Billy the Martian

The 2004 Deer hunting season starts for us a week from tomorrow. I still have a few things I have to do, like get my license, get my gear washed, and sight in my rifle. I’ll get to those during the first few days of the week.

This year, again, we have the option of getting up to 5 extra tags for deer. I bought one last year, for the same reason that a dog does his thing: “Because I can”. I didn’t really intend to take an additional deer, but having the option was hard to resist!

The big news is that my Uncle John and my cousin Scott are going to join us. This means lots of changes for this season. One of the big ones is: what stands will we end up on? We’ll have two new hunters, and we might just want to make sure that the new guys get the dependable stands!

Also, the hunting downtime will probably be filled with old hunting stories. If I have any brains, I’ll take notes, but I’m guessing that won’t happen.

Ouch. I didn’t make notes for the 2003 Whitetail Pond Expedition. I’ve got a handful of pictures, which you can find here

I’ve also got the following email that I sent to my dad the following week:

John shot a nice little buck late Saturday afternoon, and I shot one that
might be a hair bigger Sunday afternoon at about 2. A full report in
web site fashion is forthcoming, complete with full color pictures
of the victims and perpetrators. John’s clever backpack invention
really saved the weekend — pulling both deer out wasn’t much more
work than walking out in thick clothes. (Seriously — it was like
walking! Truly amazing.)

I think the count of seen deer was something like 9 on Saturday, and
a few less on Sunday. (We got down to the land at 11 am on Sunday, though,
and didn’t stay past 3 on Sunday.)

Saturday morning was quite cold — 15 below, we found out later. (There’s
some doubt that we would have been out for the opening morning if we’d
known it was that cold.) My feet got painfully cold — didn’t wear the
electric socks and regretted it. (I’d thought it was 10 above or so!)
Afternoon hunt was a lot more pleasant, and Sunday’s was warmer still.

Bruce’s gang was good. We saw everyone (daughters, daughters-in-law,
babies, Bruce, and Judy) except the boys — they were still out
hunting. They had three little ones strung up, and Bruce planned
to fill up all five of his tags!

(I’m getting prepared for this year’s deer hunting. I realized, while on the phone with my dad, that I didn’t know where my description of 2002’s hunt had ended up. It’s possible that this bit that John and I wrote two years ago has played a part in getting my dad to come back and hunt deer this year. It may have even played a part in getting my uncle John and his son Scott to come along this year! I’ve only seen uncle John once in the past 15 or so years, and I’ve never met Scott as an adult, so it’s a big deal. It’s well-worth preserving this chunk of text!)

John and I pulled in at Whitetail Pond, as Dad calls it, at 5:30 AM on the 9th. We were early, and the fog was quite heavy on the drive down from the motel. It seemed darker than any other time we’d been there. We stood in front of John’s car, and we couldn’t see the cable across the path even though it was a mere three feet in front of us. We walked slowly, and we bumped into each other often. We managed to stay dry as we crossed the beaver dam – mostly because the water was low. As we saw later, the beavers have been busy.

We followed our traditional opening day scheme for our choice of stands. We walked together down to the Two Buck stand, where we smacked each other on the shoulder and wished each other luck. I continued on to Dad’s Stand.

I violated one of Dad’s rules on the way up the ladder. We’re supposed to use the dangling cable to haul our rifles up, but I’ve never liked doing it. I feel awkward leaning over the edge of the stand, and I don’t like looking at the business end of the thing on its way up. I always climb up with the rifle over my shoulder.

I got settled, and loaded my rifle long before I could use it. I don’t like making those loud metallic clicking noises – that early, in the dark, it seems like the whole forest is listening to you — and I always want to get it over with as soon as possible. And then I sat and waited for my favorite part of deer hunting.

It starts as grayness, everywhere. Before sunrise, there’s still enough Bemidji-shine that you can usually see your hands, but not much else. The trees are completely still. Slowly, the sky changes from dark gray to light gray. The trees become visible. Small gusts of wind stir the branches at random intervals, and the branches make small clicking noises. The trees are light gray against the darker gray ground. Over the next hour, the colors bleed in so gradually that I’m never sure how they get there.

The fun part comes from the fact that I forget, every year, just what a deer sounds like or looks like. Every tiny sound is potentially the footstep of a deer. One tree branch brushing another could be a deer shouldering a branch aside. Horizontal shadows of half-fallen trees look like deer torsos or rumps. And when the first deer really does appear, it’s a shock. I always think, that’s right, that’s the noise they make. Or, oh yeah! Now I remember what color they are this time of year.

This year, the leaves crackled constantly, keeping me alert. It sounded like rain, but no rain was visible. Instead, the trees collected drops of condensation from the fog, and then dripped them down onto the leaves. I’ve decided to call it “pseudo-rain.”

Other years have had opening days with a constant background noise made up of distant gunshots. The far off shots sound like thunder. There was very little of that this time – we think we heard at most ten shots all morning.

At about 7:30, I looked behind me and saw movement. It was on the far end of the lane leading east from Dad’s Stand. I didn’t get much of a look before the deer took two or three steps forward and then left the lane, heading roughly south. Since that lane leads back towards the Two Buck Stand, I figured John might have a better chance of seeing what I missed.

Nor was I wrong. Perhaps 10 minutes later I heard a shot from John’s stand. I smiled to myself, figuring that the meat-hunter had scored again. I considered getting down out of the stand and checking up on him, but it was really too early in the day to end the hunt, and so I stayed and watched trees for a while.

It might have been 30 minutes later when I heard another shot. I thought that was pretty odd, because I couldn’t imagine John taking two deer. After another 5 minutes I heard yet another shot. This really had me scratching my head. A little while later, just as I was thinking about heading John’s way, he walked up to where I could see him, and I got down out of my stand and went to him. He told me the story of his hunt:

We might have been a bit early for the hunt, but it is better than being late. The walk in was smoother than I expected and far less wet than previous years. I was very careful in getting into my stand this year, because the master deer stand carpenter hadn’t checked it out and given it his approval. The morning started off very quiet and never picked up. The animals were sleeping in late because of the weather and the other hunters in the woods were obviously experiencing the same lack of movement in the woods as I was. I was running the scenarios through my head of the different ways the hunt could go this year.

At about 7:00 I heard a stick break and that usually means deer. I anxiously awaited the body of the deer to materialize out of the woods. After about a minute the red squirrel that had snuck up behind me on the tree let me know that I was sitting in his spot and moved on after seeing that I was not going to be intimidated into giving up my seat. Another 45 minutes passed before I heard anything else. At about 7:45 I noticed a small flickering about 80 yards down the south shooting lane from the Two-bucks stand. Then I could distinctly see the head, which was the same shade of gray as the rest of the woods. It suddenly was completely on the lane, but unfortunately it was looking right at me.

I watched it move towards me for several steps and then put head down. It was at this time I was able to get the rifle scope on her and the safety off. She gave me one last look and then turned back eastward. I had a nice broad side shot, enough time to decide that with the lack of time and movement of deer this year that this just might be the only one I had a chance of shooting this year. I took careful aim, but something seemed funny at the time, and I fired. I could see the deer hide ripple from the shot and then she bounced off the trail and into the woods heading in an easterly direction. I, being the sometimes overly confident hunter, sat back and waited for my heart to settle. After about 10 minutes I got down out of my stand and started to walk up the lane to the position I had marked while looking through the scope. I got to the point in the lane I was sure the deer was standing when I shot and put my fanny pack down. I fully expected to see a dead deer just a few feet off the trail, when I didn’t I started looking for hair and blood.

I spent maybe 10 minutes looking in the general area of where I put my fanny pack and finding nothing I had to readjust my calculation of the size of the deer. Since all deer look bigger in the scope than they actually are I started moving slowly back towards my deer stand. I was thinking at this point the deer must be smaller and therefore closer to the stand. After another frustrating 10 minutes of searching and finding no sign that a deer had passed this way or of having been shot, I decided I must again be mistaken in my size estimating and the deer was bigger than I initially thought. I started from where I placed the fanny pack earlier and after several more minutes of searching I finally found two little clumps of whites gray hair. Each clump contained maybe a dozen individual strands.

Feeling more confident now, I started looking for a blood trail. Another 15 minutes later I found the start of the blood trail. It started about 15 yards from the trail and ran in a ESE direction. The blood trail was strong at first but soon slowed to a trickle. About the time when the blood trail stopped and I was seriously starting to think I was not going to find this deer, I heard and saw a deer stand up and start bounding away in the same ESE direction. If you have ever experienced a pheasant jump up from at your feet you will know what I was feeling just then. My heart, which was already beating hard from walking through the woods in heavy clothes, suddenly went into overdrive. I was completely taken by surprise I didn’t even have my rifle off my shoulder. I followed the deer for a little way and noticed the blood trail start again. I wasn’t sure the deer that I jumped was the same one I shot, but seeing the blood trail start again I was reasonably certain it was the same deer. I took the rifle off my shoulder and checked to make sure it was ready to fire and started off towards my deer. I traveled another 80 yards and again I jumped the deer. This time I was ready, I waited for the deer to stop moving and sighted at it’s head that being the only part of the body I could make out through the brush and fired. The deer took off again and I followed a little more quickly than before. I saw the deer stop and lay down, not fall down, but lay down. As quietly as I could I crept up on this poor animal and brought my rifle to bear once more. Again all I could make out through the brush was the head. This time I was closer and could also make use of a nearby tree to steady my arms. I sighted the deer in again and fired. The deer’s head dropped and I saw the legs kick in a death spasm.

Now I walked around and made sure I could find the deer again. I put my hat high up on a tree branch to mark the area and went to go get Bill. Bill suggested we go and change into lighter clothes before field dressing and hauling the deer. It made sense so we went back to the car changed clothes and gathered up the things we needed to field dress and haul the deer. I did an okay job on the field dress. The doe still had milk which was the first time I had ever encountered this. I will say that this has to be the fattest deer I have ever seen. The sight picture looked funny because I couldn’t see the shoulder of the doe — it was buried in fat.

We certainly missed Oscar, even though he probably wouldn’t have helped getting the deer out of the woods where I finally downed it. I will say that I won’t go and drag a deer out of the woods without a compass ever again. I couldn’t believe I would get that turned around.

Oh well. I am sure I have bored you enough with this story. I will turn it back over to Bill to finish up.

John led me off to his deer. It was quite a ways into the little trees, as he’d had quite a chase. We got down to business, which means that I held some limbs while John field dressed his doe. It was the fattest deer we had ever seen. Its belly was so large, lying there, that it looked like it was pregnant. When he dressed it out, it squirted milk from its mammary glands, which neither of us had seen before. The messy job was over with, and we tied its limbs and head to a stout stick, and started to drag her towards the trail. The brush was dense enough that we couldn’t team up on the drag, so one of us cleared trail while the other dragged. We’d each had a turn of dragging when John suggested I forge ahead a bit so that I could find the trail we’d come in on. Once we knew where the trail was, we could drag with some confidence that we weren’t wasting effort going the wrong way. So, I headed in what I thought was the right direction. I came out on the trail, but I was quite a ways west of where I thought I was. I didn’t know this, so I headed west to the next stand, which to my surprise wasn’t the one we started from. This is when my day started to get seriously weird.

I put my hat on a high branch, to mark the spot, and headed back into the woods toward where I had left John. I whistled and yelled as I walked, and I was amazed that I hadn’t come across him. I startled a grouse, or perhaps it startled me. I kept going, figuring that a straight line would lead me across his path. At some point, it became obvious to me that I was past where we had been, and at just about the point where I was considering turning around I saw a change in the trees ahead of me. I went forward to the cleared area, and to my complete surprise, I ended up on the road! Mind you, this is the road on the south side of the land, and I had thought I was walking roughly north-east! Did I mention that the day was overcast?

I walked back down to the car, and then retraced the early morning’s path into the stands. I went to the spot I had marked with my hat, and then walked back and forth along the path, occasionally walking into the woods for a ways. I whistled and yelled a few times, but John never heard me. I eventually heard him, though, and we met up on the path.

He’d been lost, too, for a bit. It was far more serious for him, though, because he’d been dragging a carcass. He’d dragged the doe out to a different path, one that was close to the clearing on the southwest corner, so we went back for the car, drove to the clearing, and team-dragged the deer down to the car. We were both pretty sore and tired at this point, so we drove back to the motel, showered, and laid around for a couple hours until it was time to get dinner.

We had a couple of steaks at the new Applebee’s in Bemidji. It wasn’t as good as drinks and grilled steaks had been at Mom & Dad’s in previous years, but it wasn’t bad. We went back to the motel, where I started typing this, and we relaxed.

We came to some conclusions when thinking about the day. One was that we were surprised at how easily we could get confused in the thicker woods. There’s no fear of getting really lost, of course – walking in any direction will soon land you close to a recognizable landmark. No, the problem is that we might have spent a long while dragging a deer in the wrong direction. With just the two of us, that situation can drain us of the will to hunt further. The conventional solution to the problem would be for us to spend a lot more time on the land so that we’d be able to find our way around better, but we don’t really have that sort of time available. Our solution is to get a GPS unit, which we will use to mark downed deer. Once a deer is marked, we can check maps to see exactly how far we are from the closest path, and work accordingly. Also, one hunter can hand the marked location over to the other. As a side benefit, we thought we might mark all of the stands and map everything out to flesh out a fun website. Also, you, the reader, should not underestimate the value of a gadget-based solution in the hands of the O’Hanlon brothers – we have a lot more fun doing things in the high-tech way over the low-tech way.

On Sunday, we slept in. We both got the best (or at least longest) night’s sleep we’d had in months. We checked out of the motel, and stopped by Bruce Wilson’s place. It was nice to see him, and he showed us a huge buck that Dan Wilson’s friend had shot. We waved at his fierce dog through the window, and we said goodbye and headed down to the land again. We retrieved the saw and orange handkerchief that we had left behind, and we walked a couple of the paths, taking bad pictures of some of the stands. We stopped at one point so that I could give John’s varmint rifle a try. It’s a beauty, with a nice bipod and a big scope. I was able to put three or four rounds into half a candy wrapper at a hundred yards without much effort. After that, we packed up and drove home uneventfully.

It was a fun hunt, and we’re looking forward to next year.

Here are the things we missed from previous years:

• The reciting of The Rules, usually delivered on the drive down, and then repeated before parting on the trails to the stands
• The Stand Debate, which involves who should go to which stand. There’s a complicated protocol to determine who gets first choice on stand, which mostly is based off of who didn’t get a deer the previous year. Wind and other weather effects are debated, and the final result usually ends with the same hunters on the same stands as previous years
• Waking ourselves up in the hotel room wasn’t as much fun as hearing Dad walk down the stairs to turn the light on
• We would have preferred to turn down breakfast at home rather than eating the continental breakfast at the motel
• Almost last, but not least, having a medical type on hand for the deer surgery that follows a successful kill.
• Last, we were missing a hunter. Tripods need all three legs to stand, but we’re down to two. It doesn’t feel right, but we’ll have to manage.

Here are some of the pictures I took. Don’t squint too hard — the camera I used is pretty cheap, so the blurryness is the picture, not your eyes.

Dad’s Stand

The Proud Hunter

Two Buck Stand

“Look at that gut!”

We’re back from the Wisconsin Dells and other assorted places. We drove a lot, picked up pumpkins, swam everywhere we stayed, and ate out a lot. The kids had a blast. Most heard phrase on the trip: “Dad! Shutup!”

We’re here! We’re at the Kalahari hotel in Wisconsin Dells. Huge water park. We’re white-raisined now.

I sent this from Jabber.
I even did this Whee from Jabber.

Minnesotans have this odd inferiority complex. It shows up in the local news media, primarily in the TV news. It seems they believe that all news stories, no matter what they’re about or where they are located, must be forcibly related to the Twin Cities somehow.

This observation isn’t original with me, but I’ve been spreading it for years. Almost daily some friend will relate a minor story they saw that got translated to a local story. Yesterday, the story that a British company, source of half the flu vaccine in the world, would stop producing resulted in this comment from a local talking head: “Available flu vaccines may be cut in half for the United States including Minnesota.”

It’s Minneapolis TV. Everyone is in range of that broadcast knows what freaking state we’re in.

My favorite example of this was a story that the Mayo Clinic had discovered a new technique for detecting colon cancer that wasn’t as invasive as a colonoscopy. Now, get this. The Mayo Clinic is in Minnesota. This is already a local story. But this didn’t satisfy the local TV news. They sent a camera crew to a nearby suburb, and managed to find someone who admitted, astonishingly, that they’d prefer a blood sample taken over having a telescope shoved up their rear end. Now, understand, this person had gotten a regular colonoscopy the year before — they hadn’t gotten the chance to try the new method. The camera crew had just been sent out to find some random person who thought the new method sounded good. Just for the local perspective.

All this, for what was a local story to begin with!

I don’t pretend to understand it. I think of it as some kind of inferiority complex. Some folks who live here seem to feel that Minnesota is behind one of the coastal states, and that we don’t do enough to promote ourselves. Or maybe our local news people think that we don’t care about a story unless they can show us how it’s relevant to our tiny, parochial minds.

Beats me. I won’t watch them anymore, and after the Rathergate scandal, I won’t watch the national folks, either.

• M&Ms
• Scotch Whiskey. Glendronach is my current favorite.
• Guns. Lots of guns.
• Unix. I’m currently using FreeBSD almost exclusively at work and at home..
• Blondes.
• Guinness.
• Deep Purple.
• Rare beef.
• Dirty jokes from people who don’t often tell them.
• Movies where shit blows up and people die.

My Tivo had picked up “Stick” — it’s a movie that I’ve always liked, for two main reasons. The first is that it turned me on to Elmore Leonard novels.

The second was that I was entirely amazed by the teeth-gritting gun blazing fall taken by “Moki” near the end of the movie. Moki was played by Dar Robinson,
who also performed the stunt. (And if you watch it, you’ll see that the actor couldn’t have had a stand-in for the stunt — you can see his face as he falls backward off the balcony.) I followed his career for the next couple years — he did stunts for Lethal Weapon, too.

On a whim, while I was watching the movie, I surfed for Robinson’s name. The page that caught my eye was one that listed his movie credits, where I learned that he had also worked on Rollerball (The 1975 one with James Caan, not the recent piece of trash.) Wow! He’d done stunts in another of my favorite movies.

This guy was a great stuntman.