We're in the middle of the fun time of the year

Around the middle to end of September, the sika deer announce the beginning of the fun time of year down here.  September is the beginning of the rutting season and the male sikas bleat a woefully sad song to the females.  If there were words to his song, they would be something along the lines of "I'm so lonely.  Where are you, my love?"

The gentleman we let hunt on our land came down to fill his deer feeder up and he was telling me how the sikas proudly announce their terrotory to the other sikas.  The sika's song is a defiant warning to other male sikas to stay away - the does in his territory are his and that's that.  When we told him how we interpretted the song, he laughed.  "I never heard it that way, but I guess it can sound sad and lonely.  But trust me.  it's a warning song, not a lonely pleading."

People who have never heard the song have been known to call the police to report a woman crying for help somewhere in the marsh.  Even when they are told it's a sika's mating call, they still believe a woman is in trouble somewhere.  No deer could sound that desperate and in so much pain. 

No matter what the song really means in sika language, it does announce the beginning of the hunting season and the beginning of a season's worth of fun antics the city boys bring to the marsh.  The fun antic that occurs every year without fail is the city hunter's underestimation of the dangers of our roads.  There is little room for error when driving on our roads.  One miscalculation of the bend in the road can catapult one into the marsh.  Even if you miss the marsh and end up in the ditch, you're stuck.  And the solid shoulder to park your truck on usually isn't all that solid.  The embankment can give way and you slide right on into the ditch.

So far, it's been a quiet season for the truck-stuck-in-the-marsh event.  I've only seen one stuck truck.  Of course, it has been a relatively dry fall so the shoulders and other off-the-road parking spots are relatively stable.

Going to Carolyn's Stonehouse where the hunters gather for a beer is a lot of fun.  If you thought fishermen told fish tales, you should listen to the hunters' tales.  Apparently, we have the biggest bucks in the country and they all get away because the hunter didn't have a clear shot.  I've never seen these prized, 10- and 12-point bucks, but every hunter has seen at least one. 

You can tell who the real hunters are, though.  They're the ones who come in all muddy from head to toe.  We're in a marsh.  If you're hunting, you're going to get muddy.  One hunter boasting of the big buck that got away looked as if he were the centerfold for the GQ edition of Field & Stream.  Brand smacking new camoflage hunting outfit neatly pressed, creased, and starched.  I could comb my hair in the reflection on his boots.  I'm sure this city boy thought he was "it", but for us locals, we had a good laugh at the hunter wannabe.

As I headed out to work the other night, up in the high country, a hunter parked his SUV alongside the road.  No doubt he was in the adjoining woods sitting in a deer stand waiting for one of those many prized bucks every hunter boasts about seeing.  On the other side of the road, two fully mature whitetail does galloped across the field away from the woods where the hunter lay waiting.  Herding the does away was a proud, 8-point buck.  I reckon you don't become an 8-point buck by hanging out in the woods where the hunter lay waiting.

No doubt the hunter later showed up at Carolyn's Stonehouse and boasted about the 12-point buck that got away.  I know, and the 8-point buck and his two does know, that he probably never even seen a deer the whole time he sat in his stand.  Otherwise, he would've boasted about the real 8-point buck that outsmarted him.

The hunting season is only half over.  I'm sure more entertaining events are in the making.  I can't wait to see the next episode....




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Mark Darien
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