Even though a handful of whopper whitetails in the 400-pound category have turned up over the years, the mule deer, on the average, is the larger-bodied of the two, with mature bucks frequently topping 300 pounds.

The deer I know best is the western muley. Civilized man has removed most of the deer’s natural predators from the wild were deer not hunted by man, they soon would become something less than the clever and elusive creatures whose appearance is so rare, fleeting, and magical that it quickens the pulse. And as to being subjected to the terror of the hunt, deer evolved as a prey species–nervous by nature, wound spring-tight, past masters of evasion. Further, were our 17 to 21 million deer given a voice in the matter, I venture they would support hunting themselves–for without it, only a few of them would ever know life at all. Forced to a choice, I would choose to be a deer–born free, living wild, and, sooner or later, dying quickly and cleanly with a bullet or arrow through my heart. I have witnessed the nightmare of the slaughterhouse, I have held my nose while touring a poultry operation, I have watched bound lobsters agonizing in a 10-gallon purgatory–and I have seen the wild deer die at the hands of a hunter. I believe this: If a hunter is a bloodthirsty slob, he or she was that a priori, in spite of hunting rather than because of it. It was, in fact, fair-chase hunting (as opposed to the opprobrious practices of hunting mountain lions with hounds or using bait when hunting bears) that taught me to appreciate nature and led me to become an avid conservationist and even something of a naturalist. Notwithstanding emotional and, I think, myopic predictions to the contrary, after about 20 years of hunting I have not found the activity to have desensitized me to death and suffering, much less has it instilled in me a taste for blood and violence. Our deer, elk, wild turkey, and black bear were saved, as were many other creatures, both those hunted for their meat and those who thrill us all with their beauty, grace, and songs.īut hunting involves killing–what of the killing? It was sport hunters who sounded the first alarm, calling for stiff protective laws and special taxes on hunting and hunting-related goods, taxes earmarked for funding wildlife restoration, management, and habitat protection programs. Next thing I knew, I was enjoying meat on a regular basis again, meat I earned by hunting the elusive but abundant deer.īy the early 1900s, due to habitat lost to settlement and the commercial slaughter of millions of deer, primarily for their hides, America’s total deer population was down to a scant half million. I accepted gracefully and ate voraciously. Wild meat–the cleanest, leanest, most healthful meat there is. Then one night shortly after moving to the rural Rocky Mountains, I was offered meat at the home of a new acquaintance. Still, at dinnertime, something vital, even primal, seemed to be–well, missing. In fact, for a couple of years in the mid-’70s, while living on the West Coast, I was a vegetarian myself and enjoyed excellent physical health. Of course, as vegans are quick to point out, the human animal does not need meat, in a biological sense, to survive. By comparison, a natural and marvelous arrangement–for the hunter, and, as I hope to show, for the hunted as well.

From the lobster tank, my thoughts wandered to the slaughterhouse, to the poultry factory, to the fetid veal pen, and to various other grisly commercial operations that provide the civilized world with its meat.Īnd then I thought of deer hunting. My heart went out to these hapless creatures. Their claws were bound with rubber bands their world reduced to plastic, glass, and a few gallons of stale water their fate–to be purchased, carted off in a bag, and tossed into a pot of boiling water. While the average whitetail hunt may involve walking, at most, a few miles from your car before spending most of the day sitting still, the average mule deer hunt is likely to entail several miles of tough hiking over steep, broken terrain.Īt the meat market recently, my attention was captured by a tank containing a dozen or so live lobsters.

Primal prey deer