A rut and a little luck

The turkeys that wandered through were a lively diversion: hunt-peck-chirp-move.

They seemed to be keeping a schedule.

Perched high atop a ladder stand against a tall oak in a previous season, my observations gave them no alarm. In several hours they'd be up in a tree for the night and I would be back on the ground. That is unless lady luck intervened.

“The Rut” are two little words that set the heart of a hunter beating faster. Like other gift-bearing two word phrases, Merry Christmas or Happy Birthday, there’s great anticipation that bubbles up through the body.

“The Rut” is the yearly white tailed deer breeding season. It can mean most anytime from October through December when the bucks are prowling their territories, leaving calling cards and warning signs. The bucks are searching for females to court and interlopers to rough up. It was this latter act I was trying to exploit.

For bowhunters the rut is more precise, the peak of the entire breeding season is from about Halloween to Nov. 10. As far as I’m concerned this is the rut. It is during the peak intensity of a fortnight that bucks will abandon the cautious practice of being active only at dawn and dusk. Now, they’ll roam throughout the day and give chase to damsels or challengers alike.

If anything can happen while hunting, then it’s during the peak of the rut when you are about guaranteed to see it.

I quietly placed the loose antlers I was holding back at my feet. I had just gone through about a 20-seconds sequence of clacking them together — to mimic the fight of bucks over a doe.

Naturally, bucks are associated with the rut, as if it is for them and by them. They are the stars because this is the time of the year a persevering archer should have high expectations for a chance at a mature specimen.

But it does take two to tango, and it is the females who lead the rut. It is logical since they are the keepers of the nursery and linchpin for the next generation.

White tailed does give birth after 200 days of gestation. The weather in November is not the driving factor for the timing of the rut, rather spring. The doe wants to give birth early enough in the spring so the fawn can grow strong before the winter. However, too early in the spring and a late freeze could kill the tender fawn.

The peak rut of Iowa puts fawns on the ground around the middle of May, not too cold, not too hot.

I sat in the silence, even the squirrels and birds seemed to take a moment’s pause from chatter owing to my commotion with the antlers. I waited.

The does have an estrous cycle of 17-22 days. Only 24 hours in one day will she accept courting bucks. If she doesn't get pregnant, then she will be ready to try again in three weeks, and for as long as it takes.

If you’ve ever noticed a fawn still wearing bright spots in August, it’s likely not a slow bloomer but rather a late birth.

Before he pointed out my spot for the day, Joe had said I could rattle the antlers about every 30 minutes. I gave him a desultory nod. It’s now been 45.

With a “here goes nothing” attitude I smashed the antlers together like they owed me money. I raked at the tree — I grunted. I really put on a show, if only for myself.

That’s when I heard a truck crashing through the woods. I hadn’t even set down the antlers. From my five o’clock was an approaching sound of chaos and arboreal violence.

And then there he was. A buck. Heck, a really nice buck and he was standing before my tree with his neck hairs on end, ears forward and on the lookout for the party he was trying to crash.

There was no time to think. Thankfully for once in my life I skipped contemplation and went right to immediate action. He walked a tight little circle as I drew back on my compound bow. I looked my arrow into the crease of his shoulder as he quartered away.

A jump-kick. He bounded away, and then back. He stood stock still for a second that felt like a minute. Then he turned left and just walked away.

Slowly the sounds of the birds and squirrels came back to my ears as my heart-rate refound a normal level. I wouldn't be spending the next several hours in a tree. Shortly I’d be on the ground, with a thanks to lady luck and a rendezvous of my buck tag to an antler.

Looking up, looking ahead, and keeping my pencil sharp.

John Lawrence Hanson, Ed.D., of Marion, teaches U.S. history with an emphasis on environmental issues at Linn-Mar High School and is past president of the Linn County Conservation Board.