To many of us hunting is not just a hobby. It consumes our thoughts and spills out in most of our conversations. Strangers can feel at home talking with one another. We can pick each other out of a room filled with people. We’re usually the ones simply dressed, sometimes extremely underdressed, quietly looking over the room trying to find another person to swap stories with. It’s something that we daydream about laying in bed or driving down the road. It’s in our blood. Be it something that we have picked up on our own or something that has been passed down from generations from fathers to sons, mothers to daughters. We breath it in, hold it, and slowly exhale it attempting to hold it in us as to trying to keep the feeling there forever.
It’s the crisp morning air hanging heavy with it the smell of the fallen leaves, or the unmistakable smell of fresh cut pine boughs. We are true sportsmen. We rise well before the sun. Prepare for the time where we can spend countless hours standing in a tree waiting for that moment where our hearts start to race and the moment of truth stands before us. The pendulum of excitement after the shot, to the heavy heart after a miss. We are hunters. Who else envies time spent in the woods in freezing temperatures. When your fingers are so cold you lost feeling in them some time before but you just can’t bring yourself to abandon your perch. When the core of your body can’t stop from quivering. When the only thing that could possibly keep you there is the repetitive thought that the next moment might just be the one you’re looking for. We put up with stifling hot, humid weather. We wear dark clothes with gloves and facemasks. We wash everything before every trip only to have it soaked with perspiration well before we arrive at our destination. We are out there when the bugs are so thick; it’s hard to accomplish anything let alone sitting still.
While many are enjoying a pool side drink, or air conditioned fitness rooms, we make ready our own little slice of heaven with trails, watering holes, food plots, tree stands. Hours are spent putting these things together; our own type of conditioning in sorts. We spend way more than we should on clothes, bows, guns, and every other gadget that we feel gives us a leg up on the quarry we pursue relentlessly.
I would imagine our ancestors are looking down on us shaking their heads as we head off into the woods. Who knew hunting would take the twists and turns it did to arrive at such a place? We have come a long way from the red plaid button up shirts. Knee high laced felt boots hanging over a stove in an old run down shack. One that was in most cases, was an old logging camp of some sort. Holding remnants of all its predecessors. One’s who hunt as a group the way it was done before them. One’s who wrote down their day’s activities and achievements. One’s who carried long rifles or primitive bows and smelled of a musty cabin and pipe smoked tobacco. It is that group of people that turned this from a way of living into a sport. We have now evolved into a new type of hunter. We have news papers, magazines, television channels, and not to mention thousands of web sites dedicated to the sport. All serve as places to gather information and talk as friends even though most of us have never met. We don’t look at each other as competition but as one team; a team of people with the same goal in mind. It’s not necessarily the kill we look for, as most non hunters think. It’s the entire hunt.
Why would we put so much thought into relieving an animal from taking another breath? Especially one who never really been a threat to man or most other breathing creatures. Many of us have probably let many animals walk just because they didn’t want the hunt to be over quite yet. It never was or will be about the outcome of the hunt. Meat on the table, and a set of proudly displayed antlers are a true blessing. But many hunters come home with a clean knife and a smile on their face. How can this be, people ask? Ask a long distance runner what he feels in the middle of a marathon. Then ask him seconds after finishing. Many of us have never felt what’s referred to as a runners’ high. The ones who have know exactly what I’m talking about. In all sports there is a pinnacle of excitement, accomplishment, gratitude that we all strive for. It’s what keeps us coming back for more. It’s what drives us through our marathon. Some of us have learned more than others that the conditioning for that moment, starts to become just as gratifying as when that pinnacle has been reached. And so the cycle starts again, the day dreams, the anticipation for the coming year, and the yearning for that feeling, that feeling of accomplishment. That thing we call hunting.
