Bill Cochran

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I was born on the west side of the Blue Ridge, and that is where I have done most of my deer hunting, honing my skills and opinions in a mountainous setting.

There were times, however, in the mid-'70s, when I traveled east to hunt with the Spears Mountain Hunt Club in Buckingham County.

It was a different kind of hunting, as different as shotguns are from rifles; as flatland is from ridge tops; as a pack of bawling hounds and shouting hunters are from a silent, one-on-one pursuit of a deer.

I liked it.

I especially like the hunters involved, most of them good sportsmen, quick with a word of praise or a ribbing, whichever the moment required. Many were from the Roanoke and Lynchburg areas. When all were present, the club’s cabin, called Pine Acres Hunting Lodge, would be packed.

The word “lodge” was stretching it a bit, just as Spears Mountain really wasn’t much of a mountain.

Frank Saunders, from the Roanoke Valley, was the hunt master. He also was the chief cook and the club’s snoring champion. Always optimistic, Saunders would say, “We’ll get a deer tomorrow.” Often his prediction came true.

One season, hunting was tough. There had been a few chases that provided the kind of spine-tingling hound music that causes a hunter to tighten his grip on his shotgun. But only antlerless deer were spotted, and they weren’t legal at the time.

Most of us wanted to quit, but Saunders insisted on one more attempt. He drew a map of attack in the dust, then positioned standers along old logging roads, trails, ditches and fence lines. Next, the dogs were turned loose to probe undergrowth so thick that if it weren’t for dogs you’d probably never see a deer, which explains why hunting is done this way.

Standing not far from me was Roy Martin, who had taken a position near where he had bagged a four-pointer the season before. This time, a seven-point back was caught between the standers and drivers, and in its effort to escape the dogs it dashed across a field and jumped a fence, landing right in Martin’s sights.

The pure, Southern sport of deer dogging hasn’t changed much since then; in fact, it hasn’t changed all that much since Jamestown was settled. But hunters are afield this season with the fear that it is about to change -- big time.

Thirty-percent of the deer hunters in Virginia use hounds and that number is 70 percent in Tidewater. Game officials aren’t likely to mess with that kind of license revenue, but there are hound hunters who will look you in the eye and tell you with sincerity that their sport is in peril. They don’t want to wake up one day with a kennel full of hounds and no place to hunt them.

No matter what side of the fence you are on, you have to admit that there are challenges out there. For one thing, it takes space to dog hunt. You only need a half-acre to hunt from a treestand, but that’s not the case for hound hunting. Many of the wild areas used in the past are being carved up into home sites and hobby farms. The newcomers who move out from the city don’t particularly like dogs running across their property or caravans of hunters along the roads. When either side acts a bit belligerent things can grow nasty.

Even the big timber companies in the South, a rich source of hunting terrain, are beginning to close their property to dog hunting out of fear of lawsuits. Sometimes flack comes from fellow hunters who prefer less invasive styles of pursuing deer and who have grown tired of being ruled by dog hunters.

In an effort to get the target off the back of dog hunters and appease troubled landowners, the Virginia Department of Game and Inland Fisheries has begun a major study of hound hunting in the state. It is a prudent move to deal with problems before they become insurmountable, but many hound hunters are suspicions of the motives.

I asked Penn Riggs, who hunts with a club in Southampton and Sussex counties, to tell me what hunters are thinking and talking about this season.

“Generally they feel that the study is being driven by anti-hunters in an effort to stop hound hunting, and eventually hunting altogether,” he said.

Too often, there is a feeling of apprehension, of distrust, of skepticism, of not being part of the process, Riggs said.

Real or perceived, this isn’t the kind of baggage you want to carry with you to deer camp. What you want to savor is camaraderie, the thrill of the chase, the joy of hound music. I believe these attributes can be preserved if everyone comes to the table with a little respect.