Friday, November 27, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
Where Have All the Whitetails Gone
Where have all the whitetails gone?
Long time passing. (sing it with me)
Where have all the whitetails gone?
Long time ago.
The deer season lament.
I have been hunting a total of 12 days now this season. I have had only two shooting opportunities. Both at bucks. A very big 6 point buck that I hit and tracked but eventually lost, despite bringing in a tracking dog named Bow and four friends to search. It has since been seen and is doing well. And a spike horn that fed on acorns less than 20 yards away for 20 minutes the other day. I decided to let him grow up a bit. I did see the ridge runner, a magnificent 8 point buck that every hunter in the valley is dreaming about. But he was 30 yards away in some heavy brush and was more interested in his current girlfriend that unfortunately was leading him in the wrong direction. Girlfriends can do that.
It sure seems like we have less deer around. Then say, 20 or 30 years ago? Aren’t memories a wonderful thing? My brother Tim would brag about the days a decade or two ago when we would harvest 50 or 60 deer in the valley. All the hunters say, “It isn’t like it used to be in the old days”.
Let’s look at this rationally. First, I believe there were more deer. I remember one instance around 1970 when Lynn and I were hiking in late winter the next valley over in Pennsylvania and observed a herd of whitetails, counting well over 100. The wildlife management science was still in the mindset of building the herd, not maintaining it. They did not yet fully recognize the millions of dollars of crop damage and the cost of car/deer accidents. There are fewer hunters. Fewer hunters move fewer deer around. Hunting styles have changed. In the old days, families and friends would gather in large groups and drive every parcel of woods in the area (send half the group through the woods while the rest stand on watch). You were bound to see a lot of deer that way. They were running as fast as they could, scared to death, but you saw them. But I have some fond memories of the gatherings. Now, with so much land off limits, and fewer hunters, this generation practices a more refined, quiet, and usually lone approach versus the gangland style of old.
There are weather influences and annual crop differences. This fall has been warm. And deer, already with their winter coats on, are reluctant to move. There are few wild apples this year. And a good acorn crop keeps them in the deep woods. And then there is the ever dreaded, “They’ve gone nocturnal”!
Habitat has changed. As farming has declined in the area, crops and cropping patterns on which the deer relied have changed. Pastures and even fields have been abandoned and are growing up to brush and wood lot. There are less open areas in which deer can readily be seen. The State of Pennsylvania, upon which we border, has become more aggressive in their deer management harvests, especially does.
What happens in Pennsylvania plays a larger role than many realize. Bordering our property is 5,000 acres of roadless woods in Pennsylvania. As little as ten years ago, it was just that, woods. With little for the deer to eat except to browse on saplings and chomp on beechnuts and acorns, they came to our valley to feed in the fields. Today, three major landowners bordering us, Gaugler, Silknitters, and the Adams family actively manage their woodlots for whitetail deer. They participate in the Quality Deer Management program that emphasizes doe harvest to balance the buck/doe ratio and not harvesting young bucks. They have established many wildlife food plots within the woods. And the Adams family reportedly operates a whitetail deer outfitting guide service and cable TV hunting program. A plus is that we are seeing larger bucks than in the past. We used to joke that the deer knew where the Pennsylvania State line was. They would go to Pennsylvania to hide from us during the day since we only had NY licenses, and come back only at night. Of course, in reality, it was merely their travel route between bedding and feeding areas.
As you might suspect, the basic premise of deer hunting is to position yourself between the bedding and feeding areas of the deer and wait for them to come by. But as the habitat has changed, generally to the deer’s benefit, these areas have become less defined. In other words, this younger generation of deer are lazy slobs. They eat in their bedrooms and sleep in their kitchens. They have no respect.
The New York Department of Conservation believes that the population density for this area of Steuben County is 30 – 45 deer per square mile. Since our property consists of 120 acres, or 2/10ths of a square mile, that would suggest there are only 6 to 9 resident deer. And since during bow season, your typical shooting area is generally less than 15,000 square feet, and half of that may be blocked by trees or brush, that means by random act, you have considerably less than a 1% chance of a deer sighting.
I say all this because every time I get in from the woods I let Jann know, for safety sake. And my usual report is that I didn’t see anything. Or if I did, I didn’t get anything. She always says she is sorry. I’m not! A successful hunt when I bring a deer home is rare and special. But every hunt is successful. In some way. The wildlife sightings other than deer, up close, and in their natural habitat, is fantastic. Raccoon, opossum, grouse, rabbits, squirrels, even mice. Countless birds.
My tree stand this afternoon was tethered to this tall pine. Interestingly rocking me back and forth.
But I didn't fall asleep. Nope. The adjacent tree in this plantation planted by my father was a squeaker as a result of the rubbing branch. But through the filter of pines, I watched a beautiful sunset over our valley. I also watched a pileated woodpecker in all it’s beauty, size, and fierceness, tear into a tree 30 yards away, littering the ground with wood chips as it made its signature elongated softball size hole in a dead tree. The highlight so far this season was a mother bear and two cubs. Twice.
And! The ever elusive bobcat. I saw two yesterday! First I had seen all year.
Or maybe it was just enjoying the quiet, and beautiful surroundings.
Now, if these lazy slob whitetails of this generation would adhere to the known rules and only sleep and eat where they are supposed to, it sure would help.
Current book: John Steinbach, Grapes of Wrath
Why? Because I haven’t read it. Two, because Cornell sent a free copy to all its alumni. A thinly disguised fundraising ruse, I suspect. And three, I am trying to comprehend the current economic conditions, said to be the worst since the great depression. Where else do you go to understand today than to look back at history. Aunt Anna wanted me to write about my experiences growing up next to my grandparents. In part, because when she was growing up, she saw her parents like we most of us did as children, as common place, driven to frugality by economics. She understood better in later years that they weren’t so common place, rather, quite special. But for my grandparents who lived through the great depression, what was it like? For my parents who lived through WWII when the economy was said to be growing, but everything was rationed, what was it like? What were their life styles like? How would we measure their standard of living against that of today. Even for those who have been hit hardest by this recession.
Anyways, it is a fascinating read that also addresses the feelings of attachment to the earth, to the land, that I can also relate to. When I am done, I think I’ll read it again.
Long time passing. (sing it with me)
Where have all the whitetails gone?
Long time ago.
The deer season lament.
I have been hunting a total of 12 days now this season. I have had only two shooting opportunities. Both at bucks. A very big 6 point buck that I hit and tracked but eventually lost, despite bringing in a tracking dog named Bow and four friends to search. It has since been seen and is doing well. And a spike horn that fed on acorns less than 20 yards away for 20 minutes the other day. I decided to let him grow up a bit. I did see the ridge runner, a magnificent 8 point buck that every hunter in the valley is dreaming about. But he was 30 yards away in some heavy brush and was more interested in his current girlfriend that unfortunately was leading him in the wrong direction. Girlfriends can do that.
It sure seems like we have less deer around. Then say, 20 or 30 years ago? Aren’t memories a wonderful thing? My brother Tim would brag about the days a decade or two ago when we would harvest 50 or 60 deer in the valley. All the hunters say, “It isn’t like it used to be in the old days”.
Let’s look at this rationally. First, I believe there were more deer. I remember one instance around 1970 when Lynn and I were hiking in late winter the next valley over in Pennsylvania and observed a herd of whitetails, counting well over 100. The wildlife management science was still in the mindset of building the herd, not maintaining it. They did not yet fully recognize the millions of dollars of crop damage and the cost of car/deer accidents. There are fewer hunters. Fewer hunters move fewer deer around. Hunting styles have changed. In the old days, families and friends would gather in large groups and drive every parcel of woods in the area (send half the group through the woods while the rest stand on watch). You were bound to see a lot of deer that way. They were running as fast as they could, scared to death, but you saw them. But I have some fond memories of the gatherings. Now, with so much land off limits, and fewer hunters, this generation practices a more refined, quiet, and usually lone approach versus the gangland style of old.
There are weather influences and annual crop differences. This fall has been warm. And deer, already with their winter coats on, are reluctant to move. There are few wild apples this year. And a good acorn crop keeps them in the deep woods. And then there is the ever dreaded, “They’ve gone nocturnal”!
Habitat has changed. As farming has declined in the area, crops and cropping patterns on which the deer relied have changed. Pastures and even fields have been abandoned and are growing up to brush and wood lot. There are less open areas in which deer can readily be seen. The State of Pennsylvania, upon which we border, has become more aggressive in their deer management harvests, especially does.
What happens in Pennsylvania plays a larger role than many realize. Bordering our property is 5,000 acres of roadless woods in Pennsylvania. As little as ten years ago, it was just that, woods. With little for the deer to eat except to browse on saplings and chomp on beechnuts and acorns, they came to our valley to feed in the fields. Today, three major landowners bordering us, Gaugler, Silknitters, and the Adams family actively manage their woodlots for whitetail deer. They participate in the Quality Deer Management program that emphasizes doe harvest to balance the buck/doe ratio and not harvesting young bucks. They have established many wildlife food plots within the woods. And the Adams family reportedly operates a whitetail deer outfitting guide service and cable TV hunting program. A plus is that we are seeing larger bucks than in the past. We used to joke that the deer knew where the Pennsylvania State line was. They would go to Pennsylvania to hide from us during the day since we only had NY licenses, and come back only at night. Of course, in reality, it was merely their travel route between bedding and feeding areas.
As you might suspect, the basic premise of deer hunting is to position yourself between the bedding and feeding areas of the deer and wait for them to come by. But as the habitat has changed, generally to the deer’s benefit, these areas have become less defined. In other words, this younger generation of deer are lazy slobs. They eat in their bedrooms and sleep in their kitchens. They have no respect.
The New York Department of Conservation believes that the population density for this area of Steuben County is 30 – 45 deer per square mile. Since our property consists of 120 acres, or 2/10ths of a square mile, that would suggest there are only 6 to 9 resident deer. And since during bow season, your typical shooting area is generally less than 15,000 square feet, and half of that may be blocked by trees or brush, that means by random act, you have considerably less than a 1% chance of a deer sighting.
I say all this because every time I get in from the woods I let Jann know, for safety sake. And my usual report is that I didn’t see anything. Or if I did, I didn’t get anything. She always says she is sorry. I’m not! A successful hunt when I bring a deer home is rare and special. But every hunt is successful. In some way. The wildlife sightings other than deer, up close, and in their natural habitat, is fantastic. Raccoon, opossum, grouse, rabbits, squirrels, even mice. Countless birds.
My tree stand this afternoon was tethered to this tall pine. Interestingly rocking me back and forth.
But I didn't fall asleep. Nope. The adjacent tree in this plantation planted by my father was a squeaker as a result of the rubbing branch. But through the filter of pines, I watched a beautiful sunset over our valley. I also watched a pileated woodpecker in all it’s beauty, size, and fierceness, tear into a tree 30 yards away, littering the ground with wood chips as it made its signature elongated softball size hole in a dead tree. The highlight so far this season was a mother bear and two cubs. Twice.
And! The ever elusive bobcat. I saw two yesterday! First I had seen all year.
Or maybe it was just enjoying the quiet, and beautiful surroundings.
Now, if these lazy slob whitetails of this generation would adhere to the known rules and only sleep and eat where they are supposed to, it sure would help.
Current book: John Steinbach, Grapes of Wrath
Why? Because I haven’t read it. Two, because Cornell sent a free copy to all its alumni. A thinly disguised fundraising ruse, I suspect. And three, I am trying to comprehend the current economic conditions, said to be the worst since the great depression. Where else do you go to understand today than to look back at history. Aunt Anna wanted me to write about my experiences growing up next to my grandparents. In part, because when she was growing up, she saw her parents like we most of us did as children, as common place, driven to frugality by economics. She understood better in later years that they weren’t so common place, rather, quite special. But for my grandparents who lived through the great depression, what was it like? For my parents who lived through WWII when the economy was said to be growing, but everything was rationed, what was it like? What were their life styles like? How would we measure their standard of living against that of today. Even for those who have been hit hardest by this recession.
Anyways, it is a fascinating read that also addresses the feelings of attachment to the earth, to the land, that I can also relate to. When I am done, I think I’ll read it again.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Buffet libre. Vous pouvez manger tous.
Archery season opens tomorrow, October 17. I have most of my tree stands ready. I planted my food plots this summer. Although I don’t anticipate that they’ll create a gold mine of shooting opportunities this year. My equipment is ready and clothes have been de-scented. Lure attractant is at the ready. It will be cold and snowy tomorrow. There is 4” of snow on the ground with another inch predicted over night. Fresh tracking snow! Perfect conditions. Now I just go to bed, think about what tree stand I will head to, and dream of the big buck and various shooting scenarios that I hope will present themselves.
There I was, I couldn’t imagine a more beautiful morning. As the dawn arrived, I began to see deer movement. First a fawn, then several doe. It’s still the first day. Wait for the buck. And without further delay, hot on the trail of these doe was the most magnificent buck. It would be a buck of a lifetime if all went well. Don’t look at the horns. Concentrate on shooting form. Check your yardage. Remember to issue a grunt to stop the deer before you shoot. Steady. Aim. Pick your spot. All of my pre-season preparation appeared to be falling in to place. And then the alarm clock went off!
Trudging through the 5 inches of snow, I went to the South Park tree stand location. Chosen because of the North winds. I would be upwind from the approach deer normally take to this stand in the morning. 25 Yards inside the woods, edged by a food plot of buckwheat, seemed like a good idea on the way. I had not scouted that area but historically, and traditionally, it had been an excellent choice for opening day. Mistake. The wet heavy snow, continuing to fall through the morning, weighed branches yet covered with leaves down and bent saplings to the ground. The shooting lanes carefully cleared in advance of branches, yea, the smallest twig that might deflect the most accurate arrow, were now practically nonexistent. It is the only stand I have that is set back in the woods so any other would have made a better choice. But there I was and was sure I would find some enjoyment.
There I was, I couldn’t imagine a more beautiful morning. As the dawn arrived, I began to see deer movement. First a fawn, then several doe. It’s still the first day. Wait for the buck. And without further delay, hot on the trail of these doe was the most magnificent buck. It would be a buck of a lifetime if all went well. Don’t look at the horns. Concentrate on shooting form. Check your yardage. Remember to issue a grunt to stop the deer before you shoot. Steady. Aim. Pick your spot. All of my pre-season preparation appeared to be falling in to place. And then the alarm clock went off!
Trudging through the 5 inches of snow, I went to the South Park tree stand location. Chosen because of the North winds. I would be upwind from the approach deer normally take to this stand in the morning. 25 Yards inside the woods, edged by a food plot of buckwheat, seemed like a good idea on the way. I had not scouted that area but historically, and traditionally, it had been an excellent choice for opening day. Mistake. The wet heavy snow, continuing to fall through the morning, weighed branches yet covered with leaves down and bent saplings to the ground. The shooting lanes carefully cleared in advance of branches, yea, the smallest twig that might deflect the most accurate arrow, were now practically nonexistent. It is the only stand I have that is set back in the woods so any other would have made a better choice. But there I was and was sure I would find some enjoyment.
I did. I didn’t see a single white tail deer. There were no recent tracks in the snow within shooting range of the tree stand. Perhaps the deer have changed their patterns somewhat. But what happened next was a really neat experience.
As the sun began to warm the air, I began to hear a crescendo of bird song in the valley below. Louder and louder it became to the point of wonder and amazement. Most of the local migratory birds had left some time ago. I hadn’t seen a robin in several weeks. But suddenly, here they were. Hundreds upon hundreds, flocks of many kind, migrating to warmer climes but stopping here for a day. All descended upon our valley to partake on the bountiful crop of berries on the Autumn Olive and Honey Suckle bushes.
I believe somewhere in the French-Canadian provinces, there must be an Avian Migratory AAA trip ticket book that reads, “Biscuit Hollow, New York. Buffet libre. Vous pouvez manger tous.” Free buffet. All you can eat. They all apparently had seen it. Raucous flocks of robins, starlings, blue jays, cedar waxwings, crows, catbirds and cardinals. Clowns with black caps hung bottom side up from tree branches near my head. Sparrows, wrens, finches, flycatchers picking at the bottom of leaves nearby. Foreign interlopers I did not recognize. And throw in some downy and hairy woodpeckers and some nuthatches for good measure. I wished I had my bird book with me.
As the sun began to warm the air, I began to hear a crescendo of bird song in the valley below. Louder and louder it became to the point of wonder and amazement. Most of the local migratory birds had left some time ago. I hadn’t seen a robin in several weeks. But suddenly, here they were. Hundreds upon hundreds, flocks of many kind, migrating to warmer climes but stopping here for a day. All descended upon our valley to partake on the bountiful crop of berries on the Autumn Olive and Honey Suckle bushes.
I believe somewhere in the French-Canadian provinces, there must be an Avian Migratory AAA trip ticket book that reads, “Biscuit Hollow, New York. Buffet libre. Vous pouvez manger tous.” Free buffet. All you can eat. They all apparently had seen it. Raucous flocks of robins, starlings, blue jays, cedar waxwings, crows, catbirds and cardinals. Clowns with black caps hung bottom side up from tree branches near my head. Sparrows, wrens, finches, flycatchers picking at the bottom of leaves nearby. Foreign interlopers I did not recognize. And throw in some downy and hairy woodpeckers and some nuthatches for good measure. I wished I had my bird book with me.
Nary a deer. But a great time in the woods. I love deer season.
Book read: John Grisham, The Associate
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Coyotes
The coyotes were howling at the moon so loudly it woke me up this morning about 2AM.
I decided to turn on the radio to drown out the racket. All I could find was country music.
I turned the radio off. Coyote's baying isn't such a bad sound after all.
I decided to turn on the radio to drown out the racket. All I could find was country music.
I turned the radio off. Coyote's baying isn't such a bad sound after all.
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