Touching the Wild

by Joe Hutto

  Fawns in this area are born in a synchronized event lasting only a few weeks in June and into July. Because so many births occur simultaneously, mortality is limited by the sheer numbers of fawns, overwhelming predators’ ability to consume so many newborn deer during this brief time of greatest vulnerability. Many mammals are born blind and helpless—with no knowledge of the world and entirely unable to feed or care for themselves. These species could be considered altricial and are represented by many familiar animals, including dogs, cats, rodents, various common species of birds, and, of course, humans. Although deer and other ungulates could be considered by any measure to be precocial mammals in terms of being born with the benefits of well-developed vision, hearing, vocalization, some innate understanding of the ways of the world, and the ability to walk and even run within hours of birth, small fawns are still essentially defenseless—at least for the first week. Newborns do not attempt to elude danger for the first few days of life and rely entirely on their spotted camouflage, an instinct to remain motionless and hidden, as well as a near-complete lack of any detectable scent. Mule deer mothers hide their newborns, returning periodically to nurse and groom them, but then again hide the newcomers and immediately leave the area. Once or twice a day, after a nursing session, the doe encourages the fawns to follow, leading them to a new location. People often find a well-hidden fawn and make the tragic mistake of trying to rescue an apparently “abandoned” newborn. Invariably the doe is within sight or hearing, and the fawns have actually been carefully abandoned by design. From a human’s eye level, a well-concealed newborn fawn can be difficult to locate—even when you know with absolute certainty a fawn is near. With the largest nonhuman predator’s point of view less than three feet above the ground, it would be possible to pass within inches of a fawn without detection. On occasion, bears may be seen standing tall on hind legs, attempting to locate a hidden fawn or elk calf. An aspiring predator is forced to “bird-dog” an area and must literally stumble onto a fawn in hiding. Grizzly bears in this area of Wyoming have been observed in apparent cooperation as they systematically crisscross a mountain slope in search of newborn elk calves. However, even with the advantages of camouflage and simultaneous births, as many as half of all fawns may be killed within the first two weeks of life.

  Within the first few days of life, while in the more protective proximity of their mother, mule deer fawns are in fact quite bold, actively browsing and exploring their new world with vigor. Week-old fawns are surprisingly alert—they have opinions. They nibble and sample all manner of tender vegetation and investigate an almost infinite array of new sights and sounds. One of the most intriguing and surprising observations has been the acute attention paid by young fawns to any activity in their surroundings, and this even includes visual and auditory disturbances a quarter-mile away. On many occasions I have observed fawns react to an unidentified object or movement in the distance by immediately dropping with their chins on the ground. It could be said that the mule deer fawn is born with an intriguing level of maturity when it comes to recognizing the actual gravity of the life in which they find themselves. Clearly they are born with an almost insatiable appetite for knowledge—young mule deer are hungry to learn.

  While in the company of their mother, even the youngest fawns display an independence and willful sense of self that I find fascinating, but also disturbing, as they wander, independently exploring about and occasionally even taking a high-speed romp across an open meadow or along the creek. In three weeks they are tearing about with complete abandon—especially when they are being provoked by another equally cavalier and trouble-making young mule deer fawn. Occasionally a doe may be seen displaying fear or concern for a fawn who has left her sight and trot out to corral the little tike along with its overabundant enthusiasm. But most does watch over these excursions tolerantly. Perhaps the advantages of developing phenomenal dexterity as well as an ability to make lightning-quick decisions outweigh any disadvantages such risky activities and exposure may present. Look into the eyes of any two-week-old mule deer fawn, and you may be surprised to find that someone is there looking back—and perhaps even asking far more relevant questions than you. Their intelligent and inquiring faces epitomize conscious expression.

  Blossom’s surviving fawn, Rosebud, at 36 hours old.

  An eight-week-old mule deer fawn is already well informed, bright, knowledgeable—savvy, one could say. By eight weeks, fawns are still not following the does throughout the day but no longer remain entirely hidden and still. They may be observed independently exploring in a more or less designated area, browsing about, and frequently interacting with other deer and fawns. It is phenomenal that by eight weeks, a young fawn not only has survived many life threatening situations but is already relying heavily on his own ingenuity and instincts. By sunset, however, does and fawns are reunited in a rather heart-warming ritual, involving much obvious excitement and vocalization on the part of the doe and the fawn. The mewing fawn responds and runs to the call of the doe with raised tail and is always rewarded by a session of vigorous nursing. Twins may even nurse with enough simultaneous enthusiasm to occasionally lift the doe’s hindquarters completely off the ground. Certain does eventually find this aggressive nursing uncomfortable or outright painful, which may occasionally lead to weaning at an earlier age. Many fawns nurse until they are five or even six months old, although sessions become more abbreviated, having more to do with maintaining bonds than with satisfying nutritional needs. A frightened or confused fawn of advanced age often runs to his mother’s side and places his head close to her udder in a gesture that implies a need for reassurance. Typically, after mother and fawns have been reunited in the evenings, the family will then maintain a closer proximity throughout the more hazardous hours of night.

  It should be noted that fawns younger than sixteen weeks have very little chance of survival without the wisdom, nutrition, and protection of their mother. In a species such as the mule deer, which is in drastic decline all over the West and which has ceased to exist in many former ecologies, the value of a mule deer doe (and, of course, her fawn) is immeasurable. Yet, in much of the state of Wyoming, archery season begins on the first of September and lasts for many weeks. Sadly and inexplicably, the killing of does and fawns is still permitted. And many are killed not by legitimate hunters in ethical pursuit, but rather by “backdoor bow hunters” who gladly kill the convenient doe or fawn standing in the backyard. In the vast number of cases this mortality is never reported, and it is unnecessary to fill out a legal tag if the animal immediately disappears into the barn or garage for processing.

  By the first of September, fawns range from eight to twelve weeks old. Most are a mere eight weeks. They are still small, may still bear spots, and are still fragile. These young animals have almost no chance of surviving without their mother at such a tender age. On only the rarest of occasions do any of the fawns of bow-killed does survive. A charitable estimate would be a 90 percent mortality rate for orphaned fawns between eight and sixteen weeks of age. I have closely observed the results of the early bow hunt on so many occasions that it robs me of sleep. I consider the doe-fawn management loophole to be a blind and mindless outrage. Any marginally unscrupulous individual can safely install a mule deer in the freezer as an annual bonus. And I know from direct observation that no rancher or landowner is likely to risk creating a lifelong enemy of a neighbor by “dropping a dime” on them for the sake of a lowly mule deer doe or fawn. Yet this all-too-common policy of turning a blind eye is helping tip the balance of the future of the mule deer. As go the doe and fawn, so goes the fate of the entire species.

  Brizby was a doe killed illegally on opening day of whitetail season. Here she is nursing fawns in late October. Both fawns were dead within a month following her death. Photo by Sammy Tedder.

  The Mule Deer Buck

  Most of the research data that has been presented regarding the mule deer as a species has naturally placed emphasis on the
buck, because of the financial and sporting significance to government revenues and hunters. The mule deer buck is truly a beautiful and monumental creature, and it is easy to understand how it has achieved the status of “trophy” big-game animal. Unfortunately, however, it is almost unavoidable that the nonhunting public should dismiss this fascination as merely the small-minded male—or, more properly, human—obsession with all things large. And in defense of the nonhunting public, they are in many cases absolutely correct. However, the sensibilities that drive hunting in general are much more complex than that. For many reasons, it is easy to admire the magnificent mule deer buck, and, regardless of your motives, I would say that not just many but most lifelong hunters of the mule deer ultimately come to realize a profound affection and connection that is much more significant than the urge to kill and hang the biggest and best on our wall.

  Boar in Autumn.

  Clearly the characteristic of the mule deer that many people initially find most fascinating are the antlers. And I must admit that there is something inherently compelling about deer, elk, and moose antlers. They can be merely interesting to some or an absolute obsession for others. I fall somewhere within the latter demographic. I’ve always had an overwhelming curiosity with antlers, and even as a small child I felt they possessed some magic when I found them in the field or forest.

  In addition to an irresistible aesthetic, there is some indescribable quality, some resonating power that can clearly be felt by any human hand as it instinctively explores the rigidly defined organic shapes and curves of a large shed antler. To firmly grab hold and feel the powerful connection of this remarkable edifice to a living three-hundred-pound mule deer buck standing at your side is life-altering. Antlers are an architectural exercise in perfection, as form follows function, and could be considered a particular buck’s most glorious embellishment and simultaneously its most dangerous weapon.

  Until more recent times, human weapons were viewed not as mere tools, but perhaps elevated to the level and status of functional works of art, and in many cases even possessed great spiritual and mystical significance. Perhaps it is the paradoxical potential for either good or evil that can imbue an ordinarily functional tool with magical or supernatural properties. Weapons of all human civilizations have often come to represent objects of great beauty, possessing the most profound cultural and even religious significance. Invariably, weapons were made of the rarest and best materials by a people’s most highly skilled and revered artisans—consequently becoming objects commonly held in the highest esteem when evaluating any culture’s greatest contributions in both technology and art. Visit any world-class museum and observe these classic examples of the perfect objective function, inevitably resulting in the most perfect aesthetic form. Obvious examples include the paleo-hunter’s finely sculpted flint blade, the Egyptian or Roman chariot, the ancient and complex art of sword making, and, of course, one of the ultimate artistic expressions combining the best of metallurgy, woodworking, a watchmaker’s quality mechanics, and the sculptural symmetry and balance provided by individual artistic expression—the flintlock rifle of the early 1800s. One unlikely and perhaps disturbing example of advanced technological form combining to create one the most ironically beautiful manifestations of fearsome and destructive function would be the P-51 mustang fighter plane of World War II.

  To her credit, Leslye is not a student of warfare. In her estimation, movies, books, or even historical documentaries that involve any aspect of human conflict reside somewhere on a continuum between unattractive to outright revolting. If such a film is on a television, she will, without judgment, quietly leave the room. Having always had an inexplicable fascination with the World War II “war birds,” I recently convinced Leslye to accompany me to a Lander air show that was exhibiting and flying an all-original combat veteran, fully functional P-51. Leslye, on a whim, agreed to go, even though she wouldn’t know a P-51 from an Evinrude outboard motor. We walked up to this unexpectedly magnificent phenomenon sitting on the tarmac in an almost unnerving contradiction of silent potential, and stared quietly with a few other onlookers. I looked over to see tears streaming down Leslye’s face. Confused, I asked, “What’s going on?” Her only reply was, “I didn’t understand.”

  In this way it could be suggested that the ten-million-year evolutionary battlefield of Odocoileus has produced some of the most splendid examples of the “weaponized” aesthetic in all of nature.

  After so many years I still spend many days in spring in pursuit of elk and deer sheds, and although I occasionally use antlers to fashion items such as coatracks and door handles, I am always satisfied to view them as freestanding natural works of art. However, this may be the first literary treatment of the deer’s antler that does not focus on Pope and Young, Boone and Crocket, or any other fixation involving the rather boring quest for the biggest.

  The blueprint for all antler development and structure is said to reside not merely within the growing bud of the antler, but rather as more of an architectural blueprint contained within the animal’s central nervous system, and encoded in every deer’s DNA. And, make no mistake—all “scientific” explanations notwithstanding—like the regrowth of a severed frog’s leg or the development of a fetus from a single cell, antler growth is a truly mystifying phenomenon. Once cervid antler development is completed and the living velvet has dried and been rubbed away, antlers are no longer supported by nerves and a blood supply, and, unlike true “horns” that continue to grow, antlers are deciduous and must be shed and replaced each year. Replacement growth “in velvet” begins in late winter or early spring, soon after shedding the old, and is often completed in three or four months. It has been suggested (Murie, et al.) that antler growth in deer—with some species replacing thirty pounds of antler in three months—may represent the fastest development of dense structural biomass in the animal kingdom. Although it has been demonstrated that antler size, symmetry, and particular classic form constitute a visual social expression to other deer indicating the physical prowess and health of a particular individual, antlers are not principally ornamental. It is a rare buck who arrives in spring to shed antlers that are still fully intact.

  Buck in early velvet.

  Velvet growth complete on a buck named Homer.

  Losing velvet in shreds.

  Buck deer antlers function as large weapons and conspicuous signaling devices, but their size is not necessarily an all-important feature. Although does may see large, healthy antlers as signs of good nutrition and a genetically superior deer, among competitive bucks, the deer with the biggest antler probably garners no more attention than any other similarly large-antlered deer. The nature of the competition for size is probably more peculiar to Homo sapiens than to members of the family Cervidae. No buck has ever had a concept of how his particular antler might compare to any other, because no deer has ever seen the particular device that resides on his own head and how it may compare to any other. Mule deer bucks are much more interested in the magnitude of the indomitable spirit that animates a potentially great deer.

  Frequently people observe bucks sparring and shoving each other around with antlers engaged, and then mistakenly assume that these deer are “fighting” and being aggressive. To the contrary, this familiar interaction is in fact an integral component of male mule deer social life and could be said to be more associated with recreation, brotherly bonding, and even affection. In every case, these bucks are herd members who have had longstanding relationships, and the dominance issues involving superiority or competition were probably resolved in previous years as fawns and yearlings. Sparring is normally a courteous, almost gentle affair that involves a degree of deference and respect, as two familiar bucks may be seen carefully engaging their antlers so that neither is in jeopardy. Commonly, some strenuous pushing may eventually be involved, but when either buck begins to feel uncomfortable with the escalating hostility, one or the other will disengage and, then, in a gesture of courtesy, look
away. More often than not, any escalating emotion is playful, and disengagement may result in both males bucking and stotting around in gestures that look like the two are having great fun. Bouts of sparring are often the result of a solicitation or request by one individual and the acknowledgment and acceptance by the other. Sparring sessions often occur between differing ages of bucks and among bucks of differing social standings. It is endearing to see a yearling buck or even a buck fawn solicit the most powerful dominant deer and receive the kind and indulgent favor of acceptance as the master buck ever-so-gently allows the young deer to engage with his great head.

  A subordinate buck, Crusty, asking Boar to engage in some brotherly sparring.

  Massive Boar agrees.

  Sparring concludes and bonds have been gently reinforced.

  Buck deer have a perfect sense of the exact locations of the tips of their antlers and will occasionally employ an antler tip delicately to an itch on their rump or gently remind nearby fawns or does to respect their space. On occasion, a buck will quietly approach me from behind, and I will feel an almost delicate touch of an antler tip against my back as a 275-pound leviathan lets me know that he wishes his presence to be acknowledged.

  Most male deer have a desperate desire to breed females. However, most of those bucks draw the line at the possibility of grave injury or death to fulfill that goal. But there is that occasional full-grown master—and, yes, probably even one without the largest set of antlers—the one great individual with an indomitable spirit who is, without any question, willing to die today—this minute—for that one opportunity. The vast majority of buck deer or bull elk, upon encountering a willing spirit with that level of commitment, immediately realize that, while reproduction is a wonderful thing, today is probably not the day. That is the revelation that is repeated in a thousand minor deer and elk skirmishes every day. However, on that most rare occasion when two uncompromising personalities collide in battle, the unmitigated power discharged gives the more reticent human mind pause. So, as humans, we are humbled in the midst of our own inevitable and definitive ambiguity, and left only to admire or even envy this unfamiliar resolve—a resolve unleashed with absolute moral authority.