Discover Smith Mountain Lake
SPRING 2016
7
6
Some people think that deer hunting is a cruel sport. In many
cases, it’s because of the “Bambi” effect. Who would want to
harm such a beautiful, innocent creature, one that only wants
to frolic in the meadow and commune with butterflies?
In other cases, it’s because some folks believe that it’s not
sporting to hunt and kill an animal and eat it. I suppose that
they must be more comfortable eating animals that are bred in
captivity, not hunted, and just killed. True, some prefer not to
eat meat at all. Some of them will gladly eat fish, though.
I wonder how these people feel about cockroaches?
I think if some people hunted and ate them as a steady diet,
others would strongly object. It’s not a great analogy, if only
because even the most skilled taxidermist would likely have
great difficulty in mounting a tiny roach head on a wooden
plaque. Even if it were possible, few would likely be impressed
to see such a trophy adorning the wood paneling in an
outdoorsman’s den.
I think that in part, the objection to hunting lies in the rejection
of machismo in our culture. There is doubtless an effort to de-
masculinize our male citizenry, and few things elicit the primal
grunting of the alpha male quite like hunting.
The good news is that this is one issue on which conversion is
possible. A team of wild horses would not likely change one’s
politics, but one single deer can alter one’s perspective on
hunting in an instant.
That instant usually involves screeching tires, a sickening thud
and/or crunch, and colorful language that is not fit to print in
these pages.
I have always been ambivalent about hunting. I don’t care to
pursue it myself, but I have no problem with other people
taking part in it. I do enjoy a good piece of venison, but I’m
afraid I don’t have the stomach to field dress a deer. That said, I
never used to encourage others to hunt, either.
Before I moved to Smith Mountain Lake, my closest brushes
with deer had been the occasional sighting of a carcass on the
side of the Interstate. Hitting a deer had always been something
that happened to other people. I should have taken a hint when
I moved to a subdivision named “Buck Run”, on a street named
“Antler Ridge Road”.
Since moving here, I have at least 10 kills to my credit.
I’m not sure if there is such a thing as sponsoring a deer hunter,
but I’m solidly behind the idea of such a program. I’ve come to
regard the difference between deer and cockroaches as merely a
matter of size and weight… and possible culinary appeal.
My first few encounters with “rats with antlers” resulted in
serious damage to my pickup truck. Although insured, I still had
that deductible to contend with, so it also hurt my wallet.
The next several were worse, as they involved my three
old Firebirds, for which replacement parts are becoming
increasingly scarce. Furthermore, the design of the bodies
on those cars makes the hoods particularly vulnerable to
irreparable damage. Finally, the hideaway headlights do not
react well to even the slightest impact when deployed, and
low light conditions are the times when deer usually choose to
commit suicide.
It’s not practical to carry collision insurance on these cars,
especially since I prefer to do the repairs myself. It wouldn’t
take much damage to result in a declaration of total loss, and
then there’s that pesky deductible.
One of my cars escaped incident for about 5 years. That streak
ended abruptly when three deer simultaneously darted out into
the road in front of me, and then stopped dead in their tracks.
I guess it was that whole “deer in the headlights” thing. One of
them glanced off the right headlight and smashed it, another
crumpled the hood, and the third bounced down the side of the
car, denting a fender, the door, and the quarter panel.
I had stripped this car down to metal and painted it myself five
years prior, so I took it rather personally. I parked the car for
about a year until I could locate the parts that I needed and
make repairs. I did not bother with the dents along the side of
the car, nor did I paint the new hood and headlight assemblies.
That turned out to be a wise decision. On the very first day that
I decided to drive it to work, I spotted the hind end of a deer
vanishing into the woods ahead of me on my right. Experience
has taught me that there is never just one deer, so I stopped
the car. I had nearly come to a full stop when the other shoe
dropped, and the other deer made a kamikaze run on my front
bumper.
The damage was slight, but just enough to prevent me from
opening the driver’s door. Had I painted this car prior, it would
have been in vain. I’ve since straightened out the damage, but
the paint is even worse now than it was before.
So yeah, grab that bow. Take up that rifle. To those who worry
about them being hunted to extinction, I invite you to visit my
home, where they graze in herds of a dozen or more in my yard.
The trees in the woods surrounding my house are stripped bare
from the ground up to about the height of a fully grown deer.
You’d be amazed at the number of flowers and shrubs that “deer
will not eat”… unless they’re hungry.
We humans always ask the wrong questions. We ask, “Why
did the chicken cross the road?” Why?? I’ve never run over
a chicken. Has anyone gone to the body shop and had the
manager ask, “Hit another chicken with your truck?” Those
guys are personal friends of mine, but it still irritates me that
they don’t seem terribly upset when I come in.
I’ve tried deer whistles, high beams, driving lights, and honking
the horn, all with less than acceptable results. I have finally
arrived at a strategy, and so far it works. In the early morning
pre-sunrise and twilight hours, I draw the ire of my fellow
travelers by maintaining a very slow pace, at about 35 to 40
mph, ready to stop on a dime if necessary.
Naturally, I attract a lot of tailgaters and they often pass me. I
don’t care. I haven’t hit a deer since.
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