THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, January 14, 1996 TAG: 9601140217
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: C13 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY BOB HUTCHINSON, OUTDOORS EDITOR
DATELINE: NEAR SOUTH HILL, VA. LENGTH: Long : 139 lines
At the Trackers Hunt Club in rural Lunenburg County, the penultimate day of the deer season begins well before 6 a.m.
It begins when the aroma of sizzling bacon and perking coffee creeps into your sleeping bag and gives your nose a gentle tweak.
Charlie Salyers of Norfolk has been up more than a half-hour. He stands before the small gas stove, knowing the aroma will be enough to rouse any sleepyheads.
Bacon and eggs crackle in a big, black skillet. Biscuits brown in an oven, and biscuit gravy, loaded with sausage, bubbles in a pan.
One by one the others submit to the call of the bacon and coffee. One by one they climb from their bunks, squinting under the small gas light, rubbing their eyes and scratching the itchy stubble quickly becoming beards.
Jimmy Salyers, Charlie's brother, also from Norfolk, pulls on some warm clothes and goes out into the dark to start the reluctant generator. Soon the entire cabin is bathed in light.
``Twenty-three degrees, boys,'' Jim says as he returns to the warmth of the gas-heated cabin. ``Today's the day. This is the first day of the rest of your life.
``Let's go. If you're going to call yourselves deer hunters, it ain't enough to smell like one, although Lord knows you do. If you're going to call yourselves deer hunters, you better start acting like deer hunters.''
By the time several pots of coffee have been consumed, everyone has made a quick dash to a little outbuilding away from the mishmash of cabins, tents and campers.
In small groups, the 30 or so hunters begin to gather around a crude table in front of the open-front skinning shed.
Three deer from the previous day's hunt hang cold and gutted inside the small building.
The hunters are all from Hampton Roads. Some are retired military, others active-duty, others private citizens.
When everyone is assembled, Bruce Patterson of Portsmouth, the day's huntmaster, begins outlining the morning's plan. He knows the club's 2,000 acres so well that to a newcomer, it is almost as if he were speaking in tongues.
``We're going to be hunting right close to the camp,'' says Patterson, a retired Navy man. ``Some standers will be along the new power line, some along the Red Road, some on the back side of the Champion, some down the road going into the big woods.
``The drivers will come in from the other side and work their way down to the crick. But if you see a dog that ain't doing much, send him back into the woods. He might chase one to a driver. We like to shoot, too.''
Patterson assigns the stands with warnings:
``Don't leave your stand, no more than 25 feet. That's 25 feet, not 25 yards.
``Be sure what you're shooting. No dogs. No people. No oak trees.
``You standers along the new power line, don't shoot until the deer is out in the open. We're going to be close, and if you shoot straight down the line, you could hit the hunter next to you.
``Walking to the stands, only the lead man has a loaded gun. The rest of you, it's OK to have a couple in the magazine. But nothing in the chamber.''
``Good hunting. And safe hunting. Remember, no deer is worth getting killed over.''
Lloyd Dixon of Virginia Beach is the last to speak, offering thanks for the fellowship and a simple prayer that the day's hunt will be both safe and productive.
Patterson's reference to oak trees stemmed from an incident a few days earlier when an experienced hunter mistook some rustling oak leaves for a deer, shooting three times, the last shot when he thought a deer was getting up after being knocked down.
Following Patterson's orders, one group of six drives deep into the woods, parks the vehicles and scatters along the opposite side of Mason Creek.
``These should be good stands,'' says Dave Schriner of Chesapeake, who owns the land on which the club is located. ``The deer should run right straight to this creek when the drivers jump them. One of us is going to kill a deer.''
The warmth generated walking to the stands quickly disappears as the hunters hunker down, hidden as well as possible, on their sites. Toes and fingers can become unbelievably cold when they're not moving, not used.
But some of the warmth returns as the dogs jump deer. It gets even warmer when the sounds of the chase move closer.
Then waiting. Looking. Listening. To the right, several hundred yards up the small, meandering creek, someone shoots twice. A third shot follows moments later.
Then someone to the left, apparently a driver who went in that direction, shoots.
The dogs are quiet. The woods are silent.
At noon, a pickup horn sounds repeatedly, indicating that the morning's hunt is over.
Bob Bierwirth of Norfolk, one of the hunters up the creek, has killed two bucks. One is a fine eight-pointer. The other, even larger, has shed its antlers.
The afternoon hunt starts out warmer. Terry Brown of Chesapeake manages to kill two deer, both does. The day ends with everyone gathered at a predetermined spot known only as the ``Parking Lot.''
They relive the moment.
The hunters have killed 12 deer, the best day of the season. There will be venison for everyone who wants it.
The evening has chilled. The ground has started to freeze and the sky is heavy with clouds.
``Weatherman says we have some snow coming,'' says Bob Holland of Virginia Beach. ``Says it could be a good one, 8 to 10 inches. Tomorrow should be pretty hunting.''
When Charlie Salyers sticks his head out the cabin door the next morning, the final day of the season, he sees a few tiny flakes.
``Well, boys,'' he says after the bacon and eggs, coffee and gravy biscuits have everyone awake, ``today's we're going to find who the deer hunters are.''
The thermometer is again on 23 degrees, as though it had never moved.
Later, as the hunters head for their assigned stands, it is snowing lightly but steadily.
This day will not be as productive. The final tally is five deer, two bagged by Bobby Hunter of Virginia Beach.
Lee Nicholas of Suffolk also knocks down two. He recovers one, a big doe, but can't find the other, although he and Jeff Holland of Norfolk search for hours.
``I'm pretty sure it was a buck,'' Nicholas says. ``I just hope it's OK. It tears me up to think it could be injured.''
By 3 in the afternoon, the snow has changed from light to moderate. The rolling Lunenburg countryside is becoming a panorama of postcards as the thermometer hovers in the upper 20s.
Some hunters begin packing and heading for home. Others hunker down in their cabins and trailers, waiting out the storm. The forecast now is for 12 inches or more.
Instead, those remaining in the camp awake to 18 inches. It is still snowing hard and will for the rest of the day. The total will be more than 24 inches.
``This is a great way for the season to end,'' Dixon says. ``This is absolutely beautiful. I just wish it was opening day.'' ILLUSTRATION: Photo
BOB HUTCHINSON
Lee Nicholas of Suffolk, right, knocked down two deer on the final
day of the season. One was recovered; he and Norfolk's Jeff Holland,
left, tried but were unable to locate the second.
by CNB