Game wardens have an important job to do in the area of wildlife management, as well as law enforcement. If you hunt or fish you will interact with them from time to time. My first encounter was when I was twelve years old. Uncle Dewey had loaned me his 20 gauge pump shotgun to use on deer hunt. In Virginia it was illegal to use a rifle. As we were gathered by the road to begin the hunt the game warden stopped by and began checking guns for shell capacity. Federal law dictates that shotguns be plugged so that they will hold no more than three shells. When he came to my gun the fourth shell went in. this means that I am now in violation of the Migratory Bird Act, between the United States, Canada and Mexico. As a twelve year old I am pretty sure that I will go straight to the penitentiary. The warden was reinforcing those thoughts. Finally one of the other men took the gun apart and showed the warden that the gun did in fact have a plug, but the plug must be a little short. They cut a new one from a stick a the warden did not charge me.
When I was in school at the University of Georgia, while having lunch with some friends, it was announced that the white bass were running. Everyone wanted to go down to the Broad River and fish. I told them that I did not have a license nor did I have the five dollars to get one, therefore I could not go. One of the guys loaned me the money so off we went. The white bass were running and you could catch one on nearly every cast. While I was busy collecting fish, the game warden walked up behind me and asked for my fishing license. I have always said that this was the best five dollars I have ever borrowed.
My dad was the kind of hunter that was always sure of his shot. He rarely shot more than once and if you heard him shoot, he would have a deer. During World War II he was a sonar operator on a destroyer escort. When they went to battle stations he was a gunner. His friends said that he was not trained as a gunner, but because he hit what he was shooting at, they made him one. I guess his deer hunting was no exception.
One thanksgiving, while hunting on the Miller tract near Hopewell, Virginia, I was with my grandad and dad went into the woods alone. Because it was Thanksgiving the hunt was to end at noon so everyone could go home for dinner. A couple of hours into the hunt we heard dad shoot once. Grandad declared that dad had killed a deer. We headed in the direction of the shot. When we got there dad had not killed a deer, he had killed three. Evidently a buck had walked up and a doe had walked up behind him and stopped about even with his shoulder. Then a second doe stopped in front of him and just behind his shoulder. When dad shot the buck out of the middle with his 12 gauge magnum, it killed all three.
It was not doe season. We field dressed the deer and drug them out to the fire lane, close to the road. Several other hunters joined us as it was time to quit. As we sat there contemplating what to do, dad suggested that we call the game warden and tell him what had happened. The other men laughed and said the warden would not believe the story. They said that they did not believe it and they had heard the single shot. Road blocks were common during deer season. As we sat there trying to come up with the best course of action, two women drove up to see why their husbands were not home for dinner. The men took the two does and put them in the trunk of the women’s car and sent them on their way. Even if there was a road block the warden was not going to check the car of two women who had not been hunting. This is the story of how dad killed three deer with one shot. We don’t tell it often because most folks don’t believe it.
