SPECIES FLUIDITY

     For the uninformed, deer season is broken up into four parts: bow (long or compound), crossbow, gun (any centerfire caliber above .223) and finally muzzleloader. As the season progresses more hunters hit the woods. After the first week of gun season the enthusiasm drops off again as the weather turns brutal and only we hardcores keep at it. During all four sections strategies change. During early bow season the tree stand is the only option for me. During crossbow I get on the ground either in a blind or camoed up in a tree or tucked in a deadfall, waiting in ambush. Last year this tactic worked perfectly and and I arrowed a nice buck at ten yards. Costumery is crucial.

    Because I am also a serious turkey hunter I have plenty of camo. The rules requiring one to wear orange do no apply until gun season. If not for the problem of scent I can disappear pretty easily. Working the wind is crucial. Deer smell way better than they see. The past three days have been dead. Now that the  pre-rut has passed I'm faced with does in heat (and lockdown) and a total lack of cruising bucks. The action ground to a halt. WTF? Construction workers, neighbors walking dogs and chattering red squirrels narcing me out are all constant annoyances. But no deer is the ultimate bummer.

      Last night a front came through and by this afternoon the skies promise to clear. Yesterday, 11/11, would have been Ray Welcome Gilkey's 101st birthday. I hunted the morning a few yards from where we buried Ray's ashes. I saw seven does before the construction workers started on what is now artist Julie Merhetu's house. If the carpenters take the afternoon off I'll be back in the same stand until dark, hoping a buck will cruise that edge looking for a hot doe. If not I'll climb the mountain behind the white house and tuck in behind a deadfall hoping to see movement. 

   No carpenters around, I donned my tree frog drag complete with large frog penis and climbed in the stand. Nothing showed until 4:30 pm when the same seven does worked their way into the field. One large doe came directly under the stand. She looked up and saw the giant frog penis and seemed unconcerned. If I had been taking does she'd be hanging in the tree. No bucks showed. By dark three does were still in the field. I had to move. When I croaked they snorted and scattered. On the way home (driving in frog drag) I almost hit a yearling crossing the road in front of the church. My experiment in species fluidity worked. The penis is a little unwieldy but if I tuck it between my legs it no longer interferes with the crossbow. I think I've hit on something. The illusive titty-dolphin may work in the morning.