For some reason, two words strike despair in hunters’ emotions more than “crossbows” and “baiting.”

    Those words: “high fences.”

    This past week I had the opportunity to look at one of the finest in the nation and from what I saw from the “Dark Side” wasn’t nearly as ominous as I would have believed without the experience.

    Whitehouse Whitetails (www.whitehousewhitetails.com), in Ravenna, Mich., (just north of Grand Rapids) has solicited the National Taxidermists Association for a list of avid hunters who had some disability who might enjoy the opportunity to shoot a “deer of a lifetime.”

    Connie’s name was entered and she was chosen. All we had to do was get there. I can’t say I didn’t have some reservations, but Connie was ecstatic. I bought the tickets.

    After a flight to Grand Rapids, Earl Carroll, son of owner Pete Carroll and his wife Laura, met us at the airport. Our 30-minute drive to the facility quickly turned into a lifelong friendship and an education I’d never have suspected. We crested the knoll before the farm came into view and the sound of my bottom jaw hitting the dash must have been deafening.

    The ultra modern spacious expanse of farm isn’t designed for hunting but rather as a deer breeding facility for those who only specialize in the hunt portion. Hunting here just allows for the ancillary benefit of controlling his burgeoning herd of animals. The farm was surrounded by a double 10-foot high welded wire fence with a double locked gate that opened into a quarter-mile lane. The fir-lined lane led to a huge columned home. The Carrolls had set up the entire lower level as a “bunkhouse” with luxury suites for visiting hunters. This country boy was overwhelmed and after we’d settled in, Earl came to take us out to the office complex and meet his family who handled all the operations.

    Walking out the door, we were greeted by about 20 young fawns cavorting in about an acre compound. We learned these are listed as the “bottle fed” group who’d either been ill or abandoned by their mothers. This pen was a non-confrontational area for the fawns to be nourished and treated and they were like puppies in a pen.

    In the office we met the Carrolls, their niece Amanda, and their son-in-law, John Botts, the foreman. I quickly learned of voluminous records keeping and impeccable documentation to make all the bureaucrats in state and federal governments happy.

    After a complete tour of the handling facility, we visited the huge draped “breeding pens” where herds of does were coupled with a single buck in order to certify the DNA of resultant fawns. There had to be a half-dozen or more of these. Then there were the much larger pens holding the yearlings and the two-year olds. I could gush for pages on all I saw and learned, but sadly I don’t have that much space here.

    The two-year olds would take the breath away of even the most seasoned hunter. Seeing 60 or so 175-class animals made it seem more like a caribou migration than a deer pen. You’ll just have to watch the video clip on the website. Nothing I could ever say will match the visual you’ll find there. Mr. Carroll probably said the most prophetic thing I’ve ever heard about hunting in the high fence. He said, “I don’t have any illusions about this. High fence hunting certainly isn’t for everyone, but for those people who dearly love to hunt but are no longer able to handle the environment or the climate free ranging animals require, this is a Godsend. Nobody will ever confuse our animals with wild animals, but the experience for both the hunter and for us is priceless.”

    I had been told that a 175-class deer would be released along with several other larger animals into about a 40-acre heavily wooded compound. Connie would be driven to the stand and only have to climb the stairs to a comfortable perch and wait for the deer to come by. I was having all I could do to keep Connie off the ceiling, but I was concerned in the possibility of her shooting one of the “other” bucks instead.

    Those of you who know Connie, know she’s never met a stranger and the Carrolls were a loving family who immediately embraced both of us as if we were part of their group. The next morning, Mr. Carroll knocked on the door of the suite. He hugged Connie and said, “Honey, I want you to go out there in that stand and shoot the biggest deer you see walk by.”

    As hard as it may be for you to imagine, I was at a loss for words. I knew several of these animals were $15,000 to $20,000 deer and to have someone just “give” you one is not something most of us would ever experience in a lifetime.

    I’d bought Connie a customized Browning A-Bolt rifle in .243-caliber for this hunt. She was shooting 87-grain hand-loaded ammo. We settled into the cozy box blind in a pouring rain that would stay in the area our entire visit. After sitting there for nearly an hour, I caught movement and we readied for a possible shot.

    As luck would have it, it was the “smaller buck” and with great reluctance (and my pleading), Connie passed it. After about an hour, Earl came back and said the deer were hanging in the heavier trees because of the rain and suggested we get down and ride up into the trees. We did and after only a few minutes, we saw the bachelor group moving warily around us. I saw the bull of the woods and directed Connie toward him, and though I was sure she’d missed, the huge animal crumpled after a dash of about 60 yards.

    To give you some idea, this two-year-old deer weighed in at 325 pounds and had a rack that scored 263 3/8 Safari Club International. (No, that’s not a mathematical error.) It has 26 scoreable points. It was truly a hunt of a lifetime for both Connie and me and we’ll never be able to repay the gratitude we feel for the entire Carroll family for allowing us into their homes and into their lives.