Co-op Student's Deer-Hunting Tale Wins Statewide Writing Awards

Story by Priscilla Knight

His home in Haymarket is powered by Northern Virginia Electric Cooperative, but Victor Harangozo receives a different kind of energy away from home in the great outdoors. Hunting and fishing fuel his thoughts and imagination — his very being.

Harangozo has channeled his wilderness experiences into writings about the sports he loves. One of his deer-hunting stories, “Mr. Crabs,” won two awards last year: the 2013-2014 Virginia Outdoor Writers Association (VOWA) Award and the Cooperative Living Collegiate Undergraduate Writing Award. Two sets of judges selected the story from dozens of entries written by students at Virginia colleges and universities. Harangozo received both awards at the VOWA annual meeting in Charlottesville.

Victor Harangozo and Virginia Secretary of Natural Resources Molly Ward at the Virginia Outdoor Writers Association annual meeting in Charlottesville.

A Virginia Polytechnic Institute (Virginia Tech) sophomore studying engineering, Harangozo says he wants to combine his passion for sports with writing: “I’ve grown up hunting and fishing since I could hold a bow and rod,” explains the 19-year-old. “Spending so much of my time alone in the wilderness is what has made me who I am today.” Harangozo says he loves the quiet, the wildlife, and the personal challenge outdoor sports provide.

This past summer, Harangozo and his 20-year-old brother, Ivan, ventured through 19 states and parts of Canada on a three-week fishing expedition. Ivan, also a “Hokie” engineering student, shares his brother’s passion for outdoor sports. 

Unlike some outdoorsmen, the brothers didn’t learn their skills from their father, Dr. Ivan Harangozo, Sr. The anesthesiologist of Hungarian descent grew up in The Bronx in New York City — far from the wilderness. Mrs. Harangozo, Cornelia, grew up in Oakton, Va., a Washington, D.C., suburb. She and the family’s two daughters love the outdoors, too, but on horseback; their sport is dressage riding. Dr. Harangozo postulates that the couple’s sons may be following in the footsteps of their maternal great grandfather. He fled Hungary during World War II and landed a job as groundskeeper of the sprawling Biltmore estate in Asheville, N.C. 

Victor Harangozo credits the nuns at Linton Hall School in Bristow, Va., for teaching him to write. He also credits college applications that required him to write about himself. “I also had to write about myself in English class at Tech,” Harangozo explains. “I wrote about what I like — hunting and fishing.” 

‘Mr. Crabs’

In “Mr. Crabs,” Harangozo describes vividly how he shakes off sleep at 4:30 a.m. on a bitterly cold day, shivers as he pulls on frosty camouflage clothes he aired outdoors to expunge human odor, laces his boots, gathers his bow and arrows, and begins his trek into the frozen woods.

 “Now to most people, there is just cold. But to someone who spends close to 90 percent of his life outdoors, I have felt, or not felt, the reality of it,” Harangozo writes.

From a deer stand high in a tree, Harangozo describes the sunrise and the stirring of birds, squirrels — and deer: “Brown bodies and white tails flicker through the trees; does and spikes, button buck and basket racks.” But what Harangozo is looking for is a mature male deer, a buck he calls Mr. Crabs because of antler tines that resemble crab claws. The writer’s tale follows the pursuit.

The Hunter Story-Teller

Harangozo wants to blend hunting and fishing with writing after he graduates. He wants to write for sports magazines and “travel the world sharing my stories with those who don’t have the same opportunities.” He says, “I would like to reach out to those who know nothing of the sport and show them the beauty of it all: the sights, the smells.”

Harangozo wants to blend hunting and fishing with writing.

Harangozo joins generations of hunter storytellers — including cavemen who carved hunting scenes in stone. Providing food for one’s family may be a primordial instinct, but works laden with symbolism by great writers tell of wilderness warriors in search of life’s meaning. Such works include Green Hills of Africa by Ernest Hemingway; “The Bear” in Go Down, Moses by William Faulkner, and The Old Man and the Boy by Robert Rurark. 

In The Old Man and the Boy, Rurark describes the adventures of a grandfather and his grandson in the wild. The grandfather instills life lessons and ethics in the youngster at every opportunity. The old man, through Rurark, could have been speaking to Harangozo when he says: “If they keep exposing you to education, you might even realize some day that man becomes immortal only in what he writes on paper, or hacks into rock, or slabbers onto a canvas, or pulls out of a piano.”

For Harangozo, being exposed to education at Linton Hall and Virginia Tech, and writing about hunting may put him on his own trail to immortality.

References: Rinella, Steven, “8 Books Every Hunter Should Read,” Petersen’s Hunting, www.petersenshunting.com  Google Books, The Old Man and the Boy, books.google.com

Mr. Crabs

by Victor Harangozo

The perfect morning. Zero moonlight, twinkling stars covering the sky and a chill that would make Jack Frost bite his lip. Alarm banging away at half past 4, I slide out from under the covers. Cam slung over the holly, hair still damp from a scent-free shower, I crunch through the frozen grass in my underwear and try to hold my breath at the slap of the air. Pop-tart in mouth, boots tied and bow in hand, the golf cart starts to rumble and we head for ground zero.

Now to most people there is just cold. But to someone who spends close to ninety percent of his life outdoors, I have felt, or not felt … the reality of it. Driving down the road on Ol’ Reliable is the second coldest I’ve ever been in my life. From then on, I believed that being able to feel one’s face is a luxury.

4:50, all is well. There is no sound except that of my boots crossing into the wood line. I slide in and out of the gurgling brook and pause on the other side. Here begins the fun part. I pull the rag and string out of my pocket, soak it in Golden Estrus and start the scent drag to my stand. Hopefully later on, this line will be crisscrossed and smelled on by numerous other brown-bodied animals.

5:00 sharp, perfection. It’s been one of those days where everything clicks; no hiccups or mistakes. I always aim to be in the stand an hour before first light so as not to disturb the natural flow of the deer’s patterns. This is the time that is the most difficult of every hunt. Sitting for an hour in the dark running on four hours of sleep and a belly full of pop tart is a test that determines success or failure. But this morning, this morning was different.

6:00, God begins to paint the sky and the birds and squirrels decide it’s time to come ruin my nerves. I think of squirrels as deer’s little helpers. They sound exactly like a deer sifting through the leaves, and they constantly spot me. After an hour or so of constantly shifting my sight to see another darn squirrel tearing through the leaves, I am about as far off the end of my seat enraged as possible.

Victor and the trophy mount of Mr. Crabs. Victor dubbed the animal Mr. Crabs because of the pincer-like shape of its antlers' outer tines.

After another five minutes of this pandemonium I have no option but to end it. I nock an arrow and my worries are soon over. The squirrel is no longer a problem.

7:30, go time. Brown bodies and white tails flicker through the trees; does and spikes, button bucks and basket racks. None of these are shooters. What I’m looking for is called a wall-hanger. Hunting is pretty realistic. There may be an eerie quiet before the storm, but not always. Every situation can happen; it’s not all Hollywood. In this case, Mr. Crabs made it easier on me.

Movement, coupled with sound, is what wakes me from my open-eyed and dreary slumber. Senses are reborn and the red begins to flow. Upon recognition of species, the red rushes to my ears and throat with a throbbing sensation. Well, right after this pack slid past me unknowingly, there he was.

7:50, prime time. The sun is beaming through the trees and casting shadows all around. Chocolate sways left to right in the distance. A flicker of white and my heart is in my throat. The hog that evaded me last time is back. The moment I see maturity ready to hit the dinner table, I stand up, bow in hand, ready for as little movement as possible. A deer’s senses are very acute, so even if the deer is still a hundred yards off, I prepare for him like he’s at five. Lightly stepping along, nose in the leaves, he makes a beeline for my scent-drag trail. Eighty yards, then 70, then right when he enters the range of my Mathews, he knows something is up.

Crown raised to the sky, he is untangling the mess of scents he detects — acorns, squirrels, doe in estrus and worst of all, human. When a deer knows something is amiss he will stomp his hoof and flicker his tail. Well there it went, the thump of the hoof and the sway of the tail. After what seems like an eternity, sitting 50 yards apart, I can thank that holly bush for keeping my camo scent-free for the last week it had been sitting outside.

Nose to the earth once again, he gets inside of 20 yards. Head behind a tree so his eyes are hidden from view, I stretch my string. Out he comes from behind the oak at a grand total of 15 yards; almost too close for comfort. He was still shielded under a small sapling that disrupted my shooting lane. When a deer is this close, your mind is as focused as it can possibly be; time slows down, you can hear your heart in the back of your mouth, it is just the two of you. Bow still drawn, I can start to feel the strain in my back. Out he steps from under the tree, but a problem presents itself.

He is facing head-on. A head shot being unethical, I am left with only one option, which is still very risky; chest. All of a sudden, I remember the damn squirrel. I look down at my arrowhead and realize that I had used the wrong arrow. I had shot my only broadhead before. I have a field point on now, which has no blades. To this day, I have only God to thank for this luck. An entry wound with this arrow would leave a hole practically unnoticeable on a mount.

With a quick prayer and a final look, I squeeze the trigger. My arrow flies in a timeless line and hits, true to its mark.

The red flows. It is done.

Why Hunt?

Mankind has hunted wildlife for millennia for the meat and furs needed for winter survival. In 1607, English settlers who established Jamestowne near present-day Williamsburg soon realized they had better leave the security of their fort to hunt or else starve. Despite their efforts, many starved.

At the time, deer roamed throughout the colony. But just as the number of Virginians has grown to over 8 million today, the deer population has exploded. Consequently, the Virginia Department of Game and Inland Fisheries is trying to control the deer herd, which VDGIF estimates to be between 850,000 and 1 million.

VDGIF says deer overpopulation hurts the herd, Virginia’s ecosystem, and vehicle occupants. Many deer become ill or starve while trying to find enough food. The ecosystem suffers as white-tailed deer eat agricultural and ornamental plants; scrounging for food slows forest regeneration and hurts ground-dwelling birds. And, as most drivers know, deer cause vehicle collisions, especially during the fall mating season when bucks chase female deer (does) across roads and highways.

VDGIF says, “It is truer of deer than any other wildlife species that all Virginians have a stake in deer management.”

To address overpopulation, VDGIF says, “Hunting is the most effective and efficient method available for managing deer populations.” The department’s hunting programs include issuing urban and suburban archery kill permits. But hunting in the Commonwealth’s highly populated regions requires extra safety precautions. And, to complicate matters, hunters have limited access to properties where hunting is allowed. VDGIF needs cooperation from property owners, such as from a Fairfax County landowner who allowed Virginia’s game wardens to thin the herd on his five acres. For more information about deer management, go to www.dgif.virginia.gov/wildlife/deer/deermanagementprogram.asp.

 — Priscilla Knight