You think whitetail hunting is big now? Well, there was nothing more important in the lives of these rural folks 80 years ago.
It is with heavy hearts that we relay the news of the passing of our friend and contributor Jerry Apps. Jerry passed away just before Christmas after a brief illness. He was 91. Here is one of the memorable articles he wrote for Deer & Deer Hunting over the years. We called it “75 Years & Counting” when it was published, as it had celebrated his 75th deer season here at home.
By Jerry Apps
I will always remember the fall of 1946. I was 12 years old, and I could go deer hunting with my dad for the first time. Dad said I could use his old, 12-gauge double-barrel shotgun, with a barrel nearly as long as I was tall, and so heavy I had to keep shifting it from one arm to the other when I carried it.
This past year, 2021, was my 75th year of deer hunting, without missing a year. Even when I was in the army, I was still able to be home for deer hunting season. In my family, nothing was more important. No weddings were scheduled during deer hunting season. No birthday parties were held. Deer hunting, even more important than the opening of fishing season, was on the calendar and stood above all other happenings in order of importance.
In 1946 there were few deer in Waushara County, Wisconsin where our home farm was located, so after the barn chores were finished on opening day that year, my dad, our neighbor, Bill Miller, and I traveled to the wilds of Adams County a few miles to the west. My dad was born not far from the Roche a Cri River. They dumped me out on a bridge that spanned the river with instructions to walk along the river to the west, driving out any deer may be hiding in this mostly wooded area. They would wait a half mile away in a little open field, with their deer rifles at the ready, they told me.
I walked no more than a dozen yards, when I noticed something swimming in the river. It was a beaver, and it along with other beavers was busy building a dam across the Roche a Cri. I had never seen anything like this, so I leaned the old double-barrel against a big white pine tree and sat down and watched the busy beavers work. After a half-hour or so of watching, I realized I’d best get at what I was supposed to do. I continued my half mile walk along the beautiful Roche a Cri River, seeing nary a deer but having a good time nonetheless. Finally reaching the open field I spotted both Bill and my dad. Upon seeing me, Pa said, “You get lost? You see any deer?”
“Nope,” I said. “I didn’t get lost, and I didn’t see any deer.” I didn’t fess up that I’d spent a half hour sitting on the river bank watching beavers build a dam.
Over the 75 years I’ve hunted, I bagged a good many deer—there were years when my income was small and my young family was hungry, so I made sure I got a deer. My wife, Ruth, had a handful of tasty venison recipes, which we all enjoyed.
After three or four years of toting that monster of a double-barrel shotgun, I was able to buy a used Winchester Model 1894, 30-30, lever action deer rifle. It is the rifle I use to this day. The only modification, I added a scope to it.
Over the years I watched deer hunting change. By the 1960s deer had arrived in Waushara County in substantial numbers, so we could hunt deer as close as the woodlot just north of our farm house. We also hunted on the neighbor’s farms—there were no big red signs shouting “No Hunting.”
In those days, no one used a deer stand. We organized deer drives—not dissimilar to what I was supposed to do on my first hunt in Adams County. The younger guys did the driving, the older guys did the standing—and the shooting. We walked for miles, sometimes crossing three or four farms.
And then the “No Hunting” and “No Trespassing” signs began appearing. And the big, rather fun, organized deer drives disappeared. Deer hunters hunted on public lands, on leased lands, or on land they owned. And they hunted from deer stands, often stuck high up in a tree. Deer hunting became watching and waiting—and hoping a ten-pointer might stroll under your stand. Sometimes they did. More often, in my experience they didn’t.
In 1966, my two brothers and I acquired an old, abandoned farm some two miles from the farm where we grew up. It is where I have hunted every year since that time. But never from a tree stand—my son, Steve has good success with his tree stand. As have my nephews. My brother, Don has a little elevated, and heated deer hunting stand.
I have resisted. I sit out in the open, usually in a different place every year. For me there is something special in being outdoors, on a cool, November morning. One year I wrote in my journal following opening day of deer season, “As I sat with my rifle watching and listening, there was an explosion of silence.” There is something special about silence in the out-of-doors, especially for those us who spend most of our lives in a city.
For me, there has always been more to deer hunting than bagging deer—although I am certainly not opposed to venison in the freezer. For years, three generations of my family hunted—my dad, who hunted into his 90s, my son and me. Today, my brother, his son, and his grandson hunt deer on our farm.
It is only during deer hunting season that I get to see some of my relatives—a nephew in Phoenix returns each year for the hunt. We all gather for a big meal at the end of opening day and the deer hunting stories of earlier years are told over and over again. I’m proud to say, that for 75 years, without missing a year, I have enjoyed the “big hunt” as one of my relatives described deer season.
— Jerry Apps was a retired college professor, rural sociologist and award-winning author from Wisconsin. His “A Farm Story” video series is one of the most popular PBS documentaries of all time.