May 22, 2015
Bucks
Restoration ecologist Jill Voegtle holds Drop Tine and Young Buck, the two deer whose territory battle led to their deaths last fall. The skulls were then transported to another location for the next phase in their processing.
Good Natured readers may remember a column that ran, oh, about six months ago. Actually, six months and seven days ago, to be exact.
But just in case your memory’s like mine, I should probably toss out a few key words: St. Charles. Woods. Rut. (As in deer breeding season, not a groove worn into the ground.) And finally: Monster Bucks.
That’s right my friends, just over six months to the day that an epic battle for white-tailed deer mating rights occurred, the second chapter in their saga has begun.
In case you missed it, let me first give a brief recap. Last November, two exceedingly large bucks dueled to the death in a St. Charles woodland. Each weighing more than 300 pounds, with antlers that numbered 14 points and 17 points respectively, they charged, clashed and wrestled each other in an age-old ritual the species uses to determine which individuals are best fit to mate.
The only problem was, one of the bucks had what is known as a non-typical rack. That is to say, his antlers included a very large and bulbous tine that pointed downward. It was a distinctive trait, and one that allowed him to be instantly recognizable among park district staff who would see him now and again in our local parks and natural areas.
Alas, that distinguishing feature also led to his downfall.
During what must have been a mighty lunge, the buck we now refer to as Drop Tine locked antlers with his opponent. The blow caused the antlers to flex just enough to allow the odd, downward projection to wrap around an opposing tine and lodge behind the jaw of his rival, the deer we’ve come to call Young Buck.
Long story short, the two magnificent males became inextricably locked together, eventually falling to the ground and dying there in the woods. The park district’s ecological restoration team found them there the next morning, Saturday November 8th. In short order the IL Department of Natural Resources Conservation Police were consulted, the bucks’ heads were harvested, and by noon the next day were six feet underground, where the magical cleansing of the skulls called decomposition could occur safely below the frost line during our long, cold winter.
All of this brings us up to present day, and the sound of my computer calendar’s chime going off with the reminder that it was time to dig up The Boys.
On a dark and cloudy Friday we assembled a team of excavators—three human, one mechanical (a backhoe)—and went to work moving earth. The backhoe was used to dig a hole adjacent to the actual burial site, which allowed those of us with shovels to push and toss soil with minimal effort.
We worked vigorously at first, because in addition to being excited about our work we were also a little nervous about the storm that was moving in. After
about 30 minutes though we slowed down, knowing that our quarry was near.
Picking through the soil with our shovels, poking gingerly so as to not scrape or break any tines, we felt as though we were treasure hunters on a quest for weird, decomposing valuables. And, in a sense, we were. Estimates of the worth of two such large bucks, locked together, ranged into the thousands of dollars—big bucks, in another sense, if you will.
At last one of us uncovered the tip of one of Young Buck’s tines. Flush with excitement at our discovery, we high-fived, jumped up and down a little, then paused a few moments to strategize our next move. Deciding that a sideways entry would be better than digging down from the top, we used the backhoe to create another channel just in front of where The Boys were lying in not-quite-eternal rest
We had just jumped down into the 4-ft. deep trench when a bolt of lightning, followed immediately by loud thunder, gave us pause. We were down low, for sure. But we were also holding metal tools.
After a brief discussion of various pros and cons we decided, somewhat reluctantly, to suspend our efforts until the following day. We grabbed our (metal) travel mugs and made a dash for the truck just as the rain began to pour.
The next day found our dig site looking more like a buffalo wallow than a deer grave, with two feet of frothy mud puddled up in the clay-heavy soil. Team member Jill Voegtle was among the first on the scene, and used a pump to move some of the wettest muck before switching to bailing with a bucket.
At last Jill knelt down in the soft ooze. With a surgeon’s precision she picked through the dirt with gloved hands, carefully wiping away dirt from the now-exposed foreheads, eye sockets and nasal cavities. She asked me for a trowel, which I misinterpreted as “a towel,” and then proceeded to lose several minutes as I pondered just what kind of towel I should bring. Hand? Dish? Beach?
By the time she’d spelled out her request it really wasn’t needed any more. The Boys were out! Six months of exposure to the decomposers that live in the soil had worked amazingly well. The little bit of flesh that remained on the front part of the skulls was easily sliced away.
The necks—which Jill gently indicated, several times, we could have removed last fall and made the entire ensemble much more manageable—were still quite fleshy. But, surprisingly, not stinky.
They were however just ripe enough to attract the attention of some nearby turkey vultures. First one, then two, on up to four of them flew over and circled several times before deciding we represented too much of a barrier to their tasty snack. To placate them, and Jill, she and I sawed off the meaty necks—about 10 lbs. per deer—and tossed them into the field next door, for the vultures to enjoy later.
We put the skulls, the antlers still firmly intertwined, in the back of the truck and hauled them to a spigot, where we washed away more scraps of tissue. Then it was off to the digesting tank for a two-week soak in plain water.
The next step will be degreasing, followed by cosmetic touch-ups, if needed. We’re hoping all goes as planned and that, by fall, the impressive remains of these once-proud bucks will be installed in their permanent home, the Hickory Knolls Discovery Center. We’ll provide those details in a final installment later this year.
Pam Erickson Otto is the manager of nature programs and interpretive services at the Hickory Knolls Discovery Center, a facility of the St. Charles Park District. She can be reached at 630-513-4346 or potto@stcparks.org.