Before I was old enough to hunt, the first day of hunting season would find me standing at the picture window of my grandparents home, with the sound of burning logs crackling in the fireplace, and a warm cup of hot chocolate in my hands, waiting and watching for any sign of my frozen relatives returning from the hunt.
Hunting has always been a big event for my family. Even my grandmother hunted. Some say that out of all my family, she was the best shot when using open sights. Since my family hunted on the land surrounding my grandparents house you could always tell the dedication of the hunter by the number of visits they made to the warm house during the cold day. A really dedicated hunter only came in for lunch and he always came in later than normal lunch time. Anybody who came to the house for anything, at anytime besides lunch, risked much shame and ridicule. If we had made a list of hunters and house visits made, a typical day would look like this: Grandpa: one visit (maybe), Grandma: one visit, Dad: one visit, Uncle Tom: one visit, Brother Jon: nine visits, Brother Jim: fifteen visits.
In those days, I couldn't wait to hunt. I thought that great day would never arrive. I dreamed of huge, antlered, monster bucks being dropped in their tracks by my expert marksmanship. My family would never need to worry about putting meat on the table. In my minds eye I could see my family sitting around the kitchen table eating the venison. My dad would say, "We sure are lucky to have such a dedicated hunter to provide such an abundance of wild game for the table. And to think, he didn't even make one trip into the house." My brothers would squirm in envy and shame.
Now years later, I have become a hunter. The crackle of the fireplace is replaced by the crackling of my teeth violently colliding with one another. My hand is filled with the cold stock of a hunting rifle instead of the cup of hot chocolate. I have managed to shoot several deer early in my hunting career, which for several years left me with the mistaken impression that hunting was easy. Now it seems my beginner's luck has run cold along with the weather and I must depend upon my hunting skills to bag the quarry. In short, I have become, if not the deers' best friend, at least their greatest joke. Now don't get me wrong, I'm probably just as good a hunter as the next guy. Providing the next guy is half blind and doesn't know a rifle from a walking stick.I like hunting though. If it wasn't for the cold and the freezing rain and snow, or the early rising time, or the long hours of endless boredom broken only by the sheer excitement of a lump of slushy snow falling off a pine branch and plummeting down the back of you neck, or the risk of shame and ridicule for making a visit to the house...I'd probably even love it.
"So why keep hunting?" you ask. Well thanks for asking. Let me explain. To answer your question, let me share with you the common answer you will get from any hunter who has just returned from an unsuccessful hunt. Through purple, quivering lips he will say, "I just like being out in the woods and enjoying the wildlife." Now that is what he will say, but because of his chattering teeth, it will sound more like, "I chitch chit bing oush it aa shuds and chita chita ildchife." At this point it is best not to poke fun at him. Remember his patience has long since been totally used up and he is also armed.
Despite all the miseries of hunting, I still venture out into the frosty woods each year in hopes that a deer will be stupid enough to walk within my shooting range, which is approximately 10 feet. And then if he doesn't move too much and if the wind is right, and if he doesn't see, hear, or smell me, I might be able to shoot him. Of course then the fun really begins, but I won't go into detail for those of you who might be eating as you read this column.
Now I've tried to explain why I hunt, but maybe you still ask, "What is so great about shooting a deer?" the answer is simple...You can go in the house. Duh!
No comments:
Post a Comment