Urban Hunting

As it turns out, my first hunting trip - the first time that I’ve ever carried a firearm down a path or road, looking for an animal to kill – was strangely different from what I had imagined it would be like.
First of all, we had no success, at least if success can be measured only by bringing game meat home to eat through the winter months. Second, I had never considered that “hunting” might involve three men and a dog, cruising on bicycles along sandy roads on a west coast cottage island. In the summer, this small island has a population of about 3000 people, but by November there are likely less than a hundred people on the island during the day, and maybe half that number at night.
Hunting on a cottage island doesn’t feel quite right to me. Even when we move carefully, ensuring that we consider only those areas away from occupied homes, it feels overly aggressive to wander down cottage-filled roads and across empty lots looking for a shooting situation that can be considered fully safe and acceptable.
Brett was the only one of our group with a firearm. He brought a 12-guage pump-action shotgun loaded with buckshot. Because of the island’s size and the housing density, only shotguns are allowed for deer hunting here. Brett kept the shotgun wrapped in a piece of black plastic to keep it out of sight, and he strapped it to the bicycle crossbar with bungee cords. At any location where we spotted deer (all of them were does), we would dismount from our bicycles. Bucks are often more wary than female deer. They tend to retreat quickly just as we are approaching, leaving their harem to continue feeding. They seem to realize that hunting regulations on the island restrict us to hunting only antlered deer. The does might look up at us, but most of them remain where they are.
When we spotted deer, Brett carefully unwrapped the plastic from his shotgun while Patrice and I scanned the woods looking for any sign of a lingering buck. We took turns hiking with the shotgun. We edged between cottages, hoping to come upon an unsuspecting deer, preferably standing with a steep bank behind him to stop any shot that passed through or went by the animal. That was the strangest part. It felt like we were “urban hunting” - stalking deer in a residential neighborhood. Other local “hunters” took it even a step further up the scale of ridiculous. Twice in the morning, a small white truck drove past our camp spot. There were two men sitting in the back of the truck, keeping their shotguns down on the floor until the spotted a deer. They peered down footpaths and side-roads for any sign of game. One man wore a camouflage coat and hat. I doubt that they would have bothered to even climb out of the truck to fire.

Our group of three bicycle-toured the island for a part of three days, and we camped in a big and flimsy dome tent for two nights. The wind howled on the second night. I thought that the tent was going to be torn apart, or it might just lift up and carry us across the clearing. Every day we stopped to make tea in the morning, late afternoon, and again at the end of the day. We each added the food we had brought to the common pot. We made soups and a stew. Everything tasted wonderful. We had a crackling campfire on the first night, and it took away the cold as we sat telling stories, drinking Brett’s bottle of cheap sherry and my flask of scotch.
On the last afternoon, we hiked down a foot-path that took us into the island’s largest forested area. There were no houses, only small valleys and sand ridges leading out to the beach on the exposed side of the island. On the shoreline we set up targets in front of a sand dune, and we fired a dozen shots with the 12 gauge so that Patrice and I could feel the kick that a shotgun gives with different loads and shot.
I think that the whole experience was awfully strange. And I’m not sure that I will come back again to this small island to hunt next year. I didn’t get the chance to kill my first deer, but still I think that it was a good trip. We fired a shotgun. The camping in a storm, and on the first clear night reminded me that I should be doing this more often. The food was very good, and the company was great.
I’m probably a little relieved to have spared the deer on the cottage island this year. I think that I want to get my game meat from the forest rather than a neighborhood street or at the edge of someone’s back yard. Still I have to thank Brett for his generosity, for dragging along a couple of recent arrivals, sharing some of his knowledge and experience, and letting us use his 12 gauge.
The season isn’t over yet. With any luck I’ll have one more try before the December 15th closing date.