Should Missouri Move Rifle Season Later in the Year?

Sunday Spotlight

Should Missouri consider moving rifle season later in the year? Maybe December. Maybe even January. I've been thinking about it lately, and I'm curious what other Missouri hunters think.

Halloween night, while we were out trick-or-treating, the temperature was sitting around 72 degrees. We're roughly two weeks away from the opening of firearms deer season, and I had the air conditioning running when we got home. I couldn't help but think about my dad and what he'd have to say about that. The dad I remember would have been freaking out most likely. I'm almost certain the first thing out of his mouth would have been something about the deer not moving in that kind of heat. Dad always believed deer moved when it got cold. Every year, he hoped for snow during rifle season. A couple of times, he got his wish.

My dad loved deer camp. He'd been making the trip to public hunting land near Van Buren for somewhere between 20 and 30 years. It was roughly a two-and-a-half-hour drive, pulling a trailer full of camping gear, and he liked to leave before the sun came up. The camp itself was something special. There were probably 20 to 30 regulars spread across four to six smaller camps, all within roughly half an acre. Different groups had their own sleeping arrangements, but everybody was close enough that the whole place felt like one big camp. Most of the same people came back every year, sometimes bringing a guest or two. Dad originally hunted with a group of about ten guys who shared a huge military-style tent with bunk beds. After about ten years, he bought his own equipment and set up his own camp. His new spot was approximately 34 feet due north of the old one. That's how close everybody stayed.

He eventually had an enormous Army-style tent he bought at Cabela's, complete with an attached section that served as a kitchen. There was a propane stove and oven, along with a wood-burning stove to heat the tent. He had everything he needed. I only went along a couple of times to help set up camp, usually staying two or three days. Dad would often stay for more than a week, sometimes close to two. Those two weeks were something a lot of those guys looked forward to all year.

Saturday was chili day. Everybody made their own version, and that evening people would wander from tent to tent and campfire to campfire, sampling everybody's chili. There was always something cooking, somebody telling a story and somebody else probably arguing about something. Those old-timers could put away some beer, too. I remember seeing 16 thirty-packs on one of the trailers once. To be fair, they were staying for two weeks. 

I remember the mornings just as well. Dad was always the first one up. He'd get the wood stove going, start breakfast and make coffee in an old-fashioned percolator sitting right on top of the                                                                              stove. We'd have a simple breakfast, sometimes eggs and biscuits and gravy, drink our coffee and get ready to head into the woods.

That first step outside the tent was brutal. You'd go from a warm sleeping bag and a tent sitting around 76 degrees to a world that might be 24 degrees with snow falling. And the worst part was knowing that the next chance to get warm was probably several hours away. We had enough clothes to outfit an army unit. Gloves, face masks, heavy coats and extra pants. Dad taught me to dress in layers because sitting in a tree stand for hours in that kind of cold could be miserable if you didn’t prepare properly.

The stove is also something I remember vividly. I can still remember waking up in the middle of the night and realizing it had gone out. You'd lie there on your cot, buried in your sleeping bag, knowing you needed to get up and put more wood in it. You'd spend a few minutes hoping the problem would somehow resolve itself. It never did. But once that stove was going again, there wasn't much better than coming back inside after being out in the snow.

Dad was an old-school hunter. He wasn't particularly interested in trail cameras, studying elaborate deer patterns or using all the technology hunters have available today. His approach was pretty simple. Get to the stand well before daylight, get settled in, sit as still as possible and wait. Then keep waiting.

He had two qualities that made him an incredible hunter. Patience and perseverance.

I remember him going at least ten consecutive years without getting a deer at that camp. Ten years. For a man like my dad, a hunting trip without bringing home a deer was practically a personal tragedy. He'd come back to camp empty-handed, and you'd think his entire life had been ruined. Then he'd get up the next morning and do it all over again. Maybe he'd move his stand to another spot, but he'd keep going. He didn't come back to camp for lunch, either. Some days he'd stay in that tree stand from the time the sun came up until it went down. All by himself, with nothing but his thoughts and whatever happened to wander through the woods. His patience eventually paid off. He killed quite a few deer during those last few years.

I was a pretty terrible hunting companion, if we're being honest. I started going with him when I was three or four years old, and I did kill some deer over the years. But by the time I was around 14, I'd already developed an unspoken policy that only a really big buck was worth the trouble. I'd seen enough deer killed at camp that bringing home another one just wasn't all that exciting to me. I even shooed a few does away from underneath my tree stand too. I certainly wouldn't have admitted that to Dad while he was alive. I wasn't about to bring that kind of shame upon the family name.

He taught me a lot more than how to hunt. I learned to track deer, sharpen a Buck knife and understand how to take apart, clean and reassemble a firearm. I remember spending hours in the living room sharpening knives with him. I was probably eight years old when I had memorized how to put a Rossi .357 Magnum back together. It looked just like the revolver in Dirty Harry.

Those are things I still remember today. I haven't hunted in years, and Dad has been gone for some time now, but I can still picture that camp and those mornings.

Memories are funny like that too. I couldn't tell you the name of my fourth-grade teacher today. But if you dropped me off at that old hunting property tomorrow morning at 5 a.m., I'm fairly confident I could find the tree Dad used for his stand during those last several years.

You'd leave camp, take a left onto the dirt road and travel about a mile before reaching a fork. Keep left. Eventually, you'd come to a cluster of trees, then a little trail on the left that was easy to miss if you weren't paying attention. Follow that trail, with slopes on both sides, until you reached the spot sitting up on the peak. Look down in just the right place, and there was Dad's tree. I haven't been there in years and I know I could probably still find it in the dark.

So here we are in 2026, approaching another Missouri firearms season. I'm sitting in an air-conditioned house after a 72-degree Halloween, thinking about all those layers of clothing and that wood-burning stove. If we were at camp this weekend, I suspect we'd be looking for a fan instead of splitting firewood. Maybe I'm remembering things through the eyes of a kid. Maybe the weather was always unpredictable and I simply remember the coldest hunts. I don't know. But I do wonder whether the conditions hunters experience during rifle season have changed enough to warrant a conversation about when we hold it.

I've seen hunters discussing warm weather on social media lately. Some swear that cold temperatures get deer moving and that warm weather makes daytime hunting less productive. Others think people are making too much of it. The deer are moving, they say. Get out of the house, get into the woods and quit complaining. Maybe both groups have a point. I'm certainly not qualified to settle the argument. My dad always told me cold weather was essential, but that's what he believed based on his own years in the woods. I'd like to hear what hunters with decades of experience have observed. 

Does the temperature really make that much difference in deer movement? Are you seeing fewer deer during daylight hours when it's unusually warm? Have you changed the way you hunt because of the weather? Or are you still seeing plenty of activity regardless of what the thermometer says?

And then there's the question of season dates.

Would moving Missouri's November firearms season later in the year make sense? Would December be a better fit? What about January? I don't know what all the biological and wildlife-management considerations would be. The timing of the rut, deer populations and other factors deserve consideration before anybody starts moving dates around. I'm not pretending there's an easy answer.

Maybe Missouri hunters are perfectly happy with the current schedule. Maybe some would rather hunt in a hoodie than spend the morning bundled up in five layers. Others might tell me that cold weather makes all the difference.

I'm genuinely interested in hearing from both sides.

I'd especially like to hear from the old-timers who have been hunting the same Missouri woods for 30, 40 or 50 years. What do you remember about deer season when you first started? Have the conditions changed at all? Does the weather affect your success, or is this simply part of hunting? I don't have a stake in the argument. I haven't hunted in years, and I'm certainly not going to pretend to be an expert. I just have a lot of memories of deer camp with my dad, and I find myself wondering what he'd say about hunting in a November that feels more like September.

So, Missouri hunters, pull up a chair.

Should Missouri move rifle season later in the year? Does cold weather really make a difference in deer movement, or are some of us getting a little too worked up about the thermometer?

I'd like to hear what you're seeing out there. The old-timers, the younger hunters, the trophy hunters and the folks who just enjoy spending time in the woods. 

Everybody has a seat at this campfire.

By Justin Stewart Burns

Publisher, The Missouri Stream