Editor’s note: This story was originally published in February 2024.
I’ve been toying with the idea of getting one of those stickers often seen on the back of delivery trucks that says “This vehicle makes sudden stops.”
Along with that, I feel the need to sincerely apologize to any motorist unfortunate enough to become stuck behind me from now until right around early April. You’re right to beep, yell, pass, or even display a certain vulgar hand gesture. I completely deserve it.
I promise, I’m not intoxicated, on drugs or experiencing some sort of medical event. Your heated advice is noted, but contrary to your assessment, I have in fact already learned how to drive.
It’s not my fault. For years, I’ve hopelessly suffered from the acute seasonal effects of an ongoing addiction to shed antlers.
I still haven’t been able to nail down exactly what it is about finding a shed deer antler that calls to me so loudly. After all, of the dozens I’ve found over the years, only a very few have ever served any decorative or functional purpose.
You might find a couple scattered around the house on a shelf or table. A perfect 8-point matched set serves as rattling antlers that I occasionally lug into the woods each fall during hunting season, but otherwise, the rest live in a pile on the basement floor, taking up precious storage space.
Still, you couldn’t pay me enough to keep me from carrying one home. I don’t care if it’s big, small, old, new, bleached, brown, chewed or perfect: I have to have it.
Despite my earlier remarks about poor driving habits, I do prefer the woods to the roadside when it comes to looking for antlers.
It just so happens that in our area, we typically lack the snowfall that drives deer into wintering yards, as is the case in northern or downeast regions, and they commonly frequent areas near the road. I’ve always viewed “road sheds” as low hanging fruit, but some I’m more than happy to pick.
I’ve certainly paid my dues with many hours and days spent walking miles in the woods, checking every south-facing slope, cedar thicket, swamp edge, overgrown orchard, oak stand, stream crossing or wherever else I figure a buck might have dropped an antler.
And while most of those hours, days and miles have only shown me where antlers aren’t to be found, I still value the opportunity and excuse to spend time in the woods.
Good, bad or indifferent, as with many outdoor recreations these days, interest in antler hunting has exploded in recent years. What was once a largely undervalued and overlooked activity is now a mainstream focus in the outdoor space and has become big business.
Here in Maine, this is especially the case with moose antlers in northern regions where more people are training dogs, buying snowmobiles and taking weeks off at a time to find them.
I have yet to fully jump into that scene, but am very tempted. For now, I’m just happy to spend a few days here and there during late winter/early spring looking for deer antlers with my kind of, sort of, half-trained, but absolutely wonderful chocolate lab, Winston.
It’s good for him, good for me and we’ve had a heck of a lot of fun together.
Many factors play into the timing of when a buck loses his antlers including photoperiod, testosterone levels, stress and overall physical condition. Whatever the recipe, it came together recently for one of the two nice bucks we have visiting a few handfuls of high-protein wildlife feed I set out each day down back.
According to trail camera pictures, he lost his left side on Jan. 24, then his right sometime the following day. The larger of the two bucks has yet to shed, and I’m anxiously waiting for the day he does so Winston and I can try our luck.
It’s still a bit early though. I’m having a hard time fighting the urge to get out there and start putting miles on, but I know it’s best.
I’d rather wait until I’m sure most of the bucks have shed their antlers and I don’t want to put any undue pressure on them. They’ve had a stressful fall and deserve a chance during their hardest time of year to have the woods to themselves.
That being said, my sticker is on order, as well as another one with a phone number to call if you don’t like my driving. The number belongs to my girlfriend, Emily. She’ll vouch for me, scold me, tell me to come home, bail me out or whatever else the situation might dictate.
So look out fellow motorists, because starting now, I’ll be checking every apple tree, fallen down cedar, field edge, trail crossing and woodlot in my travels. I just can’t help it.
