DEER TALES by Ralph Bice

From November 22, 1978

There is still talk about the recent deer-moose season. The moose hunt has to be the most successful we ever had. Perhaps too many moose were killed. Close to 80 in this area, and more deer than last fall. Only thing, the deer were killed mostly close to town.

Notice in Hartley Trussler’s column he suggests getting rid of wolves and marauding dogs. That is hard to understand. I do know that domestic dogs kill deer, some times quite a few. But where are the packs that roam? I have long felt that the claim that dogs killed so many deer was just another excuse used by the powers that be to keep the blame from the wolves. After all, deer are very scarce in Algonquin Park and there are no domestic dogs or hunters there.

I should know by now, after listening to and reading so many excuses (Einstein reputedly said that an excuse was nothing but an honest lie –Ed.) that if the deer return it will have to be simply on their own. All the plans and excuses given by those who sit in a nice office have been no help so far. And it would be nice if something were done to show that someone in authority cared a little.

Still hear some fanciful tales about deer hunting years ago. Away back most of the hunting was done with dogs and the deer were shot after they had reached a lake where they thought they were safe. The stopping of shooting deer in the water was a good move though many of the then older men claimed it was easier hunting, saved ammunition and no spoiled meat. I do not think any of the modern day hunters would think of hunting that way.

Good hounds were an essential part of hunting. And they were supposed to stay on the trail until the deer took to water. I was told of one old hound that never left a track until the deer was ‘watered’. This particular year there was an early frost and even the large lakes froze over for the second week. It appears this hound and a couple of others put up a deer but there was no open water. After a full day chasing two of the dogs quit. But the old dog persisted. Finally there was one thing left since there was no open water, even in the rivers. He brought the deer to the farm and watered it in the only place there was no ice; in the well out behind the barn.

For many years that chase held the record as the longest chase until several years later a hunter brought in a highly bred Walker Foxhound. Fine dog, but at times he would take the back track. Maybe he was used to finding where a fox had come from. At any rate, one morning he was put on a fresh buck track, and he took off going the wrong way. Now this was before I was old enough to hunt, but I can remember the men talking about it. When this prize hound finally caught up with the deer and brought it out to a hunter, it was a fawn.

In 1933 l went to a camp above Mattawa to cook for a gang of deer hunters. The late Father Lynch, whom many of us remember with pleasant thoughts, was the reason l was there. Hunting as good. I remember we had a visit from the Parish Priest who liked to get out into the woods but just to be out as he did not care for hunting. In Quebec it is legal to hunt on Sundays and the good priest noticed that for Sunday morning service most of the men were absent. He had come to like his people very much and realized that these men worked six days a week and only had Sunday. But he thought they should attend church first. So he issued a strong suggestion to the ladies that they should see their menfolk attend church first. Apparently the idea worked for the next Sunday morning  nearly all the men were at church. After the usual prayers he thought he should impress on his masculine members that they should never forget their obligation to their church. Then, just when he was getting warmed up, he heard a hound. Being a warm morning the windows were open and in a quiet morning sound does carry. He raised his voice as he felt he knew what would happen when the men heard a dog chasing deer. But the sound came closer and man after man heard it and sat up alertly. Then finally one man could stand it no longer. Getting to his feet he said quite loudly, “That’s Wilson’s bitch, and she won’t stop until she hits the river.”

By what we were told the record for a building being emptied of men was set that day. Not all the men. Some were too old and some not old enough to hold a rifle. But the rest all went. We were not told whether the deer was shot but l will long remember the way the Priest told this story when the joke was definitely on himself.

Another story goes back to when hunters shot deer in the water. A man with whom l guided many years was watching a lake when he saw a deer being chased by their hounds enter the water. It was not taking the usual direction across the lake so he had to get into a canoe to give chase. Only in his haste he forgot his extra shells. It was a very windy, cold day but he managed to head the deer, a nice doe, back out into the lake. He decided to shoot but the waves were very choppy and he had no luck. When he realized his magazine was empty he also realized that the extra shells were on shore. There was a long rope in the canoe and he decided to lasso the tired animal. Which he did. Only instead of him towing it back to where he had more shells the deer headed for the nearest shore not far away. As soon as its feet struck bottom the canoe upset and the hunter got really wet. He retrieved his wet rifle and walked back to camp. He was ribbed for being so wet and no one believed his story thinking perhaps he had upset and did not want to admit it.

Next summer one of the camp members visited the camp to fish and went to that same lake. You can imagine his surprise when he saw a canoe coming down the lake on its own power. So he went for a look and another surprise for there was a doe, the rope around its neck, towing the canoe. But the real surprise came when he got closer and there nestled in a nice bed of moss and leaves were a pair of fawns.