This is
an opinion. My disclaimer is that if you disagree, do so respectfully and I
will respect yours.
I do not
like competition in my outdoor sports.
Maybe
that came from not being very good at baseball, football, basketball, hockey or
any team sport. I was always the last guy chosen for pick up teams. On the
other hand I was in fierce competition with myself as a freestyle skier in the
80’s. But I didn’t like “measuring” success with numerical values.
When I
found that my heart sought refuge in the outdoors, I realized that I wasn’t “hunting”
for recognition, but for connection.
While my
friends were intent on bragging about how big the racks were on their bucks, or
how many rabbits they’d shot, I was driven to learn about the intimate details
of how my prey lived. It was never about killing – although that was a part of
the process. I found that I wanted was to feel my own heart beat in unison with the
deer I was watching. I wanted to breathe the same air, share the same mystery
of its wildness.
My first
and greatest love has always been waterfowling. To me, the beauty of
communicating with a big greenhead mallard and coaxing him in to my decoy
spread is paramount to seeking nirvana. Becoming at one with the bird, I
seek to understand the intricacies of his language. What does it mean when he
purrs before he lands, red legs down in the turgid water? How does the hen
seduce the drake to come to her little puddle? What dulcet tones ring out from
her sage green bill to attract the wary male?
I study
Canada geese relentlessly; I ponder the meaning of their body posture and what it means to
others in their flock. I watch the sentinel’s head crane about, taking
responsibility for the entire flock’s safety. I wonder at the soft moans of a
feeding flock, and marvel at the stretched neck as an active feeder pushes
others away from his food plot.
I hunt because
I seek connection, not because I seek recognition for how many birds I shoot in
a season or how big my buck is.
There
are those who hunt for trophies only, often time to challenge themselves. Many
trophy hunters are very finely honed and skilled outdoorsmen. Heck, you have to
be, to find and select only the most dominant genes in the pool. It takes great
restraint and planning. I respect those who choose to hunt this way. And
believe it or not – many of them are still humble. Those are the type of trophy
hunters that I respect. They do it not for their ego as much as for the
challenge.
We have
one or two of those men in our town. They are quiet, unassuming men of
character. They contrast the road hunters who seek to brag about the 10 pointer
they shot from 300 yards after spotting it from their vehicle in the last
minutes of daylight.
One of
the greatest hunting families in history, the Benoits of Duxbury, have shot
more trophy bucks than anyone else can claim, and yet, they have never had any
of them “scored” by the Boone & Crockett Club. They never believed that an
animal should be assigned a numerical value to its body or antlers.
In my 37
years of waterfowling, I have shot many ducks and geese, but each one of them
is a trophy to me, in its own way. I remember certain shots and certain pieces
of land, particularly swamps, where I watched flocks of whistling teal
dive-bombing the decoys at jet-fighter speeds against a sunrise that was
indescribably beautiful. I have slogged through mud two feet deep for hundreds
of yards just to retrieve a drake wood duck with its pontifical crown.
I do so,
not so that I can brag about the shot or the calling prowess, but to relate to
the bird on its most intrinsic level. We are both of the same energy. We share
the air we breathe, the water we swim in, the same sunrise and the same love of
the mysterious migration that happens each year.
I am
never going to be a trophy hunter. That said, I would not pass up a trophy if
it stepped in front of me, but it is not what defines my love of hunting.
With the
utmost respect for those who do, and who do so out of the same love and
admiration as I, I honor you. Not for your scores on the mountain goat you shot
from 500 yards, but for the love and drive that it must take to climb 10,000
feet up a mountain to set your sights on a perfect specimen.
It is
this love of the animal and the desire to become one with it that exemplifies
what it means to have a hunter’s heart.
