In the wilds of suburbia

Bow hunters find game in wooded areas hemmed in by highways

Skip Walker, 61, walks into the woods during a recent hunting outing in Ashland. (Globe Staff Photo / Matthew J. Lee)

Barely five minutes from Route 9 and the Massachusetts Turnpike, the woods of suburbia seem still and empty, although subtle signs of wildlife are all around for those who know where to look.

Bow hunter Skip Walker stops at a patch of bare dirt on an old cart road, where the leaves have been cleared away, a sign that white-tailed deer are nearby.

"This is a 'scrape,' " he says, diagnosing the evidence like a woodland detective. "A big buck has come through here, scraped the ground with his hooves and urinated on it," marking his territory to attract does for mating.

There is no better indication that Walker's hunting area, privately owned land in Ashland, is teeming with deer.

Walker, 61, of Framingham, is a suburban bow hunter, a breed of close-to-home sportsmen who hunt from tree stands hidden in wood lots hemmed between highways, houses, and shopping malls throughout Eastern Massachusetts.

Deer hunters are passionate about their sport - some start researching the land months before hunting season to divine the perfect spot to set up their tree stands.

They also stir passion in others.

"The suburban areas are full of people who don't like hunting," says Walker.

The scrape Walker found in the dirt is still wet. The urine has a thin, earthy odor.

"No more than thirty minutes old," he says. "He's not too far." The next instant, out of the corner of his eye, he catches a flash of movement, the brown body of a deer gliding across the trail, maybe 60 yards away.

The sight gives him a squirt of adrenaline, Walker admits.

"There's a lot of activity in here now," he says.

But hunting opponents in developed areas often voice safety concerns, fearing that bow shooters will turn suburban dog-walking trails into the Battle of the Little Bighorn.

This fall, disputes over suburban hunting hit a bull's-eye in Framingham, where selectmen opened 83 acres of public land, Wittenborg Woods, to five bow hunters with special permits. Walker, a hunting adviser to the Framingham Conservation Commission, had recommended twice as many permits for Wittenborg, plus five more for Macomber Woods, as a way to reduce the town's deer population. Three deer were taken last year in a pilot program on the two parcels.

Opponents have also charged that bow hunting is a bad use for public land.

Various pieces of state and municipal conservation land around Massachusetts are open for hunting. Hunters maintain that their sport is safe, and that they provide a public service by reducing overpopulation among white-tailed deer. Hunters are part of a statewide strategy to manage the number of deer in Massachusetts, says Sonja Christensen, a deer and moose biologist at the state Division of Fisheries and Wildlife.

MassWildlife has set a population goal of eight deer per square mile in the eastern part of the state, essentially east of Interstate 495.

While the level has been creeping down in recent years, Christensen said, the deer population remains well above the goal, at about 15 to 25 per square mile.

In defending plans for hunting on town land, Framingham officials estimated the town has 18 to 20 deer per square mile.

In areas with many deer, the animals degrade forests by eating trees and shrubs, says Christensen. They frequently get hit by cars. They contribute to incidents of Lyme disease, which is spread by deer ticks. And they eat gardens and expensive landscaping, annoying homeowners.

"Deer populations are often higher in suburban areas because of the availability of food sources," she says.

One doe, living 5 to 10 years, can give birth to two or three fawn every year, she says. "In areas shut off to hunting, you can imagine how many fawn that doe can drop in her lifetime."

Last year, hunters in Massachusetts killed about 11,500 deer, 3,300 by bow. MassWildlife records put the statewide population last fall as roughly 90,000.

"You shoot to cull the herd," says Walker. "You shoot for the meat."

Hunting "is not for everybody," he admits, but for some, it's a challenging intellectual and physical pursuit, combining foresight, an eye for detail, and Zen-like patience.

"I've had years where I've taken no deer," he says, adding that that's all right. "I come out here with no phone; it's a time to reflect, to remember what's good about life."

Walker, who is divorced, recalls, "When my marriage was not so spectacular, I appreciated the time in the woods."

He has light eyes, white-frosted eyebrows, and a hard-scrubbed, wind-burned complexion. In the woods he wears a camouflage shirt and pants that match the forest, though not each other. He sold electronics until he was laid off this summer. Now he works part time at Dick's Sporting Goods in Natick.

Deer have amazing noses, and hunters take extraordinary steps to avoid being detected by odor.

For the entire hunting season, mid-October to Dec. 31, Walker avoids scented products - shampoo, deodorant, laundry detergent. To the back of his hat he pins a small plastic disk that masks his body scent by emitting the strong smell of a noseful of dirt. He carries no food into the woods, and avoids stepping in the "scrapes" left by the bucks, where he might leave his scent.

You don't hunt deer by stalking them, you hunt by waiting for them, Walker says. And since more than 90 percent of deer are taken with bow shots of 12 yards or closer, the trick is to put your tree stand in the right spot.

Hunters look to set their stands near "runs," the faint paths in the woods that deer use as highways.

"They're creatures of habit. They'll use the same runs over and over," says Walker.

He points to impressions in the dirt. "There's a track there, another here . . . this is a big buck."

Walker has taken 18 deer in a hunting career that began with his first kill: 11:15 a.m., Nov. 22, 1988. He had never gutted a deer before. While he cut out the entrails with a knife, his hunting buddy sat on a rock and laughed himself silly.

"Sticking my hands in that warm cavity . . . it was horrible," Walker says. "You kind of get over it."

Walker began his research for this season back in June, checking for deer tracks and scat, trying to identify the runs and estimate "how much activity we have in here." He has spotted several deer from his tree stand this year, but hasn't let fly any arrows. "They haven't been close enough that I felt comfortable taking a shot."

Walking through the woods, he notices the quietest signs of wildlife: buds nibbled by deer, leaves churned up around an oak tree - maybe by wild turkey scavenging for acorns. He comes across a dead squirrel, which seems fresh.

"Maybe a hawk did this," and then was frightened off by the sound of human footsteps.

The forest is quick to clean up after itself, Walker says, and nothing edible is ignored for long.