Deer vs. Man, Then Car, Then Man Again
NOTE: This post contains graphic hunting content. If you are offended by deer hunting, hunting in general, car accidents, blood, humor or amazing feats of manliness, consider yourself warned. Click here to leave this page.
So, this happened.
My wife called from the car this morning on her way to a horse show. A buck, she said, had run into her car about 20 minutes away, across the river in Maryland. She was fine, but the car had fairly extensive damage on the driver’s side. Her biggest concern, however, was the deer. She could see in her mirror after it happened that he had injured a hind leg. He was up, though, and appeared to have limped into the woods on the far side of the road he was crossing.
Since she had to continue on her way, she had me contact our friend Chris, who lives near where the accident occurred, to ask if he was available to see if the deer was along the roadside injured or dead. Chris answered my text right away. I asked him to call me and he replied to give him ten minutes.
He needed a few minutes because he was dealing with a deer encounter of his own and needed time to climb out of a tree stand he was hunting out of. Moments before I texted, he had taken a shot at a buck with his crossbow. He knew he hit the deer (he later found the arrow, broken and bloodied), but it kept running. It ran to the edge of the field, through a tree line, halfway across the highway and straight into the side of a car. My wife’s car.
We briefly discussed the astronomical odds of a person shooting a deer and then having that deer run into the car of someone they know whose first reaction is to then call that very same person. But then we had things to do. Chris said he would investigate the scene and look for the buck, while I was heading to the horse show to switch vehicles with Sandy. Immediately following the impact she got a signal indicating low air pressure in her left rear tire. If there was a slow leak, I’d rather she have a flat tire in the comfort of our garage than in a field in Maryland.
As I approached the scene I saw Chris and his wife, Anna, on either side of the road. I pulled alongside Chris, who handed me the tail light assembly from Sandy’s car and reported that there was no sign of the deer. But the woods there are extremely dense, you can’t see more than a few yards in. We decided we owed it to the deer to search the woods as best we could.
Even with a couple deer trails as entry points to choose from, entering the woods here was daunting. Dense, thorny brush intertwined with heavy vines blocked progress in every direction. Early in the search Anna decided she needed to turn back and change into more durable clothing, meanwhile Chris and I pressed on slowly and with no real plan. Instead of searching where we knew the deer entered the woods, we were limited to looking where the brambles and thickets opened up and allowed easier passage. Like the old joke about the drunk looking for his keys under a lamppost, not because that’s where he dropped them but because the light was better there. We were not optimistic about finding him.
I finally reached a bit of a clearing and was able to work my way back toward the road near the entry point, when something caught my eye through the brush about twenty yards away. Lying down, head up, still as a statue, eyes trained squarely on me, was our buck. I called Chris over and we weighed our options, which were limited. We were on private property, so he couldn’t bring the crossbow over and reshoot it. Here is the view from the “clearing.” The buck is in the red square, enlarged in the following image.
My plan, which seemed pretty solid, was for the two of us to spread out a bit and approach the deer. If he had anything left, our presence would force him back through the brush to the road, where he would either get hit again, or, ideally, cross the highway where Chris could legally put it down with the crossbow.
Chris countered with an alternate plan: “I’m going to run over there and jump on him.”
“Um, that’s not a good idea,” I said.
“Oh I don’t know, wounded animal with antlers and all that. He could really hurt you.”
We discussed, briefly, Phase II of the plan: What To Do Once You’re On Top Of The Injured Wild Animal. Chris said, “Once I get there, it’s over.” Hindsight being what it is, I should have asked for a more detailed outline of Phase II. But to be honest, it never really occurred to me that Phase I would be successful. So after an admittedly flawed review process, Chris’s plan was adopted.
Anna arrived back at the road and we called to her to stay put. If the buck ran across the road she could keep an eye out on where he went. Chris readied himself to put his plan into action.
He chose his line, dug his feet in like a runner in a track meet, and paused. Then without warning he lunged forward, reaching top speed in two or three strides, a camouflaged blur thundering through the brush, closing the distance between man and beast before the deer could react. Almost. Chris stumbled as he reached the deer, allowing enough time and space for the buck to jump clear. But his escape was short lived as Chris righted himself and lunged again, grabbing antler on his way down. Now completely out of view, I could only hear their meeting. And the sound was not pleasant.
There was a thud, like a tree falling to a forest floor of fallen leaves, immediately followed by, well, I’ve heard bucks make noises before, but this could only be described as a growl. Not a whitetail deer growl, but like a Grendel from Beowulf growl. When I reached the pair, Chris was lying on top of the struggling deer, grappling both antlers.
Chris then asked me a question that made me further question the soundness of his Plan: “Hey, um, you wouldn’t happen to have a pocketknife on you, would you?”
I didn’t. But I did have my phone, so I offered assistance in the form of taking a picture.
We communicated the details of the situation to Anna waiting on the side of the road. She was probably only fifteen yards or so away, but there was a wall of brush so thick you couldn’t see through it. She could only hear us talking and Grendel growling, I can only imagine what bizarre images came to mind. Come to think of it, her mental images couldn’t possibly be more bizarre than the scenes actually playing out in those woods. Anyway, she would have to run back to the house and retrieve a knife while Chris held down the fort and I found a navigable path out to the road. Some more ungodly grunts came from the area of Chris and the deer, though I can’t say for sure which of the two was making them. Later, Chris told me that during his extended wrestling bout, the buck looked like this to him:
Anna quickly returned and the deer, after a decidedly unpleasant day, was finally dispatched. Only then did we have a chance to piece together all the details. The arrow, aimed at the buck’s body, must have deflected off a branch before striking him in the forehead. He ran thirty yards or so before the arrow shaft snapped off on a tree. He then ran into the road where his day got much worse very quickly. The impact with Sandy’s car shattered his left hind leg and most certainly caused extensive internal damage. While he was not long for this world after that, I feel strongly that dispatching him there saved him a long day, and possibly more, of suffering.
Back across the road, holding the souvenir of one hell of a deer story in hand, Chris made a most generous offer. He held out the buck’s head to me. “I want you to have it,” he said.
While I appreciated the gesture, and yes it was a team effort of sorts – Chris shot it in the face, Sandy further disabled it with her Chevy Cruz, I found it in the woods and Anna delivered the tool both Chris and I should have had with us – I of course had to decline. Those antlers belong on Chris’s wall. I’m not sure anyone has ever earned a deer as much as he earned that one.