OH DEER! – Harvest Or Holocaust?

I just read an article about this year’s white-tail deer-hunting “harvest” here in Minnesota. And it’s got me thinking. 

For years I’ve wondered whether hunting—or for that matter fishing, which I love—are even morally defensible for one who sees himself an evolving human being. But I’ll leave that concern for another time. For now, let’s just say I wonder if most people realize the astounding number of deer dying at human hands.

When I was a boy, I read—probably in either Boys Life or Ripley’s Believe It Or Not—that in Pennsylvania alone over 30,000 deer died that year just being hit by cars! That’s when I first became aware of the sheer number of deer that must live in our fields and forests in order for that mortality rate to not completely decimate the population. 

PHOTO: Maciej Bledowski / Adobe Stock

So this latest article renewed my fascination with cervine mortality. It’s led me to both revisit those roadkill stats and add to the mix deaths exacted by hunters. Here are some of the recent statistics: 

Here in Minnesota, the number of deer-vehicle-collisions in 2024—virtually all resulting in the animals’ deaths—was estimated at around 40,000.*

And the Minnesota hunting toll? Somewhere around 171,000.** In one year. In one state. And Minnesota is far from the deadliest place for deer. In Pennsylvania, the body count was an astounding 476,000.***

PHOTO: Deer + Deer Hunting

    Some 6,000,000 deer die annually at the hands 
    of hunters. That’s a venison Whopper of 
    nearly a billion pounds.

IMAGE: Shutterstock

FLESHING OUT THE STATS 
To grasp that number, imagine a sold-out crowd of Philadelphia Eagles fans packed into Lincoln Financial Field—around 70,000 people. Now, let's imagine swap-
ping out every one of those human beings for a white-tail doe or buck.

Now shoot and kill them. All of them.

Next, haul out and truck away all those carcasses and in-
vite 70,000 more deer to the stands. And kill them too.

PHOTO: KUAM News

Repeat this turnover six-and-a-half times. 

Or, let’s look at it another way: by weight. The average deer weights about 150 pounds. So that 2024 Pennsylvania hunting season delivered a bit over 71,000,000 pounds of venison, hide and bone. (This begs the question, doesn’t it: how much of that meat was actually consumed by the hunters?)

PHOTO: Peak to Plate

Again, this is just Pennsylvania. In the whole country some 6,000,000 deer die annually at the hands of hunters.**** That’s a venison Whopper of nearly a billion pounds.

For further perspective, consider that human murders in the U.S in 2024 (according to the FBI) totaled about 17,000. U.S. human deaths the same year from all causes: around 3,000,000. 

How we can cull such numbers of these beautiful woodland animals year after year and still see well over a hundred times as many of them in the U.S. as there were a century ago?***** (In fact, many now see deer as pests, an invasive species.)

There are several factors: wildlife management practices; adaptation to changing habitats and conditions; and the decline and/or relocation of the species' natural predators. I guess thinning the herd by 6,000,000 doesn't make much of a dent when that leaves 30,000,000 of them, all breeding faster than we can kill them.

       Ultimately, it comes down to us human 
       beings’ troubled membership in Earth’s 
       family of sentient beings. 

INFORMED BRUTALITY
For me, one takeaway from my research is to recall that admonition we always hear from our vegan friends—and others promoting thoughtful consumption—that we should all know the brutal facts about where our meat comes from.

PHOTO: USDA

(Believe it or not, one of the standard field trips for Linwood Park School, my elementary school, was a visit to the meat-packing plants of South St. Paul. There we did, indeed, witness the live animals conveyed into the abattoir and the carcasses conveyed out; the awful cacophony of machinery and the animals’ desperate bleating; gutters coursing with still-warm blood.)

Another much broader effect might be to ask ourselves if we take too much of life—especially non-human life—for granted. As a species arguably well on our way to destroying our precious planet, we persist in such hubris at our own peril.

Again, my point is not to impugn hunting, fishing or consuming animal protein. After all, many of us were compelled by our native environments to be carnivores. 

But we were also destined to evolve. 

So let's be thoughtful, my friends. Let us first appreciate the vastness of our planet, the sheer numbers of our fellow organisms—like deer—with whom we share it.

Let's learn to be more aware of our tenuous membership in Earth’s family of sentient beings. Understand the life-and-death consequences of everything we do. And recognize the manifest oneness of Creation.

PHOTO: Whitetail Deer

                                    
* University of Minnesota Center for Transportation Studies
** Minnesota Department of Natural Resources 
*** Pennsylvania Game Commission
**** National Deer Association 

FAWN AND GAMES – An Extraordinary Nature Connection

On a scale of one to ten, yesterday on the beautiful #StCroixRiver was an eleven. One reason, experiencing another of my occasional transcendent connections with animals—this time with this precious fawn.

I was paddling silently up a narrow slough (I’ve learned to do it without so much as the sound of water dripping off of my paddle.) when I felt a presence. I looked up and there was this face peering at me from the grassy bank no more than 30 yards away.

My heart raced; my spirit calmed. I voiced a silent reassurance: Oh, you beautiful little spirit. Please know that I adore you, that I would never harm you. Please just let me behold you.

At first, the animal did what wild animals should do; it turned and leapt up the steep slope. Oh well, I thought, it will warn its mother of this odd floating thing with eyes it had seen in the water, and they will stay away.

My soliloquy turned from welcome to a farewell, a blessing: May the deer flies and ticks leave you alone; may you find lots of leafy twigs and plump acorns to eat; may you find a mate and live a good, long deer life.

    Had my presence turned this creature just a 
    little tame? Or had I turned just a little wild?

Suddenly, the tall grass parted and there was the fawn again, edging tentatively back down the bank. I couldn’t believe how close it came. Somehow, I told myself, it must have sensed my psychic efforts to communicate.

For several minutes it grazed calmly, looking up at me now and then without concern.

By now, I’d reached down slowly for my camera. As I raised it to my eye, the animal bolted once again. But this time, it dashed just ten yards along the bank, stopped and dashed right back again. It stood there, mouth open as if about to say something. I swear the little thing was posing for me.

Like a puppy eager to play, it repeated the little game several times. Finally, perhaps summoned by its mother, the fawn turned, bounded up the bank and was gone.

And so was I. The beauty of the moment had left me breathless. I just sat there, immersed in the wonder of it, in gratitude for this gift of being able, now and then, to connect this way with such sweet, utterly enchanting fellow beings.

As I basked in it all, I asked myself what had just happened. Had my presence at all changed this creature—perhaps turning it just a little tame? A little too tame? Or had I turned just a little wild?

DOE EYES – Beyond Vision

Learning to be a sensitive observer of Nature is like joining an exclusive club. Once you’re in, instead of settling for “standard” experiences, the ones no one could miss, suddenly you’re privy to countless other little wonders—sights, sounds, smells and sensations Nature chooses to reveal to only a select few.

As rewarding as this membership may sound, there’s one more irresistible perk—you could call it bonus, a deal sweetener. Our physical senses can reach only so far. When you get right down to it, few of us ever manage to develop much more than an arm’s length relationship with our surroundings. So the bonus promises more intimate, more private access to Nature’s marvels using what we might call our elite senses. They’re those “little voices” we hear now and then in our hearts or our souls. Call them instincts, hunches or gut feelings, they can make the difference between an interesting experience in Nature and one that’s unforgettable.

GENTLE BEINGS

Last summer, I was canoeing and fishing in one of my favorite places on this earth, a long, winding slough on the Wisconsin side of the St. Croix River. As I paddled around a tight bend, there, about 75 yards away, stood a young whitetail deer grazing on a grassy sand bar. I froze, except for the few subtle movements of my paddle it took to keep the canoe’s drift on line. Luckily, the wind was slight, from my back.

As I sat there transfixed, the thought possessed 

me: What had this gentle being’s experience 

been of me?

The doe clearly had heard or smelled me and looked up, deploying her huge, translucent, antenna-like ears to discern any sounds of threat. After a long staring contest, she seemed to realize I was harmless, and went back to feeding.

By this time, I’d drifted to within about 40 yards, and again the animal lifted her head, gazed at me unfazed for another 30 seconds and then calmly clambered up the steep, eight-foot bank and into the thick woods.

I sat there transfixed, and the thought possessed me: What had this gentle being’s experience been of me? I savored the sense of communion I felt with her, a hope as much as an observation that she’d been nearly as enthralled with me as I’d been with her.

I’d come now to within a few yards of the spot where the doe had been grazing. My reverie swirled into a strange new vibe. The little voice, I suppose, was animated by a combination of curiosity and an eerie sense that I was being watched. It led me, and I followed, irrationally.

ILLUSTRATION: Katy Farina

Moving as slowly as I could, I turned my torso toward the top of the bank, just a few feet to my left. I scanned the thick foliage, and there, all but obscured by the leaves, were the deer’s eyes, looking right at me! Yes!, I gloated, she is curious about me!

Sharing this magical connection with a wild animal—mostly on her terms—was breathtakingly joyous for me. (I can’t speak for the deer.) And the icing on the cake was that, even after I’d paddled away, I’d managed never to give the animal cause to be afraid of me. (On hindsight, I realize she might have been better off if I had scared her, since her fear of humans is one of her best tools for survival.)

The one thing it will cost you is something a lot of people apparently still are not willing to pay: attention.

CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?

Can you think of moments in which you’ve acted purely on an inkling, persuaded by those little inner voices? I’m not talking about the sense of apprehension we all experience now and then. Those voices tend to come in the form of concerns and dreads, most often heard as declaratives or imperatives: Oh God, I’m in over my head, Don’t get on that plane! or This just doesn’t feel right!  Once in a great while, you hear of someone who credits such an admonition for saving his life, but in most cases, we learn not to trust them. Perhaps we realize how inarticulate an advisor fear can be.

No, the kind of voices I’m talking about are those of opportunity. Because they involve curiosity and wonder, they’re usually perceived as questions: Where did that sound came from?, What made that stick move?, or—the voice I acted on above—What would I do if I were that animal? I’ve learned that these more positive voices, animated not by fear, but by hope, tend to be much more trustworthy.

So do you qualify for membership in the exclusive Nature’s Keenest Observers Club? Would you like to join? Everyone’s eligible. Dues are so modest that anyone can afford them. So why’s it so exclusive? Because the one thing it will cost you is something a lot of people apparently still are not willing to pay: attention.

What do you say, are you in?