From: viking@iastate.edu (Dan Sorenson)
Subject: Re: Deer Stand Theory
Organization: Iowa State University, Ames IA
Date: 14 Dec 92 07:35:46 CST
Originator: hunting@osnome.che.wisc.edu

	A couple posters and a few lurkers have asked me to finish my
tresspassers story.  Alright, you asked for it.

	No shit, there I wuz...  Hunting the back 50, a mild breeze in
my face and a .50 Thompson in my hands.  Ditto the .45 under my left
shoulder.  The hunt was for the fat-bellied stogie-sucker, a dangerous
breed that would just as soon cut down your fence as open the gate.  I
was dressed in blaze orange, their uniform of choice.  Hopefully, this
would let me infiltrate their positions before the fun begins.

	The day started normally.  I arrived, parked just inside the gate,
and walked to the head of my favorite trail.  I was at the top of a
slight rise, and had a good view of the harvested cornfield and the new
deerstand that had just appeared a few weeks ago.  I sat down on a
convenient log and had a cup of coffee while waiting for sunrise.

	It didn't take long.  Soon I spotted a bit of orange walking
down the lane, a thermos and a Remington 870 in his grubby paws.  I
started walking towards him, ignoring him, trying my best to look like
just another hunter rather than a landlord.  We soon met.

	"That your red El Camino at the lane?" he said.
	"Yeah, that's mine."
	"Well, it's blocking access to the lane here, so I parked
behind you.  You'll have'ta move it if I get a deer today so I can
get my truck back here."
	"I was under the impression that this was private land, and
that the landowner granted exclusive hunting rights to me."
	"Yeah?  Well, he's always let me hunt here."
	"Somehow I doubt that, since I'm the landlord and I have
granted hunting rights only to me.  So, who did you ask?"
	"Uhhh....  Well, I asked this guy who lived up the road a couple
years ago, and he said I could hunt it any time I wanted."
	"I've owned it since 1978, and I've never seen you before.
Sounds to me like you've been duped."
	"Yeah, I guess so.  You ain't gonna call the sheriff or nothing,
are ya?"
	"So long as I don't see you here again, I'm willing to let it slide."
	"Uhh, thanks mister!"
	"Say, before ya go -- there's a $100 reward should you happen to hear
of who dumped that trash at the edge of the fenceline.  Here's a deposit
slip from my checkbook -- call me if you hear anything."
	"If I see anything I'll be sure to give you a buzz."

	So much for trasspasser #1, but the day was still young.  About noon
I decided to stretch my legs a bit.  I walked down my favorite trail,
enjoying the beauty of the woods and the half-dozen deer following me at
a distance of about 50 yards (the main trail forms a circle about the
property, and they like to follow the hunters.  If you wait at a clearing,
you can see them at the preceeding treeline).  I get to the clearing,
which puts me in the treeline and I have a perfect view of two edges of my
property line.  I sit and wait, half expecting a coyote, fox, or deer to
amble across my field of vision.  Ten minutes later, the fat-bellied
stogie sucker climbs over the fence and walks towards me.  I leave the
woods, heading towards him.

	"How's the hunting?" I ask in a friendly manner.
	"Not too bad.  I saw a couple of does head into the woods here,
so I figured maybe I could track them down."
	"I've seen a few deer here myself, but didn't get a deer permit
so I can't take a shot."
	"Oh?  What are you hunting, then?"
	"Tresspassers.  Seen any of them about?"
	"No, can't say that I have.  I'm just trailing one of those deer
I mentioned.  I think I wounded her."
	"Really?  I hadn't heard a shot within the past couple of hours.
Still, I'll help you track her.  WWhich way was she headed?"
	"Oh, no need for that.  I haven't seen anything for the past
fifty yards or so anyway.  I guess I lost the trail."
	"Well, go back and find it, then try to track her down.  If
she headed into here, just unload your gun and keep it on your shoulder
so I know you're tracking and not hunting when you come after her.  I'll
give a holler if I see any blood trails on this side."
	"Okay.  Thanks, mister."
	"Say, if I do see you with a loaded gun during deer season, I'm
going to call the sheriff just like I would on any tresspasser, you
understand.  I just make exceptions for people tracking game, like you are."
	"Uh, right!  Yep, I'll be sure to unload if I ever have to cross
the fence again tracking a deer."
	"Okay.  Good luck finding that deer."

	Two tresspassers and it was just a bit after noon.  Time for
lunch.  I amble over to the truck, eat my lunch, and head back to the
site of that newest deer stand to wait.  About an hour later, here
comes something strait out of a Norman Rockwell painting.

	This guy is walking along, talking to his son.  Both are dressed
in flannel shirts, jeans, hiking boots, and blaze orange vests.  Dad has
a genu-whine Harrington and Richardson 12ga single-shot, while Son has
the thermos and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles lunch box.  I'm all choked
up, and decide to go easy on them.  I intercepted them at the stand.

	"Taking the boy out on a hunt I see."
	"Yeah, I figure he's old enough to get started in hunting."
	"I wasn't much younger myself when my father taught me.  Come
to think of it, he taught me on this same land, and I shot my first
deer just a few feet from here."
	"Oh, you've hunted here that long?"
	"Yup.  Course, it's been in my family for a bit longer, but I
got it back in '78."
	"Then this is private property?  Sorry about that -- we thought it
was open hunting, just like those abandoned farms you see on the roads.
That's what the guy in that red brick house over there told me, anyway."
	"Well, it's certainly not abandoned, and it is private.  Those
farms you see on the road are private too, even if the house and
buildings aren't in good shape.  Somebody still owns them, and usually
rent out the fields next to it."
	"Sorry to have tresspassed then, sir.  Me and the boy didn't
mean to, of course, but we'll be heading off to some public lands then
if you don't mind."
	[ kid looks somewhat saddened, as if he knows Dad did a bad thing
and can't figure out just what it was ]
	"Tell ya what.  You look like a pretty decent sort.  I'm not going
to turn you in for tresspassing anyway, but maybe we can work something
out.  What say we walk over here a bit and do some man-talk?"
	"Stay here, son.  I'll be back in just a minute."
	[ we walk about twenty yards, talking about teaching kids how
to hunt and the bond that forms therein ]
	"Alright, here's my offer.  I live about 180 miles from here
while I'm going to school, and I don't have a deer license anyway.  Seeing
as how you have the boy here, I'll let you hunt this season on three
conditions.  First, you run off any tresspassers you see.  That means
anybody but me.  You alone hunt here this season, so nobody else, not even
friends in a deer drive.  Second, if somebody takes game here you
call the sheriff and then me.  Here's a deposit slip with my phone
number and address on it.  Third, you tell the person who gave you
permission that the real landlord would appreciate it if he wouldn't
do that anymore.  Deal?"
	"Sounds more than fair to me!"

	I wandered about the place until nearly sundown, and then drove
home quite satisfied with myself and the day in general.

	For the record, you bag a tresspasser with a .50 Thompson, a
smile, and some words.  You dress them out by pointing out that they
are indeed breaking the law (they don't fill the freezer, but they
will provide a few hours of chuckling as you recollect their
expressions when seeing a long-haired, 25-year old landlord), and you
put them in the freezer if you ever see them again.

< Dan Sorenson, DoD #1066 z1dan@exnet.iastate.edu viking@iastate.edu >
<  ISU only censors what I read, not what I say.  Don't blame them.  >
<  "This isn't an answer, it's a pagan dance around a midnight fire  >
<   written in intellectual runes." -- Rich Young                    >



Newsgroups: rec.hunting