Dennis Anderson: Hunting deer in the city

A cross-country ski trail was nearby. But rain had fallen all day and washed away any hopes skiers might have had of kicking and gliding atop the icy paths.

This was Tuesday night, and the Twin Cities park in which I was hiding was closed.

Peering through a night-vision scope, I shouldered a 12-gauge shotgun with a 7-foot-long barrel.

In the scope, amid the darkness, I saw a pile of corn about 20 paces distant. The corn was bait I hoped would lure deer close enough to shoot.

A swirling, bone-chilling wind wound through the thick stand of trees surrounding me.

If a deer did appear, I would target him -- or her -- just behind a shoulder, hoping to drop the animal in its tracks.

No one would be the wiser. Not neighbors nearby. Not interloping park visitors, if there were any.

When triggered, the gun I used was virtually silent.

• • •

Welcome to Twin Cities deer culling, circa 2009.

Little known to Minneapolis and St. Paul residents, and those of surrounding suburbs, when the sun goes down, the guns in many communities come out.

Not all belong to gangs. Or police.

Professional contract deer killers also are sometimes hired.

The intent is to reduce the metro's overpopulation of whitetails.

Sitting behind me Tuesday night, also squatting on an overturned 5-gallon bucket, was Wendell Diller of Oakdale.

Wendell is the guy I've written about before who developed shotguns with 7-foot-long barrels.

The barrel of the "quiet gun" I held Tuesday night was propped up with a pair of shooting sticks. The gun was well-balanced, given its extraordinary length.

For park employees who do the shooting, the job isn't easy. Often they put in full days of work before heading into a park after sundown to wait for deer.

"The most any of us has gotten in a night this year is three," the park worker said. "It's been a tough winter because it's been so cold."

Unlike me, my sharpshooting partner had no night-vision scope. Yet he could see clearly enough to shoot, watching an open, snow-lighted area that was also baited with corn.

• • •

Deer are killed in a variety of ways in the Twin Cities. Worst for deer -- and humans -- is when the animals collide with vehicles.

"Our deer-car kills have remained pretty stable since 2003, which was a high point for us and for a lot of areas in the state," Moriarty said. "We had 333 vehicle kills of deer in Ramsey County in 2007. It's been going neither up nor down much from that number in recent years."

In the 1980s, more than 3,000 deer were killed in the metro each year by vehicles.

Ramsey County and Three Rivers Park District, among others, conduct aerial surveys each year to determine deer populations in given areas.

They also determine the number of deer they want in those areas and attempt to reduce whitetail populations to that amount.

Ramsey County in recent years has relied solely on archery hunters to kill its quota of targeted deer. That's worked pretty well, Moriarty said, though he suspects the county might again need to contract with a business that kills deer for pay.

Deer that sharpshooters kill are field-dressed and given to a processor who prepares the venison for food shelves.

Which has presented a new challenge for Wendell.

As evidence has mounted in the past year that fragments of lead from hunters' bullets might present a health risk to some venison eaters, Wendell has had to change the deer-killing loads used in his long shotguns.

His previous loads minimized the possibility of ricocheting, while expanding upon impact. This allowed sharpshooters to make neck shots, which almost always dropped deer instantly.

But the loads also fanned lead fragments throughout the impact area.

Sharpshooters using these new loads prefer to target deer behind their shoulders, in the heart and lung area, rather than in the necks.

"Heart and lung shots kill deer quickly," Wendell said. "But a deer shot behind a shoulder is more likely to run before it drops. This causes more work for the shooters, to drag the deer back, and also -- we are beginning to believe -- gives the deer a chance to signal a warning that the baited site is dangerous.

"We think this might be true because fewer deer each year seem to be willing to show up at the baited sites, at least during hours they have traditionally been shot," Wendell said.

• • •

Wendell and I weren't freezing when we called it quits Tuesday night. But we were wet and cold enough.

That was the bad news -- perhaps especially for a passing motorist.

The good news?