03/03/2025
Deer (Chevreuil)
It was Sunday afternoon and with no hunting to do, Bradley found himself at his eldest Aunt’s place to finish painting a spare bedroom that needed a facelift. It did seem like a better option than doing homework. Lucille’s home tended to be a gathering place where people got together for a laugh or two and a bottle of beer or two or three. Any children who showed up were treated to a can of pop and a bit of candy, so they did not feel left out. On this afternoon, several family members and a few close friends were gathered in the kitchen and dining area. The conversations and stories were becoming louder and more animated as time went on, including some particularly foul curse words, despite the many religious pictures, crosses and statues that decorated the walls. In fact, many of the best curse words, which got the best reactions, involved religious references. The air was thick, with smokey fumes having a foggy bluish appearance that was getting more intense with every cigarette that was lit. A game of cards was taking place at the dining room table with a yellow glass ashtray in the center, rimmed with cigarette butts and some still burning. It had taken Bradley a while to remove the tar stains from the walls, so that the new paint might stick.
He heard another car door slam shut outside and saw a shadow pass the window heading for the door. His uncle Francis (Cook) appeared in the doorway, wearing his work clothing that had been through many days of labor with plenty of paint stains on his pants. Cook was not really Bradley’s uncle, but rather his second cousin, however he was treated more like a brother by Bradley’s father and his siblings. Cook’ mother died when he was young and so he was taken in by Bradley’s grandmother (Cook’s Aunt) for some time. In fact, Bradley had always assumed Cook was his uncle, up until this very point when he heard someone in the kitchen tell the story for the first time. He felt slightly confused for a moment at this new revelation, which caused him to look more intently than usual, at his uncle, who of course appeared just the same as always. Bradley went back to painting. Cook decided to inspect the work and give a few tips since painting was his profession. “Looks good Bradley” he said, “you’ll need two coats”. The conversation soon turned to the current deer hunting season and all things that must be done for it to be successful. “How many bags did you get so far?” he said to Bradley, referring to bags of deer apples that were needed as bait. “Twenty-five so far” said Bradley who still had the scratches, as proof, on his arms and hands from crawling in and under the trees and thorny raspberry bushes. “We got most of them in River Bourgeois at the Tousenard’s land” he said to which his uncle smiled.
In most of the hunting areas, the best bait to attract the deer was apples. In preparation for this, September and October weekends were used for gathering wild apples from the countryside, wherever they could be found. Some apples trees could be found near home but, most of Richmond County does not have the best soil to grow apple trees, so it was often necessary to travel some distance to secure enough apples to last the season. This could be tricky at times, because many landowners were not happy about the idea of someone crossing their land and leaving with bags of apples. It was not uncommon to pick apples from a roadside tree, far from any sign of house or person, only to be confronted by an irate local who says they know the landowner and is threatening to call the police.
Every fall, when the Halloween costumes appeared in the stores and the treats were prepared, the mood of the community would change for the better. Most hunters would use precious vacation time to chase the elusive whitetail deer, which were plentiful during those years. The rifle range was busy with people sighting in their deer rifles and repairing blinds and ladders in places that were so special to them. Hunting knives appeared on belts and didn’t really come off until the end of the season whether you were at the coop, the restaurant, or the hardware store. The center of all the excitement was the local restaurant where hunters would gather in the morning to share stories and tease their friends with pictures of monster bucks and bizarre stories of even bigger deer that were shot but seemed to escape somehow. Arguments sometimes broke out if someone encroached on another hunter’s territory or some other “trick” happened that seemed to reduce someone’s hunting outcomes. Deer hunting will pull bad feelings out of the friendliest hunter that often should be left inside, more so than smaller game or fish. For the most serious hunters with large families, their identity and self-worth are tied to their success, and you must be very careful not to step on any toes or make any enemies. Fortunately for everyone, the deer were so plentiful in the 1980’s, everyone connected to a hunter had a freezer full of meat to last the winter and a shed with blood stains on the floor and the antlers mounted over the door.
On the following Friday morning, Bradley was in a deep sleep and somehow hearing his father’s voice where he could make out mumbles of hunting deer, sun rise and warm clothes. He could not make sense of things until his eyes opened and he looked over the edge of his bunk to see his brother putting on a warm pair of Bas de Laine, warm pants and sweaters. It was still completely dark outside and the clock on the wall was showing 4:00am. On the one hand, it felt awkward to be getting out of bed at that hour, but there was no way he was going to miss this chance. He slowly crawled off the bunk and went straight to the kitchen for a bowl of cereal. The kitchen floor was covered in warm clothing, guns, cases, knives, packs and flashlights. “We must be crazy” he thought to himself. “We must be the only hunters who get up at this awful hour”. His father and brother were busy getting dressed. Either they did not seem to notice how early it was or they were so focused on getting ready. Bradley rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off his sleepiness. He did not want to be left behind, so he got dressed as fast as possible. His father kept telling him to add another layer even though he was already sweating. He checked his jacket pocket and found the little black flashlight he got for Christmas in his stocking. It was still working and quite bright. The dark walk through the forest was on his mind and he could not walk as fast as the others. A flashlight would surely help. He ran back to his bedroom for his hunting knife and sheathed it onto his belt in the same place he saw his father’s knife. He saw his bb gun in his closet and hoped he could go out the door with his own deer rifle someday.
The car left the driveway and turned right heading toward Grande Anse (big cove in English) and the old road to Port Hawkesbury. Some of the homes were still in darkness but it was not hard to see who the hunters were. A surprising number of kitchen lights were turned on and many vehicles had been started with the headlights showing who was about to leave. “We are not the only people going hunting this morning” Scott said when he saw the lights on in the home of his best friend. They stopped at the junction with highway number 4, which is the original road between Port Hawkesbury and Sydney. Before the “New highway” was built, this was a major road with much traffic and many hotels and gas stations. Some of these old buildings and properties are still visible, but most have disappeared. Two cars were ahead of them at the stop sign and they both turned left also. The same two cars soon turned right where the old abandoned hotel was located, heading north toward Black River and Dundee. Bradley’s father kept to the #4, heading for Kempt Road. The excitement was keeping Bradley and Scott awake in the darkness with very few words being spoken. They were all thinking of how the pile of apples kept disappearing, no matter how much more they put, and the deer tracks that covered the ground all throughout the area. Scott spoke first “I hope we see the deer that made the huge tracks we saw near the little brook”. Their father nodded in agreement and Bradley was getting excited. This was at least 30 years before trail cams became common, so hunters had to rely on the size, shape and abundance of tracks to figure out the deer in the area. There were many different tracks in the mud, near the brook that ran past the blind, and some of them were very large. His father would sometimes erase the tracks he saw to not confuse them with newer tracks that would appear. The old Pontiac crested the hill near the MacDonell homestead, and the car slowed down, eventually pulling off and backing into an older, partially overgrown woods road that was very familiar. A few cars passed by, honking as a gesture of “good luck”.
This piece of land was owned by their cousin Helaire, Bradley’s fathers first cousin on the Marchand side. They referred to it as Uncle Alec’s land (Helaire’s father) who was an important politician in Louisdale. Uncle Alec allowed his brother Felix to hunt and snare rabbits on this land. When Bradley’s grandfather, Felix was too old to walk the rough terrain anymore, Bradley’s father continued hunting there. It was not the most productive area for small or large game, but it was owned by family, which gave them some peace of mind, and it always had enough deer and rabbits to make it worth going back.
Bradley stepped out of the door of the car and almost into a puddle that had formed in the deep ruts left by vehicles over many years of use. This would have been a disaster, but they all knew it was there and how to avoid it. They opened the trunk, and everyone carried a share of the gear. Bradley wanted to do his part, so he slung a bag of apples over his shoulder. The bag was heavy for him, making him a bit wobbly and heavy footed, but he managed. Based on the smell wafting up to his nose, he figured some of the apples must have been ripe or even overripe, dripping down his back. “Oh well, maybe the smell of apples will hide my scent from the deer” he said, to which his brother chuckled. “I hope it keeps you from making noise” said Scott who knew how hard it was for his little brother to sit still in the cold cramped space of a deer blind. They passed through the wall of alders that grew along the road, having to duck and weave a bit. Bradley tripped on a root but caught himself before he fell. He needed both hands to hold the bag of apples, so he only had the light from his father’s flashlight to go by and it was barely enough. Fortunately, they knew every tree, stump, rock and turn along the path, so they could each make the journey with only a bit of moonlight if they really had to. The first portion of the path had many twists and turns around younger hardwoods. They passed the white post that indicated the boundary of a piece of crown land that ran to the south. The corner post was old and weathered with a mound of field stones piled around its base to keep it standing upright. The line between the two pieces of land had been recently cleared. These “crown lines” were often used by hunters as pathways on which to set snares or access lands for hunting deer. The path ahead looked even darker than what was behind them to Bradley.
They entered a more mature forest now, with larger trees that were mostly Fir, White spruce and maple. The path was straighter, well worn, and easier to follow here. In a few places, there were rabbit trails and remnants of old snares. This was a deer hunting spot, but it was hard to resist the urge to set a snare, late in the deer season, when fresh rabbit tracks were seen crossing the path leading to the deer blind. Often a rabbit would hop to the pile of apples and chew quietly while the hunter in the blind would eye it up using binoculars or the rifle scope to pass the time. Occasionally, a few rabbits will feed together on a pile of apples and a high-speed game of run and chase will break out to entertain the hunter. Young deer will also do this. They stayed on the path, only leaving it briefly at times to avoid boggy ground or puddles. As they approached the blind, everyone became more careful not to make unnecessary noise. They were all hoping that no deer were currently feeding on the apples, because they would be spooked off as the group of three climbed the ladder. Most of the trees had dropped their leaves, so the beautiful reds, yellows and golds were now on the ground. Thankfully, they were wet and soft, from a shower during the night, so the sounds of footsteps were minimal. The smells in the autumn forest are not flowery, perfumy or nasty but they are powerful. Wet fallen leaves give off a scent that is hard to describe. It is an earthy smell of decomposition that brings a person right back to childhood when you kicked through a pile of fallen leaves or a patch of pumpkins. The bright red maple leaves were Bradley’s favorite. The color was so rich and vibrant. They turned a corner in the trail, past a downed spruce tree and their father stopped for a few seconds to listen. “I think we are ok,” said their father. There seemed to be no deer fleeing the scene, so Bradley stashed the bag of apples in a downed tree, and they kept moving. The flashlights were searching for the bottom of the ladder. Their father reached the ladder first and tied the gun to the rope that hung next to it. He climbed to the top and pulled the gun up slowly, being careful not to bump it on anything that would knock the sights off. Next was Scott and last was Bradley. Bradley had climbed hundreds of trees without a ladder, so it was not a problem even with his short legs.
They squeezed through the little wood door and barely fit into the small blind, which put Bradley at the back, near the door with no window to look out. It took a few moments to get all the gear situated and everyone seated in the small space. “Bradley, turn off your light” whispered Scott, and Bradley did so. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. His fear of the dark was only kept at bay by his excitement. The wonderful smells of the autumn forest were now mixed with the smell of the wet, musty old carpet they had used to line the inside of the blind. This was a common method in the area and old used carpeting was never hard to find. The old carpet did help insulate a bit and it did deaden the sounds, so it served its purpose. It was so quiet in this place. Soon, his ears noticed every crick, crack and shuffle outside. There was little wind, and Bradley did his best to ignore a surprising number of sounds that came from every direction. He tried to imagine the noises as coming from deer, rabbits, or squirrels and not something more dangerous. He felt for the hunting knife he carried at his waist and could just make out the old rifle his father had leaning in the corner near his window. His father used the bit of light coming into the window to load the rifle and softly said “It’s loaded” as a measure of safety to the boys. Scott slowly reached into his pack and pulled out a few Halloween treats. Some he gave to his younger brother, gesturing for him to keep quiet as he opened the chip bags and plastic wrappers. Nibbling on the treats did help to pass the time and helped Bradley to forget the spooky noises outside.
Slowly but steadily, the light to the east started increasing outside. Bit by bit Scott and their father began to make out the shapes of trees and bushes out in front. Eventually, the pile of little apples became visible. Thankfully, they were all warmly dressed, and it was mild, so they did not suffer from the unending chills that can often cause deer hunters to give up and go home before they should. They were quite comfortable. The space was small but cramped and that seemed to create warmth. Bradley thought back to previous mornings and evenings when he thought his fingers and toes might freeze and fall right off. He had learned enough hard lessons to know how to dress properly. He wore thick wool socks inside oversized boots, allowing for warmth and good circulation. On his hands he wore a new pair of thick orange gloves which he could, if necessary, put into his pockets, or under his thick jacket when they were not needed. Sitting still for so long does not produce much body heat, so it is necessary to wear more layers than might seem necessary. Hunters who choose to walk while hunting can get away with less clothing, depending on the weather.
The sunrise was just starting to appear in front and Bradley was trying his best to be quiet while reaching into the bottom of his bag of chips for the last few crumbs at the bottom. Their father held up his hand for his sons to pause and take notice. They all froze still. Despite the lack of wind, nobody had heard the deer their father was seeing. He slowly reached for the rifle and poked the muzzle out the window, resting it on the piece of wood that formed the bottom of the windowsill. Scott looked out his window to see and remained as still as possible. It took a few seconds for the deer to turn broadside and their dad to set the sights in the proper spot, just behind the front shoulder. Bradley usually plugged his ears before a gun or rifle was fired, but he dared no to move. His hand was still in the noisy chip bag so he could not risk any noises. The only thing he could do was close his eyes tightly and look down at the floor to try and minimize the impact of the sound. He knew it would come, but he could not predict exactly when because he was not the one with his finger on the trigger. He took and held a long deep breath and heard “Bang.” The sound was so loud in the tight space that he could not hear anything for about 10 seconds afterwards. There was no thought to hearing protection in those days. He still did not move or take his hand out of the bag because he knew a second kill shot was sometimes necessary. Their father spoke in his normal tone and level of voice “he’s down” and they both sighed in relief.
Nobody likes to see a missed shot, or worse, a wounded deer, so they were all smiling. Bradley was the first to scramble down the ladder and ran as fast as he could toward the apples. He dodged the ferns and old, half-rotted tree stumps, searching for something brown and white. There it was, close to the apples, a beautiful 8-point buck, in prime condition. It was dead but still twitching. Bradley saw the pointed antlers and chose to wait for the others before touching it. He could only see a tiny spot of bright red blood where the bulled had either entered or exited. He stared at the animal, completely amazed. He felt a tiny bit of remorse for the loss of life, but it was a wild animal who had enjoyed a free and successful life before its end. Now it would serve as a healthy part of many meals over a long winter. The work was about to begin. Scott arrived next and then their father. His brother didn’t say a word either. He just stared at it and waited for his dad, who was so pleased. Their father, now in his 40’s had seen bigger deer in his travels, but this was the biggest he had ever shot before this time. He leaned in closer, to double check, and found the same spot of blood Bradley had seen. “A clean shot through the heart. It dropped without a step” he said. “It hasn’t even started rutting yet,” said Scott. Their father reached into his pack and pulled out a rope, which they tied to the deer’s antlers. Bradley wanted to help with the “drag” but there were only two ends of the rope to pull on, and someone had to carry the packs and rifle. They dragged it uphill onto the trail and stopped at the corner near the old spruce tree. Their dad took his hunting knife and ‘bled” the buck by cutting into its throat to sever the arteries. Bright red blood gushed out of the freshly killed deer onto the side of the path.
After a few moments of rest, they resumed the heavy and difficult drag. They followed the same path they used coming in, taking care to not drag it through too much mud. As they approached the road, they briefly went off the trail and paused to lighten the load. They were breathing heavily, sweating and almost out of strength. They started contemplating gutting the deer to make it lighter and easier to deal with. The problem was the mess the process makes and how much of this would end up in the back of the car. They did not have a pickup truck or trailer. They were still deciding what to do when a passing vehicle slowed down and pulled into the same old woods road where they had parked. For a second, they panicked, wondering if this might be a game warden or police officer. Scott quickly cut out his father’s tag and fixed it onto the deer. They heard the car door slam shut and footsteps approaching. They were off the trail and happy to be there. Bradley wanted to see who it was, so he positioned himself for a better look. “Well, it’s the farthest thing from a game warden that ever walked in these woods” he said with a bit of a chuckle. His uncle Cook was about to walk right past them until Bradley, hollered out “over here”. His uncle was mumbling something in French as he cut across the woods to where they were. “Tchi est-ce-que a tire ca? he said with a smile, looking at the impressive buck without an ounce of jealousy. “Not me” said Scott, who wished he could claim to have made the shot. “Well, I supposed you waited for me to do the dirty work?’ said Cook, sensing the indecision on their faces. He retrieved the sharpest knife out of his pack, as the others flipped the deer flat onto its back and pulled the limbs apart. The “butcher” made the first cut. He started low, using two fingers as a guide to keep the blade from going too deep, cutting his way up toward the rib cage.” Don’t pierce the gut” said their father who wanted to avoid the lovely aromas of the fermenting material in the intestines. They called him the butcher because he was quite good at it and even seemed to enjoy the process a bit. This was a lot of quality meat that would be turned into steaks, chops and roasts. Both older gentlemen had grown up in Louisdale, during a time when food was often hard to get, and a deer could mean the difference between eating and going hungry.
Cook stopped at the bones of the rib cage when his knife would no longer do the job. “I need something more serious” he said, and he reached into his pack a second time, pulling out a small axe. He looked at Scott and his father, asking for help,” Pull the front legs apart a bit more” he said, and he used the axe to split the ribs, alongside the breastbone up to its neck, opening the chest to expose the inside. Bradley looked at the lungs and heart, almost imagining that the heart was still beating. Once again, he felt bad for the deer, wondering if this was necessary. Afterall, the deer was beautiful and maybe it still had a mother nearby. There was no mention of other deer seen at the time of the shot and he knew mature bucks usually travelled alone. This made it easier to accept. His father cut the heart out, as well as the large liver and put both into a bag he happened to have. The windpipe was cut, and the lungs were pulled out as well as the stomach, intestines, and other organs. His uncle used the axe to cut through the strong pelvis, allowing him to remove the last part of the intestines without letting any waste to touch the meat. Scott and Bradley dragged the innards a bit farther off the trail. “The crows will be on this before lunchtime” said Scott, “and maybe the eagles” said Bradley, imagining a big mature eagle with a bright white head using its powerful beak to rip the remnants apart. They rejoined the others and continued dragging the deer towards the road. They pulled it up to the back of their uncle’s 4-speed blue pickup. All four people began lifted it up onto the back of the pickup, with Bradley and his brother pulling on the antlers and the other two lifting from below. It took three tries, but they got it and closed the tail gate. Some of the blood was dripping out of the neck and back end of the deer onto the bed of the truck, but his uncle didn’t notice. This was not the first time a deer was in the back of that truck.
The ride home was quiet, but more exciting than most. The deer was not being displayed on the roof or the hood for everyone to see. However, the people that really mattered would see the deer once they pulled into the driveway and it was hung in the shed. The truck was backed up to the doors of the shed and everyone came out to see. Even Bradley’s mother took time away from her work to see what all the fuss was about. Scott and their father each grabbed a hind leg and pulled. Bradley unrolled the garden hose and brought it close by. They rinsed out the excess blood from inside the deer and hung it upside down from the rafters in the shed. Some blood was pooling below the deer on the floor, so Cook put a bucket under the head of it to catch the rest. Everyone gathered around it, commenting on the size and the condition of it. “I think we should pull the hide off it right away so the meat cools down faster” suggested their father. “It is a bit warm for hanging a deer, but maybe the hide will help keep some of the flies off it” responded Cook. “The weatherman says it is supposed to cool down tomorrow he said, so maybe we can remove it tomorrow evening, besides, we should take a picture or two first.” Bradley recounted the points on the antlers. There were four on each side and quite symmetrical. He peered into the chest and found one hole through the rib cage. Scott found another hole on the opposite side, “this must be the exit hole, because I remember the way it was standing when you shot” said Scott, looking at his father. “I think you are right” he replied. “There is no damage to the front quarters, only the ribs,” said Cook. “How long will we leave it hang?” said Bradley, who could not remember the past deer well enough. “About 3 or 4 days…. depending on the weather” replied his father. They all lingered there for quite a while, commenting on the deer, and retelling the story of how it happened. The recounted the number of apple bags remaining and discussed which bags should go to each place. Cook also had a deer blind set up and there were plenty of deer eating his apples also. This continued until they were hungry enough for lunch to pull them away. Bradley no longer felt any remorse for the deer. It was now easier to see how it would become food and how it had brought people together the way hunting and fishing often does.
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