That Old Doe

2004 South Carolina Doe

The old doe fed in a clearing between palmetto patches, munching on acorns from the sweeping live oaks that rapidly diminished what was left of the fading light. She’d come from a marsh accompanied by a younger doe and a yearling. She was a chocolate-gray color, unlike her unseasoned counterparts who still sported a pine needle red coat that had carried through the heat of the summer into the early fall. While the two other deer audibly splashed their way into the hammock like children running through the surf, she tip-toed, an almost imperceptible wet hoof-beat.  She’d walk a few steps and then stop to survey her surroundings, that long Roman nose gauging the swamp air for any hints of danger. This old doe had been around a while. Always cautious with animals like her, I was careful not to breathe, even though I was 20 feet up a pine tree with the wind in my face. I've played this game before.

Still, she never could defeat that natural wariness of hers. She sensed something. The scabs on surrounding pines from other hunters scaling the trunks in climber stands betrayed any notion that I’d tapped into a virginal hunting ground, and it was becoming more apparent with each passing moment that she’d had an unpleasant encounter prior to my visit. She’d ceased focusing on her buffet, raising her head and pinning her ears back as she’d gaze in my direction. Occasionally she’d stoop her head as if to continue feeding but immediately snatch it back up to see if she could trick anything into moving.

Finally, that old doe had had enough. She oozed back into the understory, circling through the creek to get downwind of my position. I knew, without doubt, what would be coming next. That nanny finally hit the current of air she sought. I’ll never know if she caught my scent or the fumes from the Therma-CELL, but this once-silent creature who went to great lengths to avoid being detected, raised Hell a mere 30 yards away, blowing and snorting and slapping her hooves into the water. She still did not have a bead on my location and stood exposed, broadside for 5 minutes adhering to this routine. I had never wished for an antlerless tag so badly in my life.

This was on a Special Opportunity Hunt at Lake Panasofkee last Saturday evening. An archery hunt, the rules for the property required a tag for the harvest of does. I’m not sure why I upset this doe so much; I hadn’t killed any of her relatives. Heck, I don’t think I’ve even shot a deer within 100 miles of this location, but she had it out for me. And if you’ve ever had an old doe stomp and blow at you, you are well aware that this is Taps, the 3^rd strike in the bottom of the 9th. Game Over. Content with her damage, she finally trotted off into the gloaming, and that was it for the deer that evening.

That’s the way of things with those old does. They can be your worst enemy in the woods, worse than squirrels barking in your face. But just as with those obnoxious tree rats, it doesn’t take more than a few minutes of their bluster to start contemplating revenge - an arrow, a bullet, a hand grenade, something to shut them up.

One of my favorite “Return to the Campfire Tales” is when a hunter reports with wild excitement how That Old Buck winded him down in the Pine Woods and blew at him all evening. I never want to spoil anyone’s big buck story with my attitude and theories, but more than likely, it was a doe calling you out. If a buck winds you, he’s outta there. Mature bucks, as elusive and crafty as they are, just don’t have it in their DNA to hang around and intentionally ruin your hunt. Plus, they have the does to warn them; no point risking their own hides when their sentries will sound the alarm. It's just good business.

Maybe I’m wrong, but it probably comes down to a doe’s maternal instincts. Bucks aren’t burdened with raising fawns and protecting them from the perils of the woods. I’ve watched does chase coyotes and bobcats and run off wild boar. Does will reliably come to a predator call – like a mouse squeaker - during the spring. I’ve watched them decoy themselves to distract attention from bedded fawns. So the fact they’d open themselves to sacrifice during hunting season isn’t all that surprising.

This isn’t to say they are easy targets - not at all. The fact this one was caught in the open was as an anomaly. In my experience, the older does hang in the woods a little longer than the younger ones, having since lost their reckless ambition over the course of several seasons. They have a knack for shielding themselves from a direct shot, and oftentimes the first glimpses you have are of those ears, ever-shifting above the brush. Then the nose is tossed in the air, and this is the truly frightening part. Those wet nostrils can calculate scents we can’t even begin to register.

If her safety checklist is met, she’ll slowly proceed into the open, cautious to the last step. If the area has been hunted before, you probably won’t be in her graces for too long. Those old does will remember stands and always keep an eye on them, often just staring in your direction daring you to move.

At this point, you are left with two options, one that is out of your hands, and the other completely under your control. You could just let her be and hope she passes through, but if she’s so inclined to stick around, know that the spotlight is on you. If you shift to relieve a cramp, pick your nose, flick a mosquito, or finish Level 20 of your iPhone game, she’ll know. If the vagaries of the wind turn on you, you’re screwed, and God help you if you inadvertently kick over a water bottle or ding a jacket zipper on a metal stand.

The other choice is to grease her. You’ll probably sacrifice your chances at a buck that evening, but when she showed, that was likely anyhow. There is no shame – quite the opposite, in fact – in taking a mature animal like this. It’s a far nobler and challenging quest than collecting any random set of antlers.

Hardee County Doe, 2001

Of the forty or so does I’ve killed, I can only think of a handful that were legitimate old-age trophies. I recall one in Hardee County that tried slipping behind me through a chute of gallberry bushes. Luckily my stand was just tall enough to fire a clear shot. I took another in Erhardt, SC in 2004 right after the four hurricanes pummeled Florida. The guide had warned me she’d be there and to smoke her if I had the chance. Seems she’d busted other hunters during the course of the immature season. And I shot one last year in North Carolina that seemed staked behind a fence of clearcut before slowly slipping out to munch on sweet potatoes.

But there is one old doe I’d love to catch up with. She’s been haunting my hammock in Manatee County for years. Already mature and noticeably large-bodied when I first met her, she had a habit of staying out of bow range during archery season, but would come within feet during blackpowder hunts when she was off-limits. She’d have no trouble patrolling that clearing, blowing and stomping and generally ruining the world. I thought I had her two years ago. Her hips had been sunken by advanced maternal age, and she seemed a tad off her game as she actually fed underneath my lock-on stand. All she had to do was clear the grating of the footstand and meander a few yards in front and she was mine.

As it turned out, a gobbler flew down and started drumming, alerting the other doe that had slipped in with the old mare. Her friend got to blowing and circling downwind and finally caught my scent, busting off for the swamp. The matron leisurely followed suit, saved by her new apprentice who had quickly learned the ways of the old doe. I'm not sure that deer is still alive, but I can't help but hope I get one last crack at her. 

And there’s another lady up in Lake Panasofkee who’ll be in mind when I return one day – hopefully with a doe tag.

The Case of a County-Run Hunting Program

I attended Duette Park's mandatory hunting orientation last Saturday morning. Manatee County runs the show and, to my knowledge, Duette is the only tract of public land in Florida where the county designs the hunting program, within the guidelines of state law. Over 21,000 acres, the land is home to the headwaters of the Manatee River which favors healthy populations of deer, hogs, turkey and other game animals. Duette shows scars of human use from a couple generations ago and is still surrounded by agriculture and phosphate ventures. Today, it's managed with a plan to restore it to its native, natural condition - with shell roads, power boxes and fences, of course.

Part of their management plan includes this unique hunting program to keep the deer and hog herds in check. Several weekend hunts are sold through a random-draw system. The added income helps fund conservation projects such as longleaf pine restoration, and land management tools like prescribed burns. These hunts have been held every year for nearly 20 years and enjoy a loyal following. In a section of the state where public land is limited, it's valuable real estate.

And it's a lot to ask for in these days of shrinking local government budgets. These hunts aren't overflowing the coffers considering labor costs, machinery, etc. A few seasons ago the hunt program was very much in doubt as the entire state buckled under the recession. So take a tough economic climate and add the wishes of sportsmen, and the challenge for the county comes down to satisfying paying customers while keeping management plans in check with the limited resources available.

I remember the first orientation I attended. The park biologists and managers stood in front of the drawn hunters and read through the rules. Then they were verbally accosted for all manner of  supposed transgressions. Quite a few in the mob – many of whom couldn't even spell "diploma" – queried the biologists on their qualifications to enact management policy. It was known that a lot of the staff were non-hunters, though they worked closely with FWC to draw up management goals from season to season. It was as close to a public flogging as I'd ever seen, and honestly made me worried sharing the woods with these folks.

Duette Park 8-pt

I left that year thinking, "Why do they put up with this? No way can this last." 

But, to their credit, the show’s gone on. 

Since then these annual meetings have been pretty tame, and I'm recognizing the same outdoorsmen from year to year; the majority of the loudmouth malcontents have since packed sand. This year, though, I thought would attract scorn. One, there were no hunts in November, the prime rut period in this section of the state. Two, it didn't appear there'd be any doe tags this season. Three, they raised the antler restriction to 3-points on one side, up from 2.

I figured the antler rule would rile up the most derision. It was front and center in the debate 6 years back. Then, they proposed a modest increase from spike to forkie to improve the age structure and trophy potential, and Holy Jesus, you’d thought they’d been restricted to shooting fictional creatures.

It passed without a peep this year. People will surprise you. It was explained that, yes, they’d still like to improve the age structure. Not a murmur dripped from the crowd. But that’s not the most shocking point to this lack of aggression. See, it's not a free-for-all deer slaying; they work on a quota system. Usually the number of bucks that can be taken on a weekend is 4 – 6. If that is met or exceeded on Saturday, bucks are off-limits on Sunday, allowing only the harvest of pigs or does – if one possesses an antlerless tag (be there in a second). For a 100 hunters paying $80-$90 a hunt sharing a bag of 6 bucks, it's tough to swallow expectations of a whole weekend and only getting a day for that Big Buck. And Big Bucks are tough to do in a day.

Again, not an eyebrow raised, and I believe the rangers relaxed enough to uncross their legs.

As for the doe situation, the guy running the orientation this year, now confident in the calm, claimed he’d prefer no doe tags for the next five years. Nighttime surveys convinced them they’d been a little too liberal doling out these special permits in the past. Bowhunters were welcome to pop a flathead, but the rifle crowds were out.

A striking silence with hunting opportunity shrinking by the paragraph.

The final issue was a lack of hunting weekends during the rut in November, save for one Youth Hunt – youth recruitment was also a big topic this year, happily. One guy stepped forward to challenge this decision, maybe having concluded we were getting chumped out of the best time to hunt. The Man in Charge flatly told him they didn’t have the staff. The limited crew was spread out between here and several other parks throughout the county. With the holidays and influx of Snowbirds flocking south, they just didn’t have the manpower or budget to accommodate November hunts. The gentleman ghosted back into the corn.

All in all, I was impressed with the crowd. Though the added money is critical, hunting is not a priority on this property and this group seemed to understand. Or maybe it was hot and they were lazy, who knows? The County certainly doesn’t need the hassle but has put together about as fine of a quality deer hunting program as you could expect, given the variables. 

The major attribute I see in this success is the communication. The park employees ask hunters to volunteer input on season dates, recommendations for the park, and ways to improve the program. And they appear to be listened to, in some form. A few years back it was suggested to open up the park in the summer for hog and predator hunts. The hogs are rampant here and need serious thinning, a point on which the biologists and hunters always agree. This year they obliged, and it was a superb hunt. As an added bonus, the proceeds of the weekend went to the United Way.

One last remarkable part of this program that other state agencies would do well to notice – the place gets quite a bit of traffic from equestrians, hikers, birdwatchers, butterfly gazers, etc., and there appears to be little conflict, though the park is closed to outsiders during hunt weekends. Beyond the game animals, Duette is also home to endangered scrub jays and indigo snakes and other special species such as gopher tortoises all living in delicate ecological environs. If in nearly twenty years the sanctity of the park’s mission to protect and restore this vestige of native Florida landscape was threatened or conflicts arose with other user groups, I think us hunters would be shown the door in hurry.

Thankfully that’s not happened. It’s a rare piece of property in this state and a fine example of not only assimilating hunters and sound land management practices, but also allowing various populations of outdoor enthusiasts to enjoy the land. We need it in Florida. 

Think folks understand that, too.

The 2011 North Carolina Hunt

The old doe hung up in the back of a rugged pine clearing, head up and ears forward as her young counterparts fed in the sweet potato pile. Earlier in the morning, I’d shot a younger doe at a long distance that required serious binocular work to ensure I didn’t pop a small spike. There was no doubt on this girl - not at 50 yards, and certainly not with her long nose and nervous demeanor.

My arrival at the box blind that evening had been delayed. I’d not hunted this stand, The Dirty Hole, in 6 or 7 years, and the time fogged my memory for where I needed to go. So, too, my driver's. He dropped me off at a culvert along the road, and I followed a trail until it ended in unfamilar thick brush. It began to dawn on me. Some of the boys had taken an ATV in earlier in the day to drop off corn and check the trail camera - didn’t appear any four-wheelers had been here recently. I jumped on the iPhone and hailed Uncle Dennis; I had been released on the wrong piece of property.

Though there was a heavy scrape along the trail, with looming armed trespassing charges a real possibility, I was relieved to see the red Chevy roll in. We had a good laugh as I loaded into the bed. Turns out, we’d cluelessly shot our mark by a mile. Dennis dropped me back off at a similar looking culvert and trail with an 1 ½ of daylight remaining. This time, the path was obvious and ended in a wooden box blind. Soon after settling in, the yearlings emerged from the thick North Carolina brush.

Both deer were 80-90 pounds, but clearly young. Still, a huge storm system was barreling at the state, and I needed freezer meat. The wind was already switching and the evening had become muggy with dormant mosquitoes awaking for a meal. But, I held off. One deer was a button buck, and the doe clung close to him preventing an ethical shot. That’s when the old doe arrived.

This was our annual pilgrimage to Newton’s Crossroads in Sampson County, NC. It’s more of a family reunion. Most of us have hunted together for twenty years. I grew up with these folks hunting private land in Central Florida. These days, we assemble here from parts as far as Central Florida, Pennsylvania, and Maine. The camptalk is depraved, suitable more for a Hunter S. Thompson novel than civilized society, and hunting takes a backseat to the camaraderie. But that doesn’t mean the hunting isn’t wonderful, too.

The timing of this trip was less than wonderful. This section of the state is rancid with deer, but 80-degree November temps and finicky winds are never great ingredients for deer hunting. That and the rut was on its downside, this coastal area expecting the peak around the end of October through the first week of November.

One beautiful 8-pt was seen and promptly missed by one member of camp. Besides this, one small six and a rugged cull six were taken. Along with the usual passel of does. Everyone saw small bucks – mostly spikes and adolescent four-points. Most came to feed in the soybean fields or bait piles, showing little rutting inclination. The big boys were holed up for the week.

Which is a shame. I’ve long coveted a trophy buck from this area, and there are plenty of them, but that’s how hunting goes. Luckily, there was enough deer activity to make hay.

My first doe stood out in a soybean field at first light Tuesday morning. I was hunting the Corner Stand that overlooks 400 acres of soybeans with fingers of oak and pine running through it. Over the years, I’ve killed a lot of deer here, and a big buck was spotted three weeks back at last light a mere 20 yards from the stand. Monday night, I’d glassed through a trio of spikes, the smallest antlers not even visible by eye at 100 yards. I nearly cranked him down but luckily a 40-pound runt fed behind him preventing a shot. Then, one last look through the binos revealed those thimbles on his head.

So I was hesitant to let loose in the thin light of the next morning. As the deer fed 150-175 yards away, two of the spikes from the previous evening ghosted into the sweet potato pile gnawing like rodents on the orange tubers. One was a large-bodied deer with long spikes; he clearly lacked the age you’d want with a cull, though. With luck, I’ll catch up with him again in the coming years.

As the light increased, I realized that first deer looked more and more like a doe, and I became confident that she wasn’t that miscreant from the evening before. The morning wore on and she would soon tire of feeding in the open. It was early in trip, and the freezer begged for backstrap. I rested my Savage .300 Win Mag on the rail of the ladder stand and planted her in the field.

After that, the pressure was off, so I wasn’t in a hurry to take any dicey shots at the Dirty Hole. The old doe slowly crept from behind the brush, feeding on browse and leaving the bait for the youngin’s. Soon, a good-looking four-point strode in. Enough daylight remained that if I could grab a shot, I’d take the doe and hope for more action after. She’d just have to give me a window.

I leaned my Savage out of the portal of the ground blind and tracked her in my scope. Ever careful, she slowly slipped to a gap that’d allow a clear shot. I took one last careful look around to make sure no other deer had appeared and settled the crosshairs of the Nikon behind her right shoulder. At the shot, she head-plunged into the Thick; the four, the doe, and the button buck springing like quail in every direction.

The last minute of legal shooting hours expired before another deer showed. I’d crawled out of the stand and saw a dark silhouette on the edge of the clearing. The deer stood like a statue, surveying the area as the Honda rumbled up before finally disappearing back into the woods.

A Doe Management Hunt

Hogs always need managing. A herd of a dozen piggies ran in front of the Chevy mere minutes after arriving for an afternoon hunt on a private ranch in Sarasota County. We’d see probably 40 more before the day was done - but not without taking a few shots.

I spied three young hogs tossing dirt under a low hanging oak. It was early in day and we were seriously after deer, but these guys did not spook as we drove past. We parked the truck and opted for a stalk. Travis grabbed his pet .257 Roberts. I elected for the Marlin .22 Mag riding in the back; my .300 would have blown swine this size sky-high.

With the wind in our favor, we stalked in the wide open, over a creek crossing to within 20 yards of the hogs who were too busy rooting to care for our advances. Travis was on point and squeezed the trigger, flopping a 50-pound sow. Another hog bounded out, and I fired high as he dipped down a slight depression in the terrain. The next pig was not so lucky, catching that small bullet behind the shoulder and rolling up in the dog fennels. Two meat hogs in the truck and four hours left to find a doe.

This ranch is an amusement park for hunters, and to be allowed to hunt deer – or hogs - here is special. For decades the whitetail population tried to bounce back from a tick-borne disease that severely thinned the herd, as the story goes. Only about 15 years ago did the owners decide enough animals recovered to allow a couple deer killed per year. It’s hard to believe, driving around this 9000 acres of Old Florida pine and palmetto flats and prairie, that this was ever an issue.

These days, bucks are restricted to family members and special circumstances, but the doe program is less restraining. With cooperation with the FWC, the ranch has access to a high number of doe permits based on yearly surveys and harvest data collection. Most years, the quota is never reached. The ranch manager requires information such as estimated weight of the deer, time it was taken, and names of successful hunters to be logged at the cleaning station. The hunter is asked to remove the head, heart, liver, kidneys, and urethra from felled does, and they are turned over to biologists to gauge the overall health and age of the deer. At the end of the season, this information is consolidated and presented in a yearly report.

Over time, the overall harvest account of does and bucks reveals vital herd statistics and is used to pinpoint rutting dates. It’s been fascinating to review over the last few years. All I know is there’s been no shortage of deer on my visits, and I’ve glassed really impressive bucks for this part of the state.

Last year the FWC changed the hunting dates for South Florida to try and accommodate the varied rutting times. In far South Florida the rut could be as early as August. On this ranch, generally speaking, the rut occurs in mid-October, yet it does not occur within a concise measurement of time. The rut is often strung out with a fairly strong secondary rut – if even this can be easily defined. Maybe with the data collection applied over the long term, that’ll get figured out. Regardless, by October, bow and muzzleloader seasons are long retired.

Which pleases me just fine; I love a rifle hunt more than all else. And while bucks were out of the equation, I equally enjoy taking a doe for freezer meat. It’s not carte blanche slickhead shoots, though. One, they want to take older does from the herd, and hunters are encouraged to pass on younger animals. Also, a hunter must use caution that he or she does not punch a small buck. With its sod fields, cow pastures, and prairie, it’s easy to mistake a young spike for a doe at long range. In fact, with a breeding season as scattered as it is, yearlings born early in the Spring easily reach 100 pounds as winter approaches – accidentally blasting a button buck or small spike would be a cinch without a careful forehead review.

With the rut underway, Travis and I expected to see the bucks a-chasing, but even on private lands, the weather can waylay anticipation. A full-moon and lingering low-pressure front hung over the state on this hunt, and it hindered the deer activity. (Which makes it really weird we saw so many hogs because they are typically invisible during full moons.) We saw one small buck with its nose to the ground on the north fenceline but that was the only deer sighting for most of the day.

Besides deer hunting, we also needed to do feeder maintenance. A summer storm had flooded a couple of the older ones, rotting the corn and creating a wretched sour stink that maybe only moonshiners appreciate. Travis and I were preparing for a barefoot slog through the wetland mitigation area – a section of the property protected from cattle grazing and other agricultural activities - to retrieve one of these feeders. I glanced West and noticed a lone deer standing on the edge of a palmetto island.

Though she had spotted us, she was at such a distance that she did not spook, allowing us ample time to check that she was in fact a large doe and not a rutting spike. I found a quick rest, upped the Nikon to 9X and settled on her high shoulder. The last thing I remember before flipping forward the safety was Travis asking if I could hit her at this distance.

My Savage Tactical .300 Win. Mag. - shooting 165-grain Winchester XP3’s - barked and the doe crumpled on the edge of the treeline. I gotta say I was quite pleased with the shot, right around 250 yards. With my rifle zeroed to hit where I aim at this distance, the bullet caught her exactly where I held the crosshairs.

Though confident the doe was legit before the shot, I was awfully apprehensive walking forward to check my prize, hoping I wasn’t tricked by the low light of the cloudy evening and long distance into shooting one of those smaller bucks. Since it is a rare privilege to have access to such a place, you don't want to do anything to ruin the hospitality. Turns out, this was the kind of doe the ranch was looking to harvest – mature, with a long nose and blocky head. We loaded her in with the hogs and went about collecting the feeder as the sun fell towards the Gulf.