love hunting. I only do it once a year but those few days are an amazing time. Let me start by being clear about something: I love hunting but I do not love killing.That may seem antithetical, but you'll see what I mean.
Deer hunting season comes along in fall. I live in NW Montana and nowhere else have I seen the sheer density of deer running in the wild. Both whitetail and mule deer abound, although I am a about 5 or 6 miles from where the mule deer population tends to stop; they seem to prefer the mountains and the whitetails prefer the valleys. Uneducated people around me complain about how wolves have 'decimated the game population' but science shows that there has never been a larger population of deer since records have been kept. In the past I used to love small game hunting, especially ruffed grouse, but now I only hunt deer, which, due to the decimation of the predator population are grossly overpopulated. I have eaten venison all of my life, but nowhere have I tasted a better deer meat than here in Montana. They are not eating cedar or sage, these are wonderful and healthy grass-fed animals. So, I have chosen to hunt deer, one per year which is enough for me.
What is about hunting that I love if I don't like killing the animal? When I walk in the wilds I feel like I am a spectator but when I am hunting, I am a participant in nature. I am part of the circle, and I take that position very seriously. I try my very best to fulfill my role with respect and sincerity.
My first morning is great; I am usually excited, and being up before dawn to sit and move quietly in nature is always, always wonderful. To hear the squirrels and birds awaken and to have been in one spot long enough to blend in is in itself momentous. But that first day I seldom move like a real part of the system. It is usually about day three before it happens.
I walk from my house to the national forest land surrounding me. I have spent all spring and summer scouting areas I want to hunt so I choose which way I want to travel based on wind or time of day or maybe just a feeling. When I first step in to the woods, I step IN. I stop moving and stand still. I quiet myself, inside and out. Having spent several days hunting already, my senses are finally getting attuned. I stand more than move. There is a sense of when I can move, when my movements will not cause ripples of disturbance around me. When I know I can move, I take a step. Maybe two, never more than three. My senses are SO alive. A tiny Brown Creeper will easily catch my attention. A squirrel moving in a tree makes an incredible ruckus. My eyes can pick out the subtlest movements; I am in deep Wide Angle Vision. Many hunters think seeing a waving white tail in the distance is seeing a deer. If I ever see a deer running away from me I feel like an utter failure. I want to be able to see the animal, watch it move and eat and be relaxed. When I am fully attuned I can see an eye, the triangle shape of the tail, the color difference between the belly and side, and pick this out from a distance. I move when the wind is right, when something ineffable covers my movements and I know I can move to see this deer.
Is it the one? I have often watched the deer I have harvested since it was young, choosing it sometime in summer, watching where it likes to go and when. This is someone I know. How could I like to shoot this animal? But I would rather know the animal and take it with a heavy heart and real forethought than to eat a random cow with whom I have no connection.
I have never shot at a deer. One shot each season, the animal is almost never moving or aware of my presence. I do not shoot at it, I take very careful aim to take the animal as quickly and humanely as possible. One shot. The animal never moves far from where I hit it. I go to the animal, I sit with it as it breathes its last. I put my hands on him, I cry, I thank him for his life. I have taken this life, it is my fault, my choice. If I was a better hunter and tracker I would be able to find a sick or injured animal every year, to be a better part of the cycle of nature. But this animal, this one, has died because of me.
The magic is over and the work begins. The season of hunting is over; until next year I participate in whatever way I can, gathering plants, learning new ones, tracking, scouting, but it is not the same as the hunt. It is hard work, it always saddens me deeply, but I truly love being in it, being a hunter.
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