Reports help biologists determine extent of Epizootic Hemorrhagic Disease

  SPRINGFIELD, IL – Landowners, hunters, and concerned citizens are asked to be on the lookout for dead or dying deer in the coming weeks, and to report suspected cases of Epizootic Hemorrhagic Disease (EHD) to their local IDNR field office, or to the Wildlife Disease and Invasive Species Program (WDIS). IDNR is especially interested in sick or recently dead animals as staff may be able to collect tissue samples in order to confirm the presence of the EHD virus.

  EHD is a viral disease of white-tailed deer that can cause localized die-offs when conditions are favorable for transmission. Numerous cases of EHD were reported in Illinois during the drought conditions of 2012 (the worst year for EHD reports in Illinois on record) and 2013, but EHD was virtually absent in 2014. The virus is transmitted between deer by a midge that hatches from muddy areas along lakes/ponds and streams/rivers.

  Infected animals develop a high fever and dead animals often are found near water sources. Hunters may encounter deer killed by EHD when they go into the woods to hang tree stands and prepare for the upcoming deer hunting seasons. EHD outbreaks typically end when freezing weather kills the insects that spread the virus.

  Contact information for local IDNR biologists is available at the following website http://web.extension.illinois.edu/wildlife/professionals.cfm. Contact the WDIS Program at 815-369-2414 or by email at doug.dufford@illinois.gov. Please provide your name and contact information as well as the county, number of dead/sick deer, sex (if known), age (fawn or adult) and specific location of the deer (distance/direction from the nearest town or intersection of two roads).

  EHD affects a few deer somewhere in Illinois every year. However, cases are more numerous during hot and dry summer weather conditions, presumably because receding water levels create these muddy areas along the edges of area ponds and streams, providing breeding sites for the midges. Limited water resources also congregate deer at remaining watering sites, creating conditions favorable for disease transmission.

  While often fatal to deer, EHD is not hazardous to humans or pets. EHD has been shown to affect livestock, so producers are encouraged to be vigilant as well.

  What about the summer/fall of 2015? Abundant spring and early summer rainfall would suggest that EHD would not be a problem. However, EHD has been confirmed in captive deer herds in west central Illinois and rumors suggest that suspected EHD cases may have been found in wild deer as well.

  For information about hunting, fishing, camping or hiking in Illinois visit them on the web at http://www.dnr.illinois.gov.

  The cold trickle of water down my back brought a shiver as I pulled my collar tighter. The light rain had turned to a mist, but the pines and hardwood leaves above us had enough rain accumulated to make it seem like it was still raining.

  Grandpa and I were turkey hunting off Pigeon Creek road east of Big Cedar in Southeastern Oklahoma. The Ouachita Mountains had recently opened for turkey season and we had taken several nice birds from this area. The large clear cuts had given the hens a great nesting area and we had called several birds, but had not connected with one of them yet.

  The rolling thunder storm this morning had delayed our start as we sit in the roll-up camper drinking coffee and eating Little Debbie Pecan Rolls for breakfast.

  Yesterday, we had chased a big gobbler up the mountain to the south of us, crossing a clear cut that was in its 3rd year of growth which means it was nearing the last of its life as far as hunting it went. It would soon be so thick, you could not see a turkey if he was 15 feet from you. I had seen the bird through some brush, but I had been taught gun safety by a man who allowed no exceptions to his rules. Not only did he forbid such a shot from a safety reason, but the animal deserved better and I stood and watched that bird walk off, grandpa grinning as he saw me trembling from the desire to shoot.

  When the bird was gone, he patted me on the shoulder and said, “We’ll get another chance son.”

  We had rushed to get ahead of this bird and we would have made it too except we ran up on a big cottonmouth that lay right in the path we were taking. The big snake was coiled to strike and Grandpa picked up a big rock and crushed the snake. Grandpa doesn’t kill snakes for fun, but I knew he did not want either of us to run into that big mean snake in the dark later.

  The gobbler gobbled at the sound of the rock smashing the snake, but he wasn’t letting any grass grow under his feet as he headed back to where he had roosted the past two mornings in a row.

  It was good daylight as grandpa opened the door of the camper and it was a mist. He said, “I think this storm will clear early this morning. I want to be above that clear cut when it stops raining.

  So we had put on our camo, including the East German camo overcoats he had bought us at the Army Surplus Store in Fort Smith, Arkansas. They had a bit too much yellow in them except they matched those clear cuts good! And, they repelled water great.

  That is how I ended up above that clear cut as the rain stopped and the sun suddenly broke out of the clouds. Grandpa smiled and said, “Right on time.”

  We found the remnants of a road and followed it through the clear cut until we were actually above the area we had lost the gobbler yesterday. As we studied it, the gobbler gobbled straight above, less than 200 yards away. With a nod, grandpa pointed across this big ravine and told me to set up to where I could shoot uphill because that gobbler would come down one side or the other.

  I was 14 years old and as quick as a cat I was across that ravine and found a small group of cedars with a few scrub hickories that I could stand in the middle of comfortably. The soft yellowish leaves of the Hickory let my overcoat blend in well.

  The soft purr of that Lynch box call in grandpa’s hand coaxed a double gobble from up the hill and I grinned. Grandpa was gonna sweet talk that old bird right into our laps. A few yelps drew two more gobbles and I knew that old bird wasn’t expecting anyone to be damn fool enough to be out in that storm and no one had called to him this close to where he roosted. He obviously did not know the fools he was dealing with because we were about to collect him.

  The turkey gobbled again and I guessed him a hundred yards and closing when I looked to my left and there stood a big gobbler, sneaking in to steal the lady-love from the fellow up above us. Now, I wanted that big bird up the hill, but this fellow’s beard was dragging the ground and he wasn’t short-legged. The ten gauge settled solidly against my shoulder and roared almost in the same instant. Grandpa said he could have hurdled the truck with just his butt muscles cause he wasn’t expecting me to shoot! I heard him call to me.

  “Davey, what did you get?”

  I said, “A big Tom turkey grandpa.”

  I heard him crossing the ravine and he saw the big Eastern turkey and let out a whistle.

  “Where did he come from?”

  Pointing on past us, I said, “From that direction.”

  Kneeling beside him, Grandpa said, “Son, this turkey is tall, but he’s poor.” He spread out his wingtips and they were worn down from strutting.

  “Is he sick?” I asked.

  Grandpa smoothed the wing feathers as he said, “Love sick. Boys and turkeys often forget to eat when girls are involved.” He pulled a small tape measure from his pocket and measured the beard. It was 11 ½ inches long. “That’s the longest beard we’ve gotten yet.”

  I was pretty darn proud of that turkey. Picking the turkey up, I put him over my shoulder. The big 10 gauge with the 36 inch barrel was on one side and the turkey over the other. Grandpa offered to carry one or the other, but I told him I could manage.

  That gobbler weighed close to 50 lbs. when we finally got back to the road to camp, but the scales were broke because they said he only weighed 18 lbs.

  We took him and checked him in at Big Cedar and their scales matched ours. I told that guy to let it hang there a while, it would get heavier.

  Driving back to camp, Grandpa said, “That old boy up there has more luck than any turkey I ever seen.”

  When we got out of the truck, we heard that big gobbler gobble in the valley below camp and grandpa shook his head. We cleaned the turkey I killed and put him on ice. I could see grandpa was already planning our next hunt for that old boy. We never did get him that season, but neither did anyone else.

  When I was 12 I read The Old Man and the Boy, by Robert Ruark and I felt those stories as though I lived them. Grandpa taught me not only to love the hunt, but to love and remember the details. The kill in a hunt is a very necessary part of it, but it is only a part. Non-hunters have a hard time understanding that. Those of us who hunt understand it without anything else being spoken.