I enjoyed my final turkey hunt of the season last week. This hunt, in the northern reaches of Wisconsin, is always one of my favorites. We hunt big woods country, far from farm fields and other hunters. The companionship is so great, and the experience so unique, that it makes the perfect cap to a spring season.

And perhaps even more remarkable…the sighting of this deer, first fawn of the season for me! I seem to stumble across a newborn somewhere during my spring wanderings, but until the Wisconsin hunt I had not been lucky. We spotted this days-old deer as we drove around a bend in a remote gravel road. The doe was standing at the road-edge, and as we approached, something small dropped to the ground beside her. I don’t know if the doe gave a vocal command or the fawn just crouched instinctively, but once her newborn hit the dirt the doe trotted a short distance into the woods.

Even as we pulled alongside her (him?) the fawn remained motionless, not even blinking as we took a few quick photos. Her spotted coat was a perfect camo against the dappled sunlight slanting through the trees, and I could see her chest rise and fall as she breathed only through her nose. It is a sight I will never tire of.

I have thought of that little deer often in the days since. She faces a difficult and uncertain future. Fawns are vulnerable in any clime, but in this area the predator load makes the ensuing weeks a truly high-risk period. Black bear and timber wolf populations are as dense as anywhere in North American; toss in the odd bobcat or fisher and life becomes even more complicated for a wobbly-legged creature.

I consider myself a pragmatist when it comes to Nature; I know predators have to eat because I am one. But I can’t help but cross my fingers for this little deer that reminded me of the miracle of new beginnings.

Many years ago, I’d fall into a major funk at the end of deer hunting season. Behind me were the best four months of the year. Ahead were 32 weeks of interminable waiting. By mid-summer I was a mess; an agitated addict unable to get his favorite fix…

Then, like so many whitetail freaks, I realized that deer season did not have to involve only hunting. Off-season scouting became part of the mix, followed by shed hunting, then food plotting, and of course trail cams…which can be hung and checked any time. I still lament the last day of hunting, but the ache is surely eased by the knowledge that I no longer have to go cold-turkey from whitetails from winter to early fall.

The young lad in this photo is Ethan Greden, son of my friend Ross, a whitetail fanatic from my area. Ethan has the good fortune of being raised by a dad who takes his kids afield often, and on a recent morel mushroom hunt the father/son team managed a nice batch of mushrooms and a shed! I am guessing that Ethan has already learned that whitetail season is a year-round adventure. The shed hunt is basically over, but food plotting and trail cam seasons are literally days away! Today’s kids are so much better off than my generation…

And on a business note regarding the “Geography Quiz” contest, I have listened to your responses and agree; I am awarding a prize to the first guesser of the correct location…regardless of luck or skill. So, “deerhunter125” (who correctly guessed Buffalo County) needs to contact us with contact info to claim a prize. I am still giving something to guide365, to reward his sharp eye and knowledge of camo pattern. Thanks again to all who participated!

From Forbes:

In what scientists say might be the first case of its kind, a new report details the story of a 62-year-old man in New York state who died last year of meningoencephalitis, apparently after being bitten by a deer tick infected with deer tick virus.

More Whitetail Headlines:

Whitetail Crashes Airport, Rides Baggage Belt

Whitetail Tries To Board New York School Bus
 
Animal-Cruelty Law Applies in Snowmobile Slaughter Case
 
North Dakota’s State of the Whitetail Harvest

My friend Greg Brush is a whitetail fanatic from Soldotna, Alaska. Obviously, the Kenai Peninsula is a touch out of whitetail range so Greg—a noted and full-time fishing guide—has to use other forms of hunting to hold him over until fall, when he makes an annual bowhunting trip to the Midwest. One of these distractions is spring black bear hunting, which soon opens.

There are some big and beautiful black bears in Greg’s neighborhood. Then there are the other neighbors: Even bigger, and definitely more intimidating, brown bears. Baiting is the preferred (and only legitimate) tactic here, and brown bears are as drawn to Greg’s baits as the blacks he can legally pursue. Of course the brownies present a whole different set of problems not normally encountered by bear hunters. Browns are more likely to be aggressive toward people, forcing Greg to always go doubly-armed (a bow for the blacks, serious firepower for the others) and always with a partner.

There are other considerations, like trail cameras. Black bears are notorious for messing with trail cameras, but browns will (in Greg’s words) “eat them like bubble gum.” This forced my friend to construct his “punk rock trail cam box” in an attempt to thwart curious bears from including his camera on the menu. This thing is a welded, lag-bolted steel box festooned with nasty spikes designed to intimidate a curious brownie. Will this heavy metal device keep bears at bay? Stay tuned for updates!