In the beginning of my wildlife journey, I remember watching a video of a biologist enter a clover trap to subdue a deer. It was exciting and frightening at the same time. With enthusiasm, I was proud to say, “that could be me one day!” The time has come to tackle a deer.
Sometime in the three o’clock hour, we left for our trapping site. Perhaps, I was a little more nervous about my new role as a tackler. More so, I was going to be the first person out of the blind. Although I saw my crew mates perform well, there was still a degree of unknown that I had yet to experience. For all intents and purposes, I was supposed to be on a deer tonight. However, unseasonable conditions cast some doubt. The weather was mild for a February winter’s day. A forecast of heavy rain threatened to cancel our evening activities. Nevertheless, we decided to trap as long as we could. En route, beads of precipitation hit our windshield just enough to function the wipers. Hopefully, we would catch deer tonight and I could be initiated as a deer trapper.
We parked the trucks near the residence and gathered our equipment. In this day, the property resembles a yard rather than its original intent as a farm. An old barbed wire fence separates the property from an adjacent field on the east while forest surrounds the other side. We begin our short walk. The property rolls downhill towards the net. Our equipment barely fits. Although small in size, deer sign is abundant at this location. Beyond this area, a little more than a hundred yards from the house, a trout stream babbles past. Notions of fishing this creek tease me every time. Surely, the property owner wouldn’t mind me floating a few flies down this stretch. Just about every time I visited this place, I thought of doing so. Somewhere in this thought, we finish our last-minute preparations to the net.
Our crew divides and takes their places. The first blind is positioned about thirty yards away from the net on the fence row with the barbed wire. The second is maybe ten yards uphill, opposite of a dilapidated shack. I take my position up front with two other crew mates.
Originally, I had hoped that everyone would be quieter today. I was eager to catch deer. Instead, they had me laughing. I never heard more jokes from The Office in a single sitting and I learned that swimming in the Dead Sea can burn your ass crack. I can’t believe that the other blind didn’t hear us laughing. We did our best to control ourselves. At some point, we managed to quiet down. Sitting closest to the door, there wasn’t much for me to see. The nighttime sounds were amplified. Raindrops hit loudly on the blind. Getting colder, I wondered if we would call it a night. I began to dream of a warm spring day with fly rod in hand. The trout stream was magnified in the night air, loud as if I stood on its banks. A wild trout sipped my fly and soon I felt its tug on my line. This warmed my heart and these are my thoughts on most winter trapping nights.
Not long after sitting and without warning, deer suddenly appeared from the swampy area in woods. Nearly a dozen were under the net. My heart beat a little faster. With a little patience, we waited to drop. I cautioned that we did not want to drop on too many. That would be disastrous. After a few suspenseful minutes, the spotter finally gave the order and I pulled the trigger on the remote. The net dropped in the cool night air.
I struggled to get out of the blind quickly, nearly tripping out the doorway. I sprinted downhill towards the net and slowed my pace to survey the scene. Our crew leader, that gazelle, flew past me to the deer on my left. Another crewmate was at my right side. I chose to tackle the deer directly in front of me.
The animal did not move under the net and I could not tell how it was positioned. In my continued sprint, closer, I figured it out. Instead of a tackle, I placed a knee on the ground and laid upon the deer. The motion was more of an embrace. I tried to unwrap its front legs from the net so I could position them under its body but I couldn’t untangle them by myself. All I could do was hug the deer while I waited for my crew mates on data and drugs to come by.
My deer, a small button buck, struggled little. I was actually surprised how easily I could overpower the animal, granted he was just a yearling. Red lights approached and asked if I was okay. I whispered a positive reply. A face mask was placed over my deer’s face. With eyes covered, he calmed quickly. I knew when the sedative was about to be administered. She placed a hand on my back and said that a sharp was out. She concluded with another pat on my back. Not long after the drug was administered, my deer was sleeping and began snoring softly. For the longest time, I recall only seeing a close view of the grass and feeling the deer’s slow breaths. My arms were tiring; I had no reason to let my full weight rest upon him. Red lights appeared again and asked me how I was doing. My reply to their followup was softly spoken so not to disturb the deer’s slumber. I couldn’t imagine this going easier. When the ear tags were fastened, the restful deer barely flinched. After a while, I felt comfortable enough to sit up. My deer wasn’t going anywhere. Most of my weight was on my knees by this time.
With little to do, I let my senses interpret the environment. I was hot; I had to take my hat off. The rain hit my head and it felt refreshing. I surveyed the dimly lit scene and saw my crew mates on the other two deer. They seemed farther away than I remembered when we ran to the net. Bits of the picture were illuminated by red and white lights from my their headlamps. These images provided little clues as to what was going on. They worked with the deer in front of me for a while. I surmised that they were attaching a collar. After I gathered an awareness of my surroundings, I looked down upon the animal that I subdued. Before this time, I had never paid this much attention to a living deer. Curiously, I stroked his coat and felt the coarse hair and musculature. I touched the pedestals on his head that would one day sport antlers. In these minutes, I grew an affection for that deer. I cared for his well-being. What would his future be?
Time came to release my deer. Sitting on top of the net, I slid forward and off my deer while my crew leader took my place under the net. I helped untangle him and remove the net. Two of my crew mates picked him up and carried him a short distance. The blindfold was removed and the reversal drug administered. I stayed with him while he woke and walked by his side until he ducked under the fence of the adjoining property. He disappeared into the darkness. Although a hunter, I never felt that I was a predator this night. Instead, I was a caregiver. I took care of that deer.
We gathered our equipment and reset the net. In the dark and relative quiet, I thought about my deer and the work that we are doing. I wondered if he would succumb to Chronic Wasting Disease and how the disease would eventually affect Pennsylvania’s deer. In the passionate landscape of deer management, I wished that we could reach all stakeholders with reason. I fell asleep that night knowing that I was doing meaningful work.