A Return to the Hunt

My family’s roots run deep in the central Minnesota town of Pierz, where my great-grandfather is depicted in a photograph of a 19th-century hunting party on the wall of Red’s Auto and Bait.

Red’s is a place where you can buy gas, fishing lures, coffee, pizza, and a serving of tater tot hot dish. The men in the photo are posed with their bounty of deer and bear. One of the hunters is an ancestor of the owner of Red’s. Another is my great-grandfather, Louis Feucht.

Although I wasn’t born or raised in Pierz, those family roots bind me to the place, and to the family legacy of hunting. In 1879, my great-grandfather relocated to the Pierz area from Wisconsin. He worked in a logging camp for $24 a month. To make ends meet, he hunted. In a 1936 interview for the Morrison County Historical Society when he was 81 years old, Louis Feucht said there were plenty of deer when he first arrived. When he needed meat for his family, he would “go out and pick off a nice fat deer.”

My introduction to deer hunting took place on my aunt and uncle’s farm east of Pierz. It was 1972 and I was 14 years old. Back then, there weren’t a lot of deer around. Our family teamed up with neighbors to increase our chances. That year, I was enlisted to be a “driver.” While a few men waited on the outskirts of the woods, the rest of us formed a line and walked slowly through the woods, driving the deer out. Even with the efforts of a dozen or more people, we were lucky to harvest a handful of deer.

My second experience with deer hunting was in 1990. I had just finished a stint in the Army, and my shooting skills had been honed through hours of practice at an Army shooting range. On the first day of the opener, I was assigned to join the drivers. I took my place in the lineup. None of our driving team saw a deer while walking through the woods.

On day two, my uncle mentioned to the other men that I was skilled with a rifle. “Roberta’s a good shot,” he said, “and I think we should let her stand with us.”

“No,” one of the men replied sharply. “She stays with the drivers.”

His words stung. I had paid my dues as a driver, I thought, and I knew that I was a good shot. They should have allowed me to stand with them. They should have given me a chance.

The next day I walked away from deer hunting for 34 years.

Time to Reengage. My great-grandfather was a young man when he posed for the photograph displayed at Red’s. Like many settlers of that time, he was a subsistence farmer. However, heavy subsistence and market hunting caused the deer population to plummet, and in 1923, the deer hunting season was closed.

Over the years, deer hunting has had its ups and downs around Pierz, but lately it has been up. Along with the increased deer population, there’s been an increased number of women and girl hunters. It’s the generations that came after me, the daughters and granddaughters of my peers, who have joined the family hunting heritage.

These days at Red’s, the community bulletin board displays photos of these hunters with their harvested deer.

This wider acceptance of female hunters got me wondering: Could I return to the sport?

On my partner Steve’s acreage, deer have damaged vegetation including cedar, basswood, and maple trees. To help thin the herd, the idea of taking up deer hunting again began to percolate between us. Steve hadn’t harvested a deer in 20 years. Together, we decided the time had come for us both to reengage. And so we began to prep.

During a preseason target practice, I discovered that my older eyes needed a scope; open rifle sights were no longer an option for me. Steve—a carpenter by trade—built a roomy stand atop an old fuel barrel rack, which provided easy access.

A couple of hunting friends advised me to remain in the stand for the entire day. The chances of harvesting a deer would increase, they said, if I stayed out from “dawn to dusk.”

Like a Ghost. When dawn arrived on the first morning of the 2024 season, I heard a barrage of gunfire. There were muffled, far-off shots, midrange shots, and louder blasts from neighboring farms. For 20 minutes or so, the countryside resembled a shooting range.

Eventually, the gunfire tapered off and the forest came to life. Crows cawed, squirrels chattered, and woodpeckers tapped against trees. Eight trumpeter swans flew overheard. I listened to tom turkeys gobbling, the hens yelping.

By midday, the initial excitement had worn off and the cold settled in. The wildlife, too, had calmed down. Although the forest had grown silent, my mind was racing. This is a waste of time, I thought. There are so many other things I could be doing right now. I sent Steve a text message in which I used the word “demoralized.” Steve texted back to “hang in there.”

When the buck finally arrived, he came stealthily like a ghost through the forest. He made no sound and blended in perfectly with the woods. If I hadn’t turned my head at that very moment, he would have passed by without detection. Breathing in deeply to calm myself, I aimed and took my shot, which found its mark. My body trembled with adrenaline, but I remembered to glance at my watch: a little after 2 p.m. At age 66, I had harvested my first deer.

A New Tradition. Steve field-dressed my modest buck, then we returned to our stands. Not long after that, Steve got a doe.

It was dusk by the time we left the woods. Over the span of the day—from sunrise to sunset—I had cycled through various emotions, from the initial excitement at dawn to an afternoon of growing impatience, followed by the profound satisfaction of a successful hunt. I had reclaimed my hunting heritage, and that felt good.

The next day, Steve taught me how to process the meat and wrap it in butcher paper. After we finished this time-consuming job, he cooked up a delicious meal of venison tenderloin, fresh asparagus, and red potatoes. The venison we harvested will provide many meals for our extended family. At the base of each antler, Steve drilled a hole for an eye hook, then strung the antlers together. Next year, I will rattle those antlers to attract a buck.

I’m planning to hunt this winter, and I will continue to do so as long as I am able. I’d like to think that my great-grandfather would have been proud.