MeatEater, Inc. is an outdoor lifestyle company founded by renowned writer and TV personality Steven Rinella. Host of the Netflix show MeatEater and The MeatEater Podcast, Rinella has gained wide popularity with hunters and non-hunters alike through his passion for outdoor adventure and wild foods, as well as his strong commitment to conservation. Founded with the belief that a deeper understanding of the natural world enriches all of our lives, MeatEater, Inc. brings together leading influencers in the outdoor space to create premium content experiences and unique apparel and equipment. MeatEater, Inc. is based in Bozeman, MT.
A couple weeks ago, my daughters and I made the drive to southern Minnesota for a weekend of shed hunting. Usually by the third week of February,I expect most of the antlers to be on the groundin my neck of the woods, so I figured out timing was about perfect.
The forecast called for cold and windy weather, but the snow cover seemed like it was going to be minimal at most. Unfortunately, a small snowstorm that must have sat over the property we were headed to rolled through the day before we arrived.
Three inches of fresh powder coated everything in the woods, and I knew as soon as we got there that we were probably going to pivot to mostlya winter scouting mission. Even on a private dairy farm, with a pretty good-sized herd of deer wintering on it, that snow and the fickle gods of shed hunting conspired against us.
We blanked, which is way more common than it should be when it comes to shed hunting. I hear about it a lot from people who are surprised they can’t find more antlers, but just like actual deer hunting success, the perception of shed hunting has been skewed hard by the folks who have access to really good ground. If you don’t, you’ll probably get a reality check.
Before I had kids, I shed hunted a lot. And when I say a lot, I mean a stupid amount.I also had a golden retriever at the time that I had trained to find antlers, so I had some extra horsepower with me. The winters when Lux and I put on real miles, we found antlers. But mostly, we didn’t. I figured it out one year, where I ended up with six sheds, and realized that I averaged one antler for every three weeks of hard effort.
Now, this was on properties in the Twin Cities with a stupid amount of competition, but that’s still a lot of squeezing for very little juice. Today, my results are much worse because there are so many more people out looking for antlers. It’s the way things are, and if you expect to stack up the sheds on public land in a place with any amount of people, I have bad news for you.
You’re going to have to put in the miles, and even then, you’re not likely to set any records. The only caveat there is that sometimes, at least here in the north country, where we might get consistent snow all season, is that when the spring melt does happen, you can have some really good days because the bulk of the antler drop will be suddenly available to everyone at the same time.
Without that snow cover, which is the reality in a hell of a lot of places deer live, you’re going to have to burn some serious boot leather. Even then, you might have something else working against you.
One of the reasons people like to shed hunt fields, aside from the easy walking, is because it’s so easy to see antlers in them. This is true in hayfields, alfalfa, cut beanfields, and many other types of destination ag fields. Walk a chopped or chisel-plowed cornfield, and then it’s often just not that easy, considering how many stalks look like antlers, and how few antlers there are compared to corn stalks.
Step into the woods, and it often gets far more difficult. This is especially true if you don’t find very many antlers. You have to train your eyes to pick up the subtle clue that what’s lying in the brush 10 yards away isn’t another stick, but a tine.
This is no different from sight fishing smallies,looking for morels during turkey season, or glassing up a bedded mule deer in the breaks—you need practice. Humans are pattern recognition machines, but not when the pattern isn’t something we encounter very often.
Going slow, glassing, and checking out everything that even remotely might be an antler is a way to train yourself to almost subconsciously recognize that you noticed a main beam while scanning the timber during hour four of a shed-less walk. Simply put, one of the reasons shed hunting seems so hard sometimes is becausewe are so good at not seeing them.
One thing that winter does well is preserve droppings and tracks. This often gives us a false read on recent deer activity. You want to shed huntbedding areas, food sources, and trails that deer actively used when they were most likely to drop. You don’t just want to hit the food source they filled up with droppings inDecember, but hasn’t had three calories left for them since Christmas.
We tend to default to obvious food sources, easy-to-walk trails, and open woods. We also tend to find deer sign in these places, which further solidifies our belief that there are antlers to be found where we want to shed hunt the most.
Again, if you do what most people do, it’ll be just like hunting public land deer: you’ll fail. Part of the reason that shed hunting is way harder than we expect is because we want it to be simple and easy. It can be if you have a good spot, but mostly you’re going to have to wade through some thorns and go where some people won’t. The good news is that if you do, you’re very likely to find the kind of fresh sign you’re really looking for, and with that fresh sign comes hope.
Sometimes that’s all a shed hunter can ask for.

