As I write this, on the first official day of fall, the
change of seasons is evident. The
morning suggests a sweater, the flaming embers of maples’ limbs lie lightly
atop shoots of green summer grass, and the air smells of a few mornings I’ve
experienced from a treestand. With
sunrise this Saturday will come a familiar fall tradition, what is probably the
most anxiously awaited on the sportsman’s calendar—the opening of the early
archery deer season, the first in a series of new beginnings to come.
The Facts
Saturday, October 3 marks the beginning of the early archery
season that will run through November 13 statewide. The entire six-week period is designated
“either-sex,” during which hunters are permitted to take either a buck or a
doe.
Midway through the season, a window opens for the gun-toting
variety of big game hunters. The early
muzzleloader season extends from October 31 right through the heralded general
firearms season opener, November 14.
Hunters are permitted to take a deer of either sex throughout the length
of the muzzleloading season as well, unless specially noted in the VDGIF deer
hunting regulations for the 2015-16 season, which can be accessed at www.dgif.virginia.gov.
East of the Blue Ridge Mountains, except on National Forest
Lands in Amherst, Bedford, and Nelson Counties, the daily bag limit rests at
the historical number of two. Hunters
are permitted to take six deer per license year, provided at least three are
“antlerless,” which is defined as a deer with no antlers protruding above the
hair line. Bucks with small “buttons,”
or pedicels, that don’t break the skin or hair line are considered antlerless.
Four Eyes
The falling leaves and half-bear trees that come to mind
when one visualizes bowhunting in the autumn woods are often not reality during
the front end of the early archery season in Virginia. Such was my dilemma one early October evening
in a familiar creekbottom.
Evidence of a relentless summer was slipping away as dusk
and the coolness of an October night settled in, when the growing sound of
footsteps materialized from the peeping of birds and the trickle of a small
stream in the background of my thoughts.
Still-green leaves blocked any chance of a long-distance ID. From my position in a ground blind facing a
hollow dominated by a small tributary, the noise was diffused, irregular, and
hardly audible.
However, as the noise grew, I came to understand why. There were two sources. One seemed to originate from my right; the
other, from my left. Each bore different
characteristics. One was steady, soft, deliberate;
the other, erratic, quick, and careless.
The first source materialized first, on my right. A mature doe browsed methodically down the
slope of a ridge that ended at the creek’s confluence in front of me.
My hand tightened around the handle of my compound bow as my
heart rate quickened. The deer moseyed
behind the veil of a wide hickory tree.
I saw my chance.
As I raised my bow, ready to draw, the second source
strutted into view—a jake, a young turkey, seemingly with the intention of
meeting my white-tailed quarry at the confluence. Their paths ran into each other.
But as the bird strutted into view, he froze and cocked his
head at the foreign camouflage box in his turf.
Turkey have exceptional eyesight, so the fact that he didn’t bolt and
send my chances of taking anything home to the table over the next ridge
surprised me. Nevertheless, I remained
frozen, though my muscles were strained in the beginning stages of
drawing.
Nervously, the bird sidestepped, still cocking his head
inquisitively.
“If he just makes it a few more feet, that small beech might
give me a window,” I breathed nervously.
My wish came true after several sweaty moments. Naturally, at that time, the doe’s head had
popped out from behind the hickory, still apparently oblivious to the tense
moment at hand. I saw my second of
opportunity, and drew.
As subtle as I could be wasn’t subtle enough. The doe swung her head up, her body still
shielded by the hickory. I had a fresh
opponent in the staring game, and now I was at full draw.
Meanwhile, the jake continued his nervous dance, edging ever
closer to the blind. The doe twitched
her ears, though her body remained solidly in place, teasing me.
After what seemed an hour, I began to shake under the weight
of the bow. The jake had finally had
enough, wheeled around, and trotted out of the scene. The doe shot out a wheeze and bolted. I relaxed, exhausted from the tension of a
close encounter.
*Originally published in The Rural Virginian
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