My brother-in-law, Tom, who I've known since high school, sums up Wisconsin's gun deer season like this - "it's the Super Bowl, Indy 500 and Christmas all rolled into one."
It's a time for gathering with family and friends. Opening morning of the nine-day season brings with it the anticipation of a 6-year-old waiting to open all of those shiny packages piled up underneath the tree.
My dad's family has a long tradition of deer hunting that involved the gathering of his father, uncles, brother and assorted cousins. They often would gather just one time in one place each year. That was at deer camp.
As my grandfather's oldest son, my dad was able to form long-lasting relationships through deer hunting. There are photographs of them all together, with deer hanging on "the pole" on opening morning back in the mid-1950s.
My dad tried to instill in me that family tradition, no matter where he took me hunting or with whom we made deer camp.
I've tried to take my son deer hunting as often as possible, no matter what time was allowed to hunt.
After years of hunting in areas wherever my job took me, this year we've joined forces with my best friend and his family, who have a cabin in the Medford area. We have scouted out our opening-morning deer stand and are ready to hunt this year. We'll hit the road, like hundreds of thousands of others packing blaze orange clothing, cheese, sausage and their deer rifles, and head north on Thursday night or early Friday morning.
While my son is eager to bag a deer, I'm interested in spending time with friends I've known for decades and enjoying that deer camp experience. We plan to spend two days with family over Thanksgiving away from deer camp, but we also plan to spend the next two weekends there. We'll be hunting in pine and swamp lands of the Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest.
I have always been a lucky deer hunter. I bagged my first deer when I was 13. My dad and I were sitting on a ridge in Adams County and had spent about five hours in our stand hearing all sorts of shooting around us, but not seeing a single deer. My dad became so disheartened, he asked if I would mind picking up our gear and moving. I always went with the flow when hunting with my dad. I packed up our stools, lunch and prepared to walk to our truck. As my dad and I turned to walk out of the back of the stand, there was a large doe standing five yards away, looking at us.
I had two stools strapped over my shoulders, my gun sling over my right shoulder and our lunch in my hand.
I dropped the stools as the deer trotted away from us down the ridge in front of us. I carefully got through all of the equipment to my rifle. Then I got the buttstock firmly seated in my right shoulder.
I had no clue where the deer had gone.
"It's right there!" my dad said excitedly pointing. It seemed like an eternity as I tried to get the deer in the scope.
Suddenly, it appeared perfectly with the crosshairs right behind the front shoulder.
I knew we were in a safe spot, which was how our stand was set up, with a back-stop about 100 yards away. The deer had paused 50 yards from us. I carefully squeezed the trigger.
As soon as I shot my dad said, "You got it!"
All I had seen of the deer were two glimpses - one when it was standing behind us and one when it was in my scope.
As we walked down to where the deer had been, there was easy-to-find evidence I had placed my shot well. My dad told me to take the lead in trailing the deer. It turns out it did not go far. It was piled up about 20 yards from where I hit it. We checked to make sure it had expired. My dad gave me a big hug.
As it turns out, it wasn't a doe, but it was a buck that had a deformity to its horns that left it with pitch-black antlers that came out into rounded-off nubs about four inches from the base. The body of the deer, for the area we were hunting, was very large. The chest turned out to be 46 inches in circumference. When we took it to register, a warden looked at the teeth and said it was more than four years old.
It was the biggest deer taken by our deer hunting group that season and among my uncle and dad, it measures up as one of the biggest deer my family ever harvested in Adams County over the 20 years we hunted there.
My luck in deer hunting continued through my teens into my 20s and I've always had opportunities, some of which I've passed up as I've gotten older.
Deer hunting has become less about harvesting deer, and more about making sure my son has opportunities to hunt and create friendships and family-like experiences as I did.
As we transition into a new group of hunters this year, which will be the group I hunt with for the remainder of my deer hunting life, I look forward to sharing new stories and building stronger friendships.
The woods where we will hunt are beautiful. While Christmas is its own reverent holiday to me, I do enjoy deer hunting as long as I can do it at my own pace and go with the flow. It's about tradition, fun and relaxation.
The big reason I still hunt is because my son enjoys it. I hope he someday takes his wife and children deer hunting and continues to build on our family tradition.
Good luck to all area hunters. Safe travels. Enjoy.
- Matt Johnson is publisher of the Monroe Times. His column is published Wednesdays.
It's a time for gathering with family and friends. Opening morning of the nine-day season brings with it the anticipation of a 6-year-old waiting to open all of those shiny packages piled up underneath the tree.
My dad's family has a long tradition of deer hunting that involved the gathering of his father, uncles, brother and assorted cousins. They often would gather just one time in one place each year. That was at deer camp.
As my grandfather's oldest son, my dad was able to form long-lasting relationships through deer hunting. There are photographs of them all together, with deer hanging on "the pole" on opening morning back in the mid-1950s.
My dad tried to instill in me that family tradition, no matter where he took me hunting or with whom we made deer camp.
I've tried to take my son deer hunting as often as possible, no matter what time was allowed to hunt.
After years of hunting in areas wherever my job took me, this year we've joined forces with my best friend and his family, who have a cabin in the Medford area. We have scouted out our opening-morning deer stand and are ready to hunt this year. We'll hit the road, like hundreds of thousands of others packing blaze orange clothing, cheese, sausage and their deer rifles, and head north on Thursday night or early Friday morning.
While my son is eager to bag a deer, I'm interested in spending time with friends I've known for decades and enjoying that deer camp experience. We plan to spend two days with family over Thanksgiving away from deer camp, but we also plan to spend the next two weekends there. We'll be hunting in pine and swamp lands of the Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest.
I have always been a lucky deer hunter. I bagged my first deer when I was 13. My dad and I were sitting on a ridge in Adams County and had spent about five hours in our stand hearing all sorts of shooting around us, but not seeing a single deer. My dad became so disheartened, he asked if I would mind picking up our gear and moving. I always went with the flow when hunting with my dad. I packed up our stools, lunch and prepared to walk to our truck. As my dad and I turned to walk out of the back of the stand, there was a large doe standing five yards away, looking at us.
I had two stools strapped over my shoulders, my gun sling over my right shoulder and our lunch in my hand.
I dropped the stools as the deer trotted away from us down the ridge in front of us. I carefully got through all of the equipment to my rifle. Then I got the buttstock firmly seated in my right shoulder.
I had no clue where the deer had gone.
"It's right there!" my dad said excitedly pointing. It seemed like an eternity as I tried to get the deer in the scope.
Suddenly, it appeared perfectly with the crosshairs right behind the front shoulder.
I knew we were in a safe spot, which was how our stand was set up, with a back-stop about 100 yards away. The deer had paused 50 yards from us. I carefully squeezed the trigger.
As soon as I shot my dad said, "You got it!"
All I had seen of the deer were two glimpses - one when it was standing behind us and one when it was in my scope.
As we walked down to where the deer had been, there was easy-to-find evidence I had placed my shot well. My dad told me to take the lead in trailing the deer. It turns out it did not go far. It was piled up about 20 yards from where I hit it. We checked to make sure it had expired. My dad gave me a big hug.
As it turns out, it wasn't a doe, but it was a buck that had a deformity to its horns that left it with pitch-black antlers that came out into rounded-off nubs about four inches from the base. The body of the deer, for the area we were hunting, was very large. The chest turned out to be 46 inches in circumference. When we took it to register, a warden looked at the teeth and said it was more than four years old.
It was the biggest deer taken by our deer hunting group that season and among my uncle and dad, it measures up as one of the biggest deer my family ever harvested in Adams County over the 20 years we hunted there.
My luck in deer hunting continued through my teens into my 20s and I've always had opportunities, some of which I've passed up as I've gotten older.
Deer hunting has become less about harvesting deer, and more about making sure my son has opportunities to hunt and create friendships and family-like experiences as I did.
As we transition into a new group of hunters this year, which will be the group I hunt with for the remainder of my deer hunting life, I look forward to sharing new stories and building stronger friendships.
The woods where we will hunt are beautiful. While Christmas is its own reverent holiday to me, I do enjoy deer hunting as long as I can do it at my own pace and go with the flow. It's about tradition, fun and relaxation.
The big reason I still hunt is because my son enjoys it. I hope he someday takes his wife and children deer hunting and continues to build on our family tradition.
Good luck to all area hunters. Safe travels. Enjoy.
- Matt Johnson is publisher of the Monroe Times. His column is published Wednesdays.
