saw deer, battalions of deer.  Unfortunately, they also saw us due to the tag-you’re-it distances involved in the incredibly boilerplate-thick cover of our hunting area.  Seeing deer and not having a shot is aggravating the first couple of times.  After a half-dozen missed opportunities that ended with loud snorts and flagging deer, frustration gnaws at your gut like an angry ferret.  I hate ferrets.  I’m also beginning to hate deer…and geese, for good measure.

Day 14- The entry is smeared beyond recognition by tear stains.

Actually, to be accurate, I should admit that this column is really being written on the eve of Closing Day.  Therefore, it is quite possible that I will be a very happy camper by the time you have digested these words.

Oh, who am I kidding?

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