Chanterelle season coincides almost perfectly with deer hunting season. I put on my orange vest. Preston wears his orange vest. But I still always have to worry. I can remember only a few times that I have not been looking for chanterelles without hearing gunshots in the distance. And, even if I don't hear gunshots, I know from passing the big trucks that hunters are out there.
Obviously, I especially worry whenever Preston has run off. So far nothing has ever happened to anyone in my hunting party...knock on wood. Actually, the worst things that have happened have all involved yellow jacket nests....well, and lost Preston.
It is kind of nice to be involved with a man who not only loves hunting chanterelles, but is an ex-deer and duck hunter himself. Paul actually knows about guns. I hear a gunshot and it's the same as any other gunshot, but Paul can actually "name that tune." This, of course, means that he can also judge how far away the shot is and what type of gun it probably is. Small consolation to be sure, but it helps to know. I have always figured that if it sounded far enough away it was far enough away. If it sounded too close...get the hell out of there! I've always read about those accidental ricochets that killed a mother of two while she was washing dishes or whatever. I am just not a lover of guns at all.
But, I love hunting chanterelles so I have learned to deal with deer season as well as I can.