Michigan’s most popular opening day

“Buck Poles” and big buck contests are very popular across the entire state of Michigan when November 15 arrives.

The truth be known, I never bought a Michigan hunting license of any kind
until just before the firearms deer season in November 1963. Being a Thumb farm
kid back then, a hunting license wasn’t required for hunting small game on your
family’s land where you resided, and I had started hunting pheasants, squirrels
and cottontails with my granddad’s single-shot .410 at an early age. Yep, folks, I
was a bit annoyed when I had to wait until I was 14 years old to go deer hunting.
I bought my deer license at the Albee Hardware Store in Cass City with my
allowance money, along with two (5-round) boxes of (maroon paper) Federal .410
slugs, one box to practice with and the other to hunt with. I also purchased an
insulated red plastic “Hot Seat” to sit on while hunting, which would prove to be a
good idea. The deer hunting license at that time entailed a backtag almost the
size of an automobile license plate, and a metal tag for applying to one buck only
that had to have an antler at least 3 inches long.
My .410 featured a brass front bead and a deep groove rear sight which
placed a nice group at 50 yards with 3 shots into a rusty bucket with a chalk-mark
bullseye. I was ready to go, and then the eve before the opener finally arrived,
and I didn’t sleep a wink in anticipation, something I would continue to do from
then on to this day.
Back then, deer weren’t as abundant in the Thumb as they are today, and
we didn’t live far from the Deford State Game Area (SGA). I found myself tucked
into the seat of our old 1948 Dodge pickup with my older brother and his hunting
buddy in the wee hours before daybreak. We were soon at the hunting site and
uncasing our shotguns and then walking through the woods by flashlight, with me
stumbling in the rear minus a flashlight. Eventually we encountered a creek, and
my brother pointed his flashlight at a tree and told me to have seat there, and
they would come back to get me sometime before lunch, which being the
independent sort, was fine by me.

It was one of those real frosty November mornings without a moon in a
cloudless sky filled with stars when I put my plastic “Hot Seat” at the base of the
huge maple tree on the creek bank and sat down. Well folks, I found out right
away that sitting down on anything plastic on frosty fallen leaves on an incline can
have you sliding downhill in an instant. Fortunately I dug my heels in before I
reached the creek sparkling in the starlight. I then resituated myself at the base of
the tree by kicking leaves aside, and it was actually a comfortable place to be
while eagerly waiting for “shooting light”.
I’ll never forget hearing the first shot, way in the distance, and wondering
how that hunter could see anything at all, because I could hardly see my hand in
front of my face. The sky was showing streaks of light when a great-horned owl
hooted. Then I began to hear more shots in the distance which put me at full alert
as I knew it was starting time.
In 1963, .22 rimfire rifles were allowed for deer hunting in southern
Michigan (they weren’t banned until 1968) and every now and then, I could hear
someone in the distance popping away with one. For me personally, I was plenty
happy with my handy single-shot .410 which I was certain would do its part if I did
mine and it served me well for pheasants, squirrels and cottontails.
Daybreak was in full progress when I heard what I assumed was a hunter
crunching towards me through deep fallen leaves as crisp as corn flakes on the
opposite creek bank. This perplexed me a bit as it was primetime and this noisy
hunter was going to ruin everything. I didn’t know that much about deer hunting,
but I figured it wasn’t the wisest thing to be crunching away through the woods
when seeking a wary whitetail buck.
I then saw some movement in the brush accompanying the crunching and
waited for the hunter to show up. That is when the buck stepped out directly
across the creek from me and stopped, probably less than 30 yards away, leaving
me totally mesmerized. I have no idea how many points he had, but he was a real
dandy, at least to me, and I will never forget that moment. The buck stood there
at full alert with his ears perked up, muscles quivering like coiled springs, and his
nose working the scent on the wind in puffs of steam. Someone not all that far

away began popping away with a .22 rimfire rifle, which had the buck staring
intently in that direction, and remaining still as a statue, which seemed for quite a
spell. It was obvious the buck didn’t have a clue I was there, also frozen as still as
a statue and hardly able to breathe.
The buck obviously pondered his next move, then turned to his right and
suddenly was gone, except for the crunching of leaves which finally faded away in
the distance. That is when I realized my .410 was resting in my lap, and that I was,
well, folks, deer hunting. I realized I had just experienced a big dose of “buck
fever”. I saw a couple more deer running through the woods with their tails
whipping around like white flags, but otherwise the remainder of the morning
proved uneventful.
My brother and his hunting buddy eventually arrived, and we went back to
the pickup truck for lunch. They mentioned how they had seen some deer running
through the woods at a distance and that was it. I said that was what I saw as
well, and made no mention of anything else because I felt my buck encounter was
a very private and personal matter, and it truly was. That deer had made a very
distinct impression on me, and when I look back upon that situation I have no
regrets. It was all part of the process of becoming a “seasoned” deer hunter, and I
have never frozen up since, despite breathless excitement.
After six decades of local deer hunting, not much has changed in my regard.
I’ve given up even trying to go to sleep the night before the November 15 th
opener, because it is a very special timeframe I always truly anticipate. I also still
feel my pulse pick up and breathing normal becoming a bit testy whenever
encountering whitetail bucks while hunting. Dealing with a dose of buck fever and
working matters out is all a part of the game in my opinion.
Yep, folks, if I ever do change, it will be time to quit, which is highly unlikely.
I’m wishing everyone safe and happy deer hunting!

Author
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Tom Lounsbury

Tom Lounsbury has been an outdoor writer and photographer for more
than 40 years and has had his weekly radio show, “Tom Lounsbury
Outdoors” for more than 20 years. Tom grew up on a farm in
Michigan’s Thumb, and it is where his first outdoor adventures began
as a kid accompanying visiting pheasant hunters into the field during
the “pheasant hunting heyday” of the 1950’s and 1960’s. It is a passion
he still has to this day and being the 4 th generation to own the family
farm, he has put most of it into conservation programs with a focus on
wild pheasants, which in turn helps all wildlife.
Being an outdoor communicator, Tom appreciates all the outdoor
adventures he experiences in different places, and especially the
people he meets in which to share them.