Deer were a continual presence in my world. A constant. I’d see them every day, out on the trail or grazing in the meadow, near the cabin or off in the distance, lending the scene a pastoral air the way large grazing animals do. ◦◦◦◦◦ There was one thing in particular that changed, or rather established, my “relationship” with the local deer: the big hunk of compressed salt sitting on the flushed stump of a fallen lodgepole about ten yards from the cabin’s south window. Of course, animals require salt and working livestock, with all the sweating they do, need a steady supply. It turns out that deer have a powerful craving for it as well. When I first started visiting the cabin the salt block was out in the corral, which was behind a rock outcrop and not visible from the cabin. I’d see deer heading there constantly and, at some point, got the bright idea that if it were closer to the cabin, I could watch them come and go. (Interestingly, I never saw any other forest critters at the salt aside from Cassin’s finches, pine siskins, red crossbills, and pine grosbeaks—all members of the finch family. No other birds.) ◦◦◦◦◦ The salt block changed everything, adding a dee-lightful new element to my life. Suddenly, there was a steady stream of large wild animals just loitering around, right outside. I discovered that there was a network of trails, like spokes on a wheel, all leading to my front yard. Deer from all over would come visit. Many I recognized and would see regularly. Over the course of seventeen summers, I spent a fair amount of time standing by that window or out on the porch watching little deer-dramas unfold and learned many things, things that I’d never imagined. (What intensely curious animals they are, for one thing—curious as cats.) I saw spotted Bambis turn into deer-teenagers…watched young bucks settling scores and does being flat-out mean to each other for no apparent reason. We’d all stare at each other, each wondering who exactly it was staring back. I understood early on that no deer was ever going to trust me and that I’d never come close to knowing what was inside them. But deer enriched my life in ways that I can’t explain. They impart a sense of wellbeing—a soothing reassurance that all is as it should be.
8 Jun 2000 Fine day. Deer in the yard since I put out the salt block two days ago. (One if the first things I do every spring….) ◦◦◦◦◦ [That evening:] Took a bath on the slabs, frigid quick-dip in cool wind with big snowpatch ten feet away. Enjoyed making acquaintance with the new crop of young deer in the yard.
9 Jul ◦◦◦◦◦ Watched a five-point velvet-antlered buck out on the salt block. A doe was with him but he kept chasing her away. Then the two went off in opposite directions. I’d assumed they were a couple but…Duh!! Bucks and does don’t travel together in the summer, remember? ◦◦◦◦◦
5 Aug Woke up, got outa bed, looked out the window first thing as per usual. Yowza! Count ‘em: three huge, well-endowed bucks gathered around the salt block stump. Never seen so much bulk deer-flesh and -antler in my yard at one time! Two of the trio were 5-pointers—twice forked horn with eye-guard [a smallish nubbin, low on the antler]. The biggest of the big fellas, the one with widest spread, had six points on one side (one tip just starting to branch) with five on the other. A magnificent creature who weighs at least as much as the ranger, fully clothed with boots on. Engrossed, I watched all three dipping on the lick at the same time and from my window it looked like all their antlers were tangled in a snarled knot. Biggest big-fella soon became annoyed, flailed at the others with his front hooves and ran ‘em off (mean grump). Then back for more while the other two looked on, cowed. He licked and licked and kept on lickin’…was at it for a half-hour straight. Made me pucker up just thinking about it…. He came back repeatedly through the morning hours and, later, I watched him going after Lucy. He was intensely curious about her, completely focused. ◦◦◦◦◦
14 Oct ◦◦◦◦◦ When we got home there were seven deer at the salt block. I was up on Woody, leading Val. Three does, four deerlets, all in their new gray spot-free autumn plumage. Quite the charming vignette. Haven’t seen any deer for a couple weeks now (hunting season—everybody “laying low” apparently) but I know they’ve been coming in the night to get their fix. What was special about this incident was how they let us crash their party—all of ‘em clustered around the stump, acting like they owned the place—and just carried on licking, with the multi-tongued lapping sounds clearly audible in the silence. The delicate-featured gray late-fawns gaped at me like they’d never seen a human…moms, completely unconcerned. (Their unconcern a “teaching moment” for the youngsters, perhaps.) Rode up real slow, trying to see how far we could take this before they all bounded off. Woody was eyeing them with obvious interest. Val, dunno. I tried not to stare. By no means the first time we’ve ridden up on them while they were at it but this was maybe the closest we’ve ever come. Everybody was jostling for a place at the table and clearly nobody wanted to leave. I got Woody to the hitch rail but they’d become nervous and backed off a little. ◦◦◦◦◦ At this point, Piute entered the picture in dramatic fashion. After waiting all day for his friends’ return, he fell in line behind us right after we crossed the river and followed us into the yard. Then did something outrageous but entirely in-character: a cantankerous bully, Piute took one look at the interlopers…and ran them off! With ears pinned back and a Clint Eastwood menacing squint, he lowered his head and slowly walked toward the pack. His message, clear: MY salt! Beat it, assholes! Leave NOW! Piute can be a real jerk. He broke the magic spell, spoiled the moment. Thanks a lot, pal. ◦◦◦◦◦ Living here, I’ve always had this fantasy: that the wildlings would accept my presence to the point that I could saddle my horses, walk around the yard, sit around a fire, whatever…walk right past them and they’d just go on about their business while I went about my own. That’s all. Just not be feared, not be seen as a threat. As a kid, I remember seeing these religious pictures, variations on a common theme: a seated Jesus with children in his lap and at his feet, each of them gazing up at him in adoration with various wild animals gathered ‘round as well, more in the background. There were a number of versions; pretty much every Christian family had one in their homes. I remember looking at ours, wishing wild animals would come hang out with me and have no fear. I had no interest whatsoever in white-robed Jesus (always spotless white robes) or the adoring children at his feet. It was all about the notion of how great it would be to have animals accept me that way. I’m suppose my childish reaction is pretty much universal but I’ve always had this “ideal”—a fantasy image of myself as part human/part animal, able to mingle freely with the wild ones. That’s why I’m always thrilled, like today, whenever they let me into their world—even a little. ◦◦◦◦◦
11 Aug 2002 ◦◦◦◦◦ This eve a hale 5-point buck showed up in the yard and worked at the salt block off’n’on for maybe an hour. Rare to see one around the cabin in broad daylight in August (bucks mostly hanging out on high ridgetops now) but as always a treat. Aside from the ever-unseen lions and seldom-seen bears, buck deer are the sole “big game” animals in these parts and there’s that special something about large animals…probably based on respect for (fear of?) their physical strength as much as the visual appeal. I suspect this handsome fella was so nonchalant because he was raised around here and has known me since his ma started bringing him around, back when he was still in spots.
©2021 Tim Forsell 19 Feb 2021
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