We have a certain family member who is scared of deer. Deer are literally the stuff of her nightmares. And being the loving, kind people we are, we tend to go out of our way to share pictures of deer with her.
The subject of deer tends to send me back to memories of my childhood. Growing up in Milton meant almost daily encounters with deer from early fall until late spring. The harsh winter conditions would push the animals from their higher summer elevations down into the valley, where they could find food and water. If it was a particularly bad winter, the deer casualties would be high. I think it was someone's job to drive the county roads on a daily basis to gather the fallen.
You also have to know that I could walk out our back porch door and instantly be hunting deer. We lived right next to the hills. Open the door, climb the old wooden stairs, cross the foot bridge over the canal and start the ascent. The first few hundred feet was our property, and it was a pretty steep climb. Hop the fence onto a bit of a flat area, and you were in deer territory. You could head to your left towards a thicket of scrub brush and Line Creek, head straight towards the mountains, or head to your right toward endless, rolling hills. My Dad and I actually filled our deer tags one year from this very spot. Two bucks standing in the distance, taken out at the same moment by two well place shots. Ah, good times. The nice thing about that time was it was a downhill, straight shot to get the venison down to the abandoned Dell Monte cannery, which sat right on the county road. Then it was a quick walk to get a truck, then take the meet back to our old stone building.
Parts of my childhood home were over a hundred years old, and one of many interesting structures was the stone building. It looked like something out of a Stephen King novel. It was constructed out of large bricks. No, not the type of brick you picture. These bad boys were probably about 1 foot x 1 foot, and had a texture like sand. You could carve your name into them pretty easily. It sat behind the back porch, had no windows and just a large, heavy wooden door. It was small, probably about 8 feet by 10 feet. It had a work table, blood stained from years of game processing. The ceiling contained several pulleys and chains, devised to hoist whatever needed to be handled. The only light was from a bare bulb in the middle of the ceiling. About 3/4 of the building was surrounded by the hill side. Between the house, dirt and large Cottonwood trees, the building never saw the sun. It had a chill, even on a hot summer day. Now picture two deer, swinging from the ceiling. You're welcome.
For our second deer related story, several of us had been up to no good. Let's just leave it at that. We had parked my buddy's car behind the church and were just hiding out. We were already on edge, when we started to hear it. Behind the church was a bunch of scrub oak and brush, and something was moving in there. Not like an animal - we'd all heard that many times. No, this was slow, heavy, deliberate. It was also breaking a lot of brush, something a normal animal would not do. As it grew nearer and nearer, louder and louder, we decided to make a break for it. We piled in the car and left in a hurry. There we were, driving way too fast down the county road, completely scared out of our minds, when it happened. A deer hit the car! Yes, you read that right. We did not hit a deer. A deer literally ran head first into the driver's side window. It pressed the side of its head into the glass, and held it there as we sped past. I can still see its wide open, dazed and confused eye staring at me. I'm not sure how we didn't die from a heart attack or from a flaming wreck, but we survived.
This next deer story might approach a PG-13 rating. My friend and I were skipping school to deer hunt. This was actually a pretty normal thing for that time. As we crested a hill and looked down into the ravine, we saw a nice buck. It had not heard us coming, and was really close. It was startled and running towards us. I took the shot. Somehow the bullet ripped a hole in the deer's throat and cleared off about 1/2 of its face. But it didn't go down, and it was still heading towards us. At this point, it is making a horrible sound as air and blood pass through the new opening. I take a 2nd shot, but I'm so freaked out by the sight that I miss. My friend is laughing hysterically, and is no help whatsoever. The zombie deer slows, but continues its death march to extract revenge upon me. I take another shot, this time finishing the job. Next story.
It's the bow hunt. I'm covered in camo, my scent covered with some deer musk. I've also covered most of me in leaves, and I'm laying in wait along a game trail that leads down to Line Creek. My face is even covered up with war paint. I'm in the perfect spot for a 4 point I've been stalking for weeks. I'm hunting old school, with a re-curved bow. None of that compound bow nonsense for me. The bow has plenty of tension, and I've been practicing for months. I've been in place for about an hour, when I see him. I'm upwind, the setting sun to my back. He's about 50 yards off, but unaware of me and still approaching. When he's about 20 yards off, I begin my movement. Ever so slowly, I stand up. Now he sees me, but he's not sure what I am and can't smell me, so he's just watching. The bow slowly rises to a shooting position. I notch my razor tipped hunting arrow. He turns broadside to me. This could not be any better. 20 yards, broadside and still. As I release the arrow, my bow twists. They aren't supposed to do that! This causes the arrow to not only lose velocity, but it ends up hitting the deer with its side. So instead of bagging my deer, I end up giving it a good, hard slap! It takes off, and I'm just dumbfounded. I drop my broken bow and start my long, dejected hike home. This time, the deer won.
I had many other encounters with mule deer, but these are the most memorable. I've ran into 3 while driving, but all 3 times was in one of our old trucks, with the spare tire mounted on the front. When you see you are about to hit a deer and you are driving a truck like that, you still hit the brakes, but aim the tire at the animal. If it is smart and/or fast enough, it will get out of the way. Otherwise, that deer is going to go flying.
