Transportation Tags for Border Crossings With Deer?

When a member of our hunting party shot a Saskatchewan whitetail on the last day of the hunt, he asked if I wanted it. He’d flown to the hunt from Minnesota and I’d driven my pickup from home. Because of his flight arrangements, he didn’t have time to wait for the deer to be processed. It had been a poor hunt because of unseasonably warm weather. His was the only buck taken. I loved those Saskatchewan hunts. In fact, I took my biggest whitetail there a few years prior.

I gladly accepted the buck. We filled out the necessary paperwork so I could legally bring it into the states. When I drove to the U.S. customs office at the border, I recognized the agent. We were on a first-name basis. It was a small crossing with little traffic. I’d crossed there many times.

“Whatcha got today,” the agent asked.

“A whitetail buck.”

“You know the drill,” he said. “C’mon in and fill out the forms.”

I parked and walked in with my paperwork. “By the way,” I said. “I didn’t kill this deer. My buddy did. Does that make a difference?”

“Do you have a Transportation Tag?”

I shook my head. I’d never heard of one. Evidently, it’s necessary if you’re transporting someone else’s animal.

“I can’t let you in the U.S. without that tag,” he said. “Sorry.” Then he read my mind. “You have to go back into Canada and get one from a wildlife officer. As you know, it’s Sunday and government offices are closed. More bad news; it’s also Canada’s Grey Cup day [Canada’s Super Bowl]. You’re going to have to overnight and get that tag in the morning. You might ask the Canadian Customs guys where the closest wildlife office is.”

I turned around and the Canadian guy frowned. He mentioned a couple towns, but they were a long way away. I started driving north. I was frustrated. I was supposed to get home late that afternoon and prepare for a deer hunt in Kansas in the morning. I had an idea. Maybe I could find a senior citizen center or a place where I could donate the buck. Every little town was deserted. No doubt folks were watching football.

At the next large town, I pulled into a gas station. Several guys were inside watching the game. I went in and asked if anyone knew where a game warden lived.

“Sure do,” one guy said. “Ol’ Arnie lives up the street. He hates football. I’ll call and see if he’s home.”

Arnie was home and he said I could come over and he’d issue the tag. He was washing his truck when I pulled into the driveway. He was an affable guy and invited me into his house where he proudly showed me his trophy mounts. He was a serious hunter. After he gave me the tag, he handed me a business card. “This is just in case you have any trouble.”

I couldn’t imagine having any trouble, but I’d soon find out I was wrong. I drove back across a different border crossing because it was closer. All went smoothly and I got home in time to get ready for the Kansas hunt.

A week later I received a call from the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service agent in my hometown. He told me we had to visit. I had no idea what we needed to discuss and asked him what our meeting was about.

“You transported a deer into the U.S. from Canada. We need to talk about it.”

I grabbed Arnie’s card and met with the agent.

“You tried to bring a deer into the U.S. without a Transportation Tag. Then, several hours later you crossed back in at a different border crossing with a tag. It was their Super Bowl Sunday. How did you manage to do that? All the government offices were closed.”

I explained the situation and handed him Arnie’s card, suggesting he call. He did, and Arnie supported my story.

Good Ol’ Arnie. He may have hated football, but, lucky for me, he loved hunting. Every now and then good stuff happens.

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