Fall is coming....
It’s the time of year when the air cools down, and my blood runs hot. It’s the time of the year I just can’t resist howling at the moon. Time to hang out with good friends, cold beer, and a warm fire. It’s the time of year to say ‘I love you’. Fall is when I feel alive. My nerves vibrate with its coming. I can’t wait to breathe-smell-drink the clean, cool, crisp air. It’s the time for hunting deer. It’s the simple beauty of a Marlin 336 Whitetail rifle. It’s the flat crack of a .30/30 echoing off the pines. It’s in the warm fragrance of fresh blood, and in the somber beauty of death.
White-tailed Deer in their majestic beauty…..fall belongs to them. They are its Lord and Master. To kill something of such beauty…is it a sin? I mourn their passing, yet I kill them all the same. Sometimes I cry, yet I hunt again. Please forgive me. I know the day is coming when I stop pulling the trigger on a 336W and start pulling the trigger on a Nikon. I ask myself after every kill “Is this the last one?” So far, the answer has been no. Soon though, I will get back a yes. I can feel it. Until that day comes; forgive me Whitetails, for I sin. I regret what I do. I’m sorry.
I can take some solace in the fact that the deer that I kill die better than the cows and hogs in the slaughter houses. No electric shock or captive bolt device, my .30/30 does its job quickly and efficiently. A clean heart shot; the buck is dead before he hits the ground. At least he feels no pain. Even when hunting, it pains me to see an innocent creature suffer. That’s one of the many reasons I let so many walk away. I can’t bear to take a bad shot, only to watch one die slowly. It rips my heart out when it happens. I eat what I kill. To take life purely for sport is to me, unthinkable.
So why do I hunt, you ask? Why do this deed when it causes you so much pain? Because it also brings pleasure. I regret to admit it, but there is a thrill inherent in lifting warm wood and cold steel to my left shoulder. There is a thrill in the half second between the crack of the rifle and the soft crash of the Buck falling to the ground. There is a thrill in feeling his soft fur and running my hands over his still warm body. There is beauty in the sweeping curve of his softly furred ears. There is beauty in the white underside of his spade shaped tail. There is beauty in the smell of his blood. There is unspeakable beauty in his eyes in the moments before they become cloudy and glaze over. Eyes so difficult to look into. There is beauty in the antlers, as any hunter will tell. I want to have a buck mounted one day. Not only as a trophy of the kill, but as reminder of the life that I ended. That one will probably be the last.
Even as I write this, I look forward to hunting season. Sometimes, life can be so confusing. Even so, long after I have ceased to hunt, I will support the rights of hunters. Just because the pleasure has ended for me doesn’t mean it has to end for others. All charitable organizations and wildlife funds combined to not raise as much money, nor do as much work as hunters do when it comes to the protection of animals and their habitats. I support this. It’s the least we can do. The money and time of hunters have raised the population of White-tailed deer to untold numbers. In the early 1900’s Whitetails were very near being on the endangered species list. Now there are more deer than there have ever been in recorded history, and the population is still growing. Despite the deaths of thousands of deer every year, Bucks will continue to rut, Does will be in heat, and Fawns will be born. More are born every year. Life goes on.
Just the other day, I saw a doe and her twin fawns grazing at the edge of the forest. It was a majestic sight. I was able to approach to within 100 feet of them before the doe ushered her children back into the forest. Even then, they didn’t flip tail and run. My only regret is that I didn’t have my camera. Fawns, I wish you health and happiness. Doe, be a good mother and teach the kids all they need to know. God willing, I will see yall again; but hopefully, not over the top of a blued steel barrel.
White-tailed Deer in their majestic beauty…..fall belongs to them. They are its Lord and Master. To kill something of such beauty…is it a sin? I mourn their passing, yet I kill them all the same. Sometimes I cry, yet I hunt again. Please forgive me. I know the day is coming when I stop pulling the trigger on a 336W and start pulling the trigger on a Nikon. I ask myself after every kill “Is this the last one?” So far, the answer has been no. Soon though, I will get back a yes. I can feel it. Until that day comes; forgive me Whitetails, for I sin. I regret what I do. I’m sorry.
I can take some solace in the fact that the deer that I kill die better than the cows and hogs in the slaughter houses. No electric shock or captive bolt device, my .30/30 does its job quickly and efficiently. A clean heart shot; the buck is dead before he hits the ground. At least he feels no pain. Even when hunting, it pains me to see an innocent creature suffer. That’s one of the many reasons I let so many walk away. I can’t bear to take a bad shot, only to watch one die slowly. It rips my heart out when it happens. I eat what I kill. To take life purely for sport is to me, unthinkable.
So why do I hunt, you ask? Why do this deed when it causes you so much pain? Because it also brings pleasure. I regret to admit it, but there is a thrill inherent in lifting warm wood and cold steel to my left shoulder. There is a thrill in the half second between the crack of the rifle and the soft crash of the Buck falling to the ground. There is a thrill in feeling his soft fur and running my hands over his still warm body. There is beauty in the sweeping curve of his softly furred ears. There is beauty in the white underside of his spade shaped tail. There is beauty in the smell of his blood. There is unspeakable beauty in his eyes in the moments before they become cloudy and glaze over. Eyes so difficult to look into. There is beauty in the antlers, as any hunter will tell. I want to have a buck mounted one day. Not only as a trophy of the kill, but as reminder of the life that I ended. That one will probably be the last.
Even as I write this, I look forward to hunting season. Sometimes, life can be so confusing. Even so, long after I have ceased to hunt, I will support the rights of hunters. Just because the pleasure has ended for me doesn’t mean it has to end for others. All charitable organizations and wildlife funds combined to not raise as much money, nor do as much work as hunters do when it comes to the protection of animals and their habitats. I support this. It’s the least we can do. The money and time of hunters have raised the population of White-tailed deer to untold numbers. In the early 1900’s Whitetails were very near being on the endangered species list. Now there are more deer than there have ever been in recorded history, and the population is still growing. Despite the deaths of thousands of deer every year, Bucks will continue to rut, Does will be in heat, and Fawns will be born. More are born every year. Life goes on.
Just the other day, I saw a doe and her twin fawns grazing at the edge of the forest. It was a majestic sight. I was able to approach to within 100 feet of them before the doe ushered her children back into the forest. Even then, they didn’t flip tail and run. My only regret is that I didn’t have my camera. Fawns, I wish you health and happiness. Doe, be a good mother and teach the kids all they need to know. God willing, I will see yall again; but hopefully, not over the top of a blued steel barrel.
posted by Justin at 12:08 AM
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