Bill Heavey: Suburban Winter Blues

What little movement I do see tends to come in the mornings rather than evenings. That “magical” last half hour of light at sunset has shown me exactly zero deer recently. Morning are better. Strangely, first light is not when I see the majority of morning activity. It tends to come later, 1 to 1 1/2 hours after sunrise.

The other morning, for example, a herd of seven does came tiptoeing down a ridge a little after 8. They didn’t scent me, they just took what seemed to be a predetermined and wide swing above and around my stand, then hopped a fence and kept drifting along. I’ve simply burned out my little honey hole. They seem to have figured out that I’m just another dog bound by invisible fencing, a threat within certain boundaries and otherwise harmless.

What’s killing me is that they’re right. I’m bound by the property lines of the single property owner who is tired of feeding his azaleas to Bambi. It seems that everybody else in this inside-the-Beltway Magic Kingdom can’t bear the thought of hurting the animals that are stripping the woods bare.

I may be headed back to my local WMA.