Touching the Wild

by Joe Hutto

  Body shapes vary greatly in size and proportions, and the unique physiology of each individual may even give a particular mule deer a distinct way of walking that can be clearly recognized, even at a great distance. A particular doe may be lean and tall with long legs, and another may be short and stocky. These characteristics are almost entirely genetic and represent the normal range of variation that occurs in any population of animals. These same characteristics may or may not represent any particular advantage or disadvantage, but can be responsible for the inevitable “genetic drift” that occurs in populations that become geographically isolated and distant from other similar individuals. So, in this way, to the trained eye, the mule deer of northern Colorado look surprisingly different from a given population of deer in northern Wyoming or perhaps the same species of deer in southern Alberta. The genome may be identical, but recognizable variations in appearance inevitably occur over long distances and over time. A whitetail from south Florida looks vastly different from one in the Wind River Basin of Wyoming. But both races look exactly like a white-tailed deer. Some of this variation is the result of the adaptation to differing ecologies—colder climates may select for larger bodies, or the restrictive nutritional differences in habitat may select for smaller body proportions, or simple arbitrary variation in form will inevitably occur from one region to the next.

  But within a local population of animals, and in this case a population of mule deer, most animals display discernible variations in individual appearance. Every mule deer has a distinct facial mask that is defined by differences in coloration, shading, and the unique configuration of these color patterns. The facial mask is most clearly defined during the winter color phase, as summer coats are thin and somewhat reddish and lack much of the distinctive contrast in color. But the underlying skeletal structure of the head is all you need to quickly distinguish one familiar deer from another. Close examination of a mule deer in summer reveals that it could be considered almost hairless, as the skin becomes clearly visible on much of the body through a sparse but even distribution of reddish hair.

  In summer months and particularly at lower elevations, mule deer are stressed and made conspicuously miserable by temperatures that rise into the high seventies or eighties. Deer do not sweat like horses, and when summer temperatures occasionally skyrocket into the nineties, mule deer appear gravely stressed, remaining almost entirely immobilized in the shade, usually on bare earth, and panting incessantly as if just recovering from some extreme exertion. Lactating females are especially hard hit, with their metabolic rates already in overdrive. External parasites add insult in these temperatures, with tick and lice populations being a factor in some years. Strangely, tick infestations appear to be much worse in late winter, with multiple species finding the mule deer an agreeable host in the cooler months. These deer are true creatures of the Pleistocene ice ages, and are clearly adapted to high elevations and more at home in cold climate. Twenty degrees below zero Fahrenheit does not seem to bother a healthy mule deer, with single digits above zero more ideal. When daily winter temperatures rise into the high twenties and low thirties, these deer, while not overheated, may be found lying in shady locations throughout the day.

  The hair on the ears of mule deer may vary dramatically in shading and coloration, and these patterns are always distinctive. Looking face-on at a mule deer, one might notice that the ears are lined on the outside with pale shades of darker gray and brown, with a slightly contrasting cream-colored or beige hair on the inside of the ear. Another deer may have ears that are rimmed in black, and filled on the inside with hair that is almost white and highly contrasting, bringing to mind a striped skunk. In summer, mule deer ears are completely barren of hair on the outside and feel distinctly overheated to the touch. One function of the oversized ears of mule deer may be to provide a heat-sink cooling apparatus for the warmer months. With copious large blood vessels far in excess to the needs of the ear, clearly heat is being exchanged during the summer. The installment of rich winter hair with perfect insulating properties covering the ears obviously curtails the heat exchange, and then the rich blood supply serves to keep the extremity of the ears safe from frostbite.

  The crown between the eyes and up over the forehead between the ears may be merely a uniform gray-brown, not unlike the deer’s overall coat, but, then, another deer may have highly contrasting lines over the eyes, bringing to mind darkly penciled eyebrows. Others may have a completely black crown, with black, lined ears and pale interior hair, with the end of the ear tipped in white. A white-faced deer is not indicative of an older individual but rather just one possibility in the normal range of variation. The overall coat of a mule deer can also display great variation, with many shades and combinations of darker or lighter gray and combinations of lighter and darker brown. Some deer are tawny and yellow-brown, with almost yellow undersides and legs, while others’ hair might be a pale gray with white tips, like Raggedy Anne’s fawn, Frosty. Mule deer do not have a melanistic or black phase but may on occasion be quite dark. They are typically white or pale under their chin and often, but not always, have a distinct black dot on the prominence. This pale chin color continues down onto the throat a few inches. Below this throat patch there may be a second throat patch, several inches across, that ranges from distinct on some individuals to almost nonexistent on others. Mule deer have a black nose that is always moist and surrounded by black hair that often creates a black-colored stripe on the distal end of the mandible, behind the chin. Eyes may be completely lined in pale or white spectacles, or, on other deer, completely void of contrasting color.

  Whitetails tend to have very pale or bright white underbellies. Mule deer’s underbellies are less contrasting but still pale. Mule deer tails are pale cream, varying to almost white, and conform to the color of the pale rump patch that is characteristic of many wild species of artiodactyls—deer, elk, wild sheep, pronghorn, and so on. The mule deer tail has relatively short hair compared to that of the whitetail, and it is always tipped in some variation of longer, darker hair that on some deer can take on the proportions of a small pom-pom. Mule deer commonly use their tails as a part of their complex repertoire of social signals, but, unlike whitetails, they do not raise their tails in display when running from danger. But a fawn may raise his tail in anticipation of nursing. A raised tail in an adult may suggest the opportunity for a desirable food, or may precede an aggressive confrontation with another deer or some other disturbing threat that is being met with hostility. However, the hair of the entire rump patch and tail of mule deer may become erect—standing straight out when disturbed or running from a perceived threat—probably not at all unlike the hair on the back of our necks at times when we feel spooked.

  Note the distinctions in ear and facial markings between Frosty (left) and Stinky (right).

  Mule deer are aware of each other’s appearance in the same way that we readily recognize and differentiate between familiar faces and strangers, even at a significant distance. However, I have seen mule deer respond to strange white-tailed deer at a quarter-mile as decidedly unfamiliar and unwelcome intruders, at which time the conspicuously odd interlopers are vigorously escorted out of the area. No such aggressive response is seen when unfamiliar mule deer enter the area. Clearly, however, where mule deer and whitetail ranges overlap, each species becomes habituated to the presence of the other, and all seem to live in at least apparent and perhaps superficial accord.

  It could be said that mule deer are possessed of profound individuality in every way. Appearances are entirely unique, but, perhaps more significant, they display a remarkable range of behavior. Mule deer are characterized by wildly differing personalities, which might be expected in a population of intelligent creatures. Indeed, it is probably this continuum of variability in personality that has allowed me my rather intimate contact with the deer.

  The possibilities seem endless. Even after almost seven years of direct interaction with these creatures involving mo
re than two hundred individuals, I couldn’t begin to characterize or describe a “typical” mule deer personality. I have known particular mule deer every day for six years who continue to be suspicious and will not approach closer than a few yards. Maybe these individuals have experienced some unforgivable horror at the hands of another human, and their trust can never be fully gained, or perhaps this is a particular personality type that can never allow close proximity to such a strange and potentially dangerous creature. These personality peculiarities tend to run in families. Of course, it is difficult to say whether these characteristic family traits are inherited or they are being learned by example from the mother. However, while in close proximity to other deer, I have encountered presumably wild individuals, both bucks and does, who within two days have been not fearless but rather overwhelmed with the desire to have direct physical contact. I’ve observed this curious moment many times. A fearful, wide-eyed deer who has repeatedly approached within a few feet—and, again, almost always while I am surrounded by other deer—will suddenly soften its eyes, lower its head, momentarily flip its tail briskly, and then move into direct contact. In some cases these deer are overcome with an almost frantic or desperate need to sniff me all over, with a particular emphasis on the face, which always leaves me grinning. After fully investigating me, some newcomers are comfortable with a gentle hand to the neck and a little scratch; others will move momentarily back from my hand but immediately reapproach. Fear seems to be displaced by the strangely compelling and unlikely circumstances of the moment. This capacity by a definitively wild being is unusual in nature by any standard, and I continue to be amazed. I have observed this behavior often enough that I am convinced it can be explained by an almost insatiable curiosity. One unfortunate scenario would be, of course, that among those seemingly infinite number of personality types, there could be one dangerous buck who may one day choose to do me harm. And never underestimate the physical potential of mule deer does, for they can be formidable as well. Again I am reminded of Valerius Geist’s warning about the possible danger of some particular buck, and of the unlikely ability of a human to divert such an attack. I heard him loud and clear. I remain vigilant. I have been scratched, clawed, bitten, gored, trampled, or otherwise injured by at least hundreds of different animals. But after a more cavalier youth and an uncommon measure of dumb luck, I no longer entertain long-term relationships with creatures that pose an immediate life-threatening risk. I have worked with potentially dangerous animals from all over the world—primates, including multiple species of baboons and mandrills; large cats, including cougars, African lions, and jaguars; not to mention at least three species of bears; various crocodiles; alligators; venomous reptiles of every description; and large constrictors—just to name a few. I know what it feels like to be attacked and seized by a cougar, and late one night while alone cleaning out a reptile enclosure at a zoo, an eighteen-foot anaconda tried to make a meal of me—I still wake up screaming in the night on rare occasions from that one. But, still, the animal that I probably have learned to fear the most, the one that is in my experience the most vicious, and will kill you without the benefit of ceremony—is a human-imprinted, male white-tailed deer. Certain “hand-raised” individuals, confused about their own sexual identity and yours, can be the sweetest, most gentle pet you would ever want to know—until they are three or four years old, and until the minute the velvet is rubbed off their antlers. Instantly, and without any warning, your gentle pet will attack you headlong from fifty feet away, running flat-out with head and antlers lowered. There are few weapons in nature more lethal than a white-tailed deer antler. A bottle-fed whitetail buck who one day returns in rut is a truly dangerous creature, and one of the few species that is known in the wild to occasionally, and without apparent provocation, attack a human. While employed at a deer ranching facility in the 1960s, I found that our European red deer stags could also be unpredictable and dangerous, especially when contained in an enclosure and overly familiar with humans. I was once attacked by a completely familiar Manchurian debowski and sika deer cross whom I had fed and handled every day for over a year. We had chosen Elmer as the superior “breeding buck” at the deer ranch, and had sedated and cut all the antlers off twenty other sika bucks in the herd. To prevent injury to the other bucks, we fortunately remembered to cut the tips off of Elmer’s antlers as well, or he might have killed me. I have seen films of the North American elk or wapiti as they attacked humans and even cars, but those are cases where humans have a perpetually annoying relationship with individuals in parks and towns—the clearest case of “familiarity breeding contempt.” Merely staring at a wild creature can be a disturbing affront, so tourists unknowingly but understandably pester and annoy many species simply by their uncontrollable admiration for an unfamiliar, fabulous animal. While working closely with a relatively large herd of elk at a ranching facility, and even while they were actively in the rut, I never had a bull elk even suggest that he might be aggressive toward me. But we always exercised at least a small amount of common sense, and maintained distances that would not make an eight-hundred-pound animal uncomfortable. You just don’t try to scratch a large, mature bull elk on the head while he is visibly aggravated and preoccupied with the rut—even if he was your pal a month ago.

  In seven years of intimate interaction with as many as two hundred mule deer, and although I always keep an eye out for that rare possibility, no mule deer buck has ever made the slightest aggressive gesture toward me—even during the peak of the rut. Several four-and five-year-old bucks will approach me for attention, and at this age their antlers loom higher than my head. A five-year-old mule deer is a big boy, and sometimes when one of these large bucks is next to my face, I will actually hold onto one of his antlers to prevent a tine from accidentally finding its way into my eye. At least up to this point in our various relationships, this has apparently never been seen as a provocation. Although there may be an outstanding exception, a relatively safe generalization would be that the mule deer buck is predisposed to have a gentle nature, but not necessarily so the whitetail.

  C H A P T E R T H I R T E E N

  High Society: Altruistic Does and Beneficent Bucks

  Mule deer, like many herding species, are social creatures, and although they are in no way “herd-bound” like domestic sheep and cattle, they do have a complex social life around which their lives revolve. This deer society is defined primarily by the initial doe and fawn relationship and graduates to a more complex, multigenerational extended family of related or affiliated individuals. Females define the extended family groups, which are often characterized by several generations of does and their successive doe fawns. Buck fawns are initially members of the family groups but are forced away by the expectant mothers the following spring and summer. The yearling does are also forced away shortly before the mothers give birth. These young does, however, are allowed to remain close by—rejoining the mother in twelve weeks or so, as the new fawns become stronger and more independent and begin to follow the doe throughout the day. Related does from previous years may rejoin the maternal group as their fawns mature and the local herd is gradually reunited throughout late summer and fall. Often these herds consist of four or, in some cases, five or more generations of deer.

  Although the herd connections can appear loose and poorly defined, they are in fact extremely well defined and strongly identified with a specific winter range. The wintering maternal groups of does, fawns, and bucks seem to be confined to a specific area or range of roughly one square mile. Various individuals from the herd are often dispersed into smaller groups within that range and may come together only at certain times during the day or only occasionally over the course of several days. Winter herd boundaries appear to be rigidly delineated, and although adjacent winter herds never seem to express territorial conflict, it is only under dire emergencies that these boundaries are ever breached, as if they have been drawn as a dotted line on some cosmic map. Furthermore, eve
n though a winter herd may become widely dispersed throughout its range over a twenty-four-hour period, an awareness of everyone’s proximity seems to be somehow maintained at all times. About once in a forty-eight-hour period, the entire herd—up to forty deer—will reunite as a group; the means by which this knowledge is being shared is a mystery to me. With the exception of roaming bucks during rut, there is very little social interest or curiosity shown between neighboring winter herds, but there is neither any apparent hostility nor aggression shown between these distinct groups. When on a rare occasion an enclave of strangers are possessed of some overwhelming curiosity with a neighboring herd, the visit is always brief, apprehensive, humble, and cause for little or no rancor. Soon the visiting strangers are satisfied, and off they return to more familiar quarters. These territorial obligations may be inflexible, as in the case of the whitetail, which in southern forests finds it impossible to abandon its home territory, even when the entire range has been decimated by clear-cutting and plowing or catastrophic fire. With fertile green in plain sight, these whitetails suffer or even starve to death rather than abandon their home range. I observed one mule deer winter range nearby that has been gradually overtaken by rural housing activities, and in spite of a patchwork of houses, fences, driveways, and dogs, the deer slowly slip into extinction rather than abandon their territory. When a winter herd ceases to exist, I have found that a sole survivor or two will join a nearby herd rather than languish in the agony of mule deer solitude. Over a period of weeks, these tentative individuals appear to be quietly welcomed without undue resentment or discord.