It was
looking like a great start to a great hunt. Deer were on the food plot when we
arrived, and with a half-hour of shooting light remaining, two bucks stepped
into the field.
“Get your gun up. That’s a good buck!” I instructed my 13-year old
son, Ben. “Hold on, hold on,” I corrected. “It’s just a big six.”
The first buck was a big, old, thick-necked, pot-bellied,
over-mature buck. His antlers had heavy mass and long, sweeping beams that forked
midway along their length into tall G-2s. And at the base of one, a two-inch
brow tine. That was it. He was obviously well past his prime.
The other buck was a smaller, basket-racked 8-pointer; maybe a
3-year-old, but narrow and short-tined. “What about that one, Dad?” he asked. “Small
eight,” I replied. “It’s still early. Let’s wait and see what else comes out.” Hearing
no protest, I continued glassing, hoping Mr. Big would soon join the bachelor
group. Fifteen minutes later, and with light fading, the only newcomer was what
would have been a smaller eight, had he not broken off one side. “You think I
should shoot one of those bucks?” came a hushed whisper. The thought, “Let’s
hold off just a bit longer,” was already on its way to my lips when I
hesitated, and my perspective started ever so slowly to shift. I had been
looking at the situation all wrong. As a veteran of several decades of deer
hunting, these bucks simply did not trip my trigger. However, they were the two
biggest bucks my young companion had ever seen. And I was telling him not to
shoot. I turned away slightly so as not to reveal the sudden wave of shame that
swept over me with the realization of how thoughtless I’d been.
“You want to shoot one of
those bucks, son?” I asked. The smile that spread across his face was all the
answer I needed. ”Take your time and remember to squeeze the trigger slowly,” I
said. I, like so many other hunters nowadays, have jumped on board the quality deer
bandwagon. I have seen just how effective restraint and sound management
practices can be. And I’ve reaped the rewards. It doesn’t hurt that after more
than 30 years of deer hunting, I also find myself much more willing to “let
them go so they can grow.” But I’ve also been extremely fortunate (OK, spoiled)
to experience some of the finest whitetail hunting in North America, in places
such as Texas, Iowa, Saskatchewan and Montana. Most folks haven’t had those
opportunities, particularly younger folks. Moreover, many more don’t
necessarily judge the quality of the hunt in inches of antler. Trophy racks have
become the driving force behind much of today’s deer management, particularly
on private land. They’ve also become a craze in the world of deer hunting that
sometimes borders on obsession, and occasionally crosses that border. Trying to
improve the quality of the bucks you hunt and harvest is not necessarily a bad
thing. Sometimes, we just need to take a step back and remember why we go
afield. It is supposed to be fun.
THE NATURE OF THE BEAST
I have long thought that mankind’s
enchantment with antlers would make a fascinating psychological study. It’s
factual, undeniable yet inexplicable. It is innate, perhaps even hard-wired
into our DNA. Show a big set of whitetail antlers to any hunter, and their
pupils dilate and pulse quickens in the same manner as if they were gazing upon
the goddess Diana. Put any self-proclaimed meat hunter in a shooting house,
give them an either sex tag then let a doe and a mature buck walk out in front
of them — 10 out of 10 times they’re going to shoot the buck.
Given these facts, it is expected, natural and understandable that
we would go to great lengths to procure, and more recently, produce big antlers.
The latter is where programs like quality deer management come in. Increase the
abundance of big-antlered deer and your odds of obtaining them go up as well.
QDM purists might argue that older, bigger bucks are merely a positive side
effect of balancing your herd’s sex and age ratios. More often, I suspect big
bucks are the goal, and balanced ratios are the side effect. In either case,
the end result is largely positive. However, increasing evidence suggests in
some cases we may have gone too far.
THE DARK SIDE
I got a hint of this on a Saskatchewan hunt
several years ago. This prairie province has a well-earned reputation as one of
the top trophy buck destinations in North America, and I admit that is what I
was after — a bonafide wall-hanger. My enthusiasm was tempered, however, on the
first night in camp when the outfitter informed us of his strict 150-inch
minimum. “Say what?”
Like everyone who hunts the land of white overcoats, I had hopes
of downing a true monster. I also realized those fabled giants are few and far between,
and it’s nice to know if you don’t see one that you can still settle for a
140-class buck. Nope. Not at this place.
Midway through the next morning, I glanced out the window of my ground
blind and spied the biggest whitetail I’d ever seen — at least I thought he
was. Adrenaline-laced blood coursed through my veins as I grabbed my rifle,
fighting to control my breathing and shaking. I was settling the cross-hairs on
the brute’s chest when the caution light went off in my subconscious. “Will he
make 150?”
It took several long minutes to convince myself he would, and even
then, I wasn’t 100 percent sure. I pulled the trigger, and the mighty beast
fell. My exaltation was immediately tempered with doubt. Exiting the blind, I
approached the deer not with elation, but with trepidation. The buck turned out
to be well higher than the minimum, and my highest-scoring buck to date, but
the experience was tarnished by the anxiety that I might have failed to meet
someone else’s subjective benchmark.
Several days later, I sat with a friend who dropped a buck in the
waning moments of daylight. It was his biggest as well. But through an unfortunate
twist of genetic fate, it lacked a matching G-4 on one side. The 9-point green scored
147 inches. My friend was fined $1,000 by the outfitter, ruining what should have
been a treasured memory. The outfitter’s logic was sound. Protect the younger
bucks, and there will be more older, trophy-class bucks for his clients to
shoot. But his limits seemed a bit too strict to me and took a lot of the fun
out of my hunting experience.
BOOK BUCKS
It is human nature to find some objective
criteria to evaluate the things we hold in high esteem and to rank them. Hence,
we have antler scoring systems and record books. I used to be a measurer for
several trophy clubs, but through time, I got jaded. Some of the folks whose
racks I measured were the cream of the crop — humbled and grateful beyond
description for their good fortune at felling a book buck. Others were
downright jerks. Some believed shooting a trophy buck afforded them some level
of superiority, even when their contribution amounted to little more than
pulling the trigger on a guided hunt.
It has been more than five years since I have measured a whitetail
rack, including my own. I know roughly what they score, and that’s good enough
for me. Further, not being too hung up on inches lets me appreciate the smaller
bucks even more. In and of themselves, trophy clubs are not a bad thing. They
do much to promote hunting and protect and enhance wildlife resources. It is only
when making the record book becomes foremost for hunters and all other things
associated with hunting are unimportant, that we start down the wrong path.
MANDATORY ANTLER RESTRICTIONS
Mandatory antler restrictions represent one
of the more obvious and increasingly popular management practices directed at
increasing antler size. Born largely out of efforts to improve buck quality on
leases and private club lands, they have been so successful and become so popular
that many state wildlife agencies are now incorporating them in some form. The numbers
might already be outdated, but as of the last official tally, at least 22
states had implemented them on a local, regional or statewide basis, using some
form of point, spread or beam-length restrictions.
Though results have been largely positive, there have been some
setbacks. Moreover, mandatory restrictions are not universally accepted.
Pennsylvania provides one of the more interesting case studies. Before
restrictions, roughly 85 percent of Pennsylvania’s annual buck kill consisted
of yearlings. Since then, that number has decreased to less than 70 percent.
Seeing is believing, and proponents are thrilled with results. However, the
overall buck kill has halved, and those who were content with bringing home a
buck of any size are understandably unhappy.
Even the strongest proponents agree that exceptions to antler
restrictions need to be made, particularly when it comes to children. Hunter
numbers are declining. With so many other forms of mental and physical
recreation competing for their attention, young hunters need to experience a
certain amount of success in order to keep their interest in hunting. Unless they
have been spoiled at an early age — another big problem — any buck is a trophy
to a young hunter, regardless of point count, beam length or spread.
PUTTING THINGS INTO PERSPECTIVE
Admittedly, killing a trophy buck is every
deer hunter’s goal, and it is legitimate. However, we shouldn’t lose sight of
what’s really important. We should appreciate the smaller victories along the
way. We should recognize that to the true sportsman, the effort applied toward
that goal is often more important than the accomplishment. The journey is most
meaningful.
It all comes down to putting things into proper perspective. I
think QDM is a great program. By following the principles of passing up younger
bucks and thinning does, you create a more balanced and healthier deer herd. It
also instills a sense of responsibility and of stewardship, as you become a
hunter-manager. I also think that a trophy is in the eye and mind of the
beholder. For some, it is defined by inches of antler; for others, by age. A
mature buck (or doe, for that matter), regardless of antler score, is a trophy.
Still others define a trophy buck by the experience, the circumstances or their
companions. All are valid and there is — and always should be — a place for
each.
