Who says deer can’t fight back?
At the end of a hunt Tuesday evening in Arkansas County, I walked across a field when a tall-beamed four-point buck trotted out of a thicket. The buck had been in and out of the field chasing does for a couple of hours.
Of the six bucks I saw that afternoon, only the four-point chased does. A mature buck appeared late. A single doe stayed close at its side. This is fairly common among mature bucks. Instead of chasing does all over the place, they often bond to a single doe during her entire estrous cycle. I expected the big boy to put the four-point on the run, but it didn’t seem to care. The four-point nevertheless kept a safe distance away from the big buck.
There was also a young six point that practically walked right up to me. He was safe because of the Zone 16 antler restriction that requires a legal buck to have at least a minimum inside distance of 15 inches between the main antler beams or at least one 18-inch antler. There was also a big-bodied buck with only one antler. The antler was at least 18 inches long, but had only a single point coming off the main beam. That buck was legal, and the landowner later admonished anyone who sees it to remove its inferior genes from the breeding pool.
After failing to connect with the mature buck, I crossed the field on a low levee so I stood high. I was fully exposed, and my hunter orange vest and ballcap made me garishly conspicuous.
The four-point entered the field in front of me with its neck outstretched and its lips curled. It was the very picture of rut-addled recklessness. It saw me and stopped. It gazed long and hard. It pulled its ears back, shook its head to the right and then to the left, and then it started walking right to me with an aggressive, stiff-legged gait.
It’s expression was universally recognizable, the kind that says, “This is my pool hall, hoss, and I am fixin’ to whup your …”
The buck picked up its pace as it closed the distance between us. It clearly had fighting in mind.
A 7mm magnum rifle was strapped across my shoulder loaded with 160-gr. Speer boattails and 61 grains of IMR-4831. With the buck at 45 yards, I reached around my back and wrapped my fingers around the pistol grip. With one motion I could bring the rifle to bear if necessary.
I quickly did some calculations. The inside spread was probably about 13 inches. The main beams were probably 14-15 inches. If I was forced to shoot this deer in self-defense, I was going to have some problems not only with the local wildlife officer, but also with the landowner. Naturally, I did not expect anyone to believe my story if such a thing came to pass.
There was nothing to throw, so I tried to think of other ways to dissuade this roughneck buck.
It was about 25 yards away when it stopped one last time. It tilted its head to the right and shook it, and then to the left, and shook again, as if it were rousing itself from a trance. It looked at me again, but the rage in its eyes was gone. Now it looked quite alarmed, but it was at a momentary loss of what to do. It stepped indecisively to the right and then to the left before finally wheeling around and sprinting back to the thicket.
That was the best possible resolution, of course, but the adventure was over yet.
A group of does entered the field about 100 yards away. I was downwind of them, so they didn’t get my scent. They were in tall weeds that impaired their vision, and since I was dead still, I didn’t register in the dimming light.
Finally, a mature doe noticed me. She looked like a stern elementary school teacher on playground duty that caught some young urchin pulling a girl’s ponytail. She marched right to me and stopped about 15 yards away. Unable to get my scent, she craned her head to both sides before turning and walking back to the other does. She gathered them up and led them back into the thicket. I knew she was going to circle around to catch my scent.
I’d had my fill of these crazy Arkansas County deer, so I saved her the trouble and started walking. White flags flew up like flares as the deer bounded back into the swamp.
It’s a weird sport, this deer hunting.
Sports, Pages 35 on 12/01/2013