Why Do You Hunt So Much?

By Denny L. Vasquez

“Why do you hunt so much? Do you really enjoy the killing or is it just a macho thing?” These are questions, or something similar, that I am asked several times a year. The latest questioner was an older lady who had evidently been brought to the hunting and fishing show by a son or husband. It was quite clear by the manner in which she had asked these questions, that a lot of the exhibits were upsetting to her. So after listening to my talk about getting today’s youth involved in hunting, she had come forward and posed these questions.

As with any activity in life, the answers to these questions are not that easy to explain to a none participant. In much the same manner that a combat veteran can not explain the emotional ups and downs that he felt while in combat. Or how a sky diver can not explain the rush they feel while plummeting to the earth with the wind buffeting their body as it goes rushing by. Or the scuba diver who feels an adrenaline rush as a big shark or barracuda swims by. Yes, one’s feelings about a particular experience are not always that easy to explain to someone who has not shared the experience.

For me the act of killing an animal or bird is just the climax of what is usually a very long and involved process. Everything that I do up until that point is in preparation so that I can make as clean a kill as possible. But the killing itself is not the reason that I hunt. It is sort of like the making of a touch down in a football game. A lot of hard work, strategy and planning go into it, but after it is over and when we have met the challenges, we are rather disappointed when the “high” is gone. That is why the experiences that go into preparing for a hunt and those experienced while on the hunt are the ones remembered best. This past year has been a perfect example.

I started last year with five hunting goals in mind. I had a prairie dog and antelope hunt planned for Wyoming, dove hunting with my young son as a first time shooter in southeast Texas, a whitetail deer hunt in the southwest Texas brush country, east Texas whitetail deer hunting with my son again being a first time shooter and a father/son exotic hunt for New Year’s weekend in the Texas hill country.

For each of these trips, it was the sights seen, the smells smelled, sounds heard, the food tasted, the things felt and the friends made while preparing for and while on these hunts that I remember the most. For example, the shooting bench work that my son and I did in preparing him for the whitetail hunt, also produced another father and son team that had the same goals as we did. They have become welcomed hunting companions after sharing a whitetail and a dove hunt with us. This opportunity has also provided my son and I with a new piece of property on which to pursue our sport and hopefully, a lasting friendship.

However, at this point in my life, the most important aspect of my hunting experience is that I am able to share it with my young son. He is just now beginning to experience things that I have been taking for granted. It is truly a joy to watch him as he helps me rediscover aspects of nature and our sport that I had either forgotten or had become complacent about.
As James learned to shoot the Remington varmint rifle in .223 for which I worked up loads for him to hunt with, he also learned firearm safety. But more importantly, he learned a lot about responsibility and to be concerned about the consequences of his own actions. These are traits that he will need throughout the rest of his lifetime.

For me, the hunting experience is a mixture of sharing and of solitude. The sharing is done around a warm campfire, sharing the camp chores, helping the others in cleaning their kills or taking time out to share our acquired knowledge with someone who is less experienced then ourselves. Some of my best memories of past hunts are those of sitting around a mountainside or deep woods campfire. It is hard to imagine how philosophical hunters can be until you listen to the friendly debates that take place around campfires. Even more enjoyable are the tall tales that are involved in retelling of our past hunts. In some circles this is called male bonding. However, many of the hunting camps that I have been in have also had women in them, so I like to call it “Hunter” bonding. After all hunting is a non-sexist sport.

I experienced a new level of sharing my sport after participating in a recent hunt for underprivileged children. My charge was an inner city girl who had never been out of her own neighborhood before, had never fired a firearm and had started the hunt totally afraid of the outdoors. Her play mates must have been quite jealous of her getting to come on this hunt because they had told her all kinds of horrible tales of creatures that lived in the woods and were just waiting to get her in their claws and teeth.

After spending a couple of days in the hunter education course, outdoor safety and firearm instruction, we were able to calm most of her fears. But as I sat in that deer blind with her and watched as she missed, not 1, not 2, but 3 does before connecting, I was overwhelmed by the warmth of her smile when she realized that she had actually done what she had come for. Then when we had to spend 6 hours tracking a doe that had been hit a little too far back, she stuck with us through the mud, cactus and rocks. Finally at 2 A.M., when we found her doe after walking over 4 miles, she turned to me with the prettiest mud splattered grin that I have ever seen. This is also a part of the sharing.

The solitude involves such scenes as a beautiful sunrise on the northern slopes of Storm King Mountain while in pursuit of bull elk. I almost missed my elk because I was too wrapped up in nature’s kaleidascoping light show. The white wall of an advancing snow storm as it rushed accross a Mississippi soy bean field toward my hunting blind nestled in the roots of an ancient Cypress tree. Being able to watch a pronghorn buck as he goes through his mating ritual on the wind swept Wyoming prairie. Watching two whitetail bucks as they contest breeding rights on a cold, snow clad Canadian hillside. Seeing a mother squirrel scold her yearlings in a tall oak tree that is wearing it’s winter coat or a mother duck gently herd her ducklings away from my fishing boat.

How about the sunlight shining through softly falling snow or a rainbow in a high country meadow. Distant snow capped peaks that stand out brilliantly white against the blue horizon. Purple and blue flowers mixed in among the yellow aspens as they reflect sunlight on a clear cloudless day. Or the dusty pink of butter cups on a gray Texas coastal prairie during a early spring varmint hunt. A raccoon making it’s way across a frosted field on Thanksgiving day in front of an east Texas whitetail stand. Or the sight of a hawk as it soars across the heavens without any earthly bonds. All of these things and so much more make up the best memories that you could ask for.
Hunting is also a learning experience. We learn a lot about ourselves as individuals. Like what our personal limits of endurance or capabilities are. Then we have to learn to not only hunt, but to live within these restraints. We also learn a lot about our ethics. I personally would not shoot from a roadway, but unfortunately, I know those who will. We each have to develop a set of standards and then learn to live with them. This is applicable to each and every action in our life.

We can also learn a lot from the animals whose habitat we are disturbing with our presence. Many times I have watched from a distance as a hunter passed by his intended quarry without ever seeing them. By learning the habits of our quarry and their interaction with the habitat in which they live, we can learn to become not only better hunters, but also better stewards. For the most part, in the animal world there is little or no waste, no destruction of natural resources and each living creature has it’s place in the life cycle.
A couple of years ago my daughter learned about patience from a hungry bobcat. As we set in our duck blind on a cold, wet, windy December morning, I noticed a bobcat who had come down by the lake’s edge. It was watching the young teal that were out on the lake in front of us. Since teal season was long past, they had provided entertainment for us during most of a rather unproductive morning. I pointed him out to my daughter and whispered for her to watch. She knew that I would ask her what she had learned from watching the cat later on our way home.

The cat set frozen in place for about 20 minutes before a teal swam it’s way. It never even batted an eye lash. Slowly, the teal made his way toward the cat’s position. As we watched, the teal walked up on shore and started to preen it’s feathers. Then when the bird had it’s back turned toward the cat, it struck in blur of spotted fur.

As the bobcat turned to make it’s way back up the lake’s bank, my daughter said, “I guess that old cat is like us. If we patiently wait long enough, we will get our ducks too.” I told her that patience is a virtue that too many people in today’s fast paced society have lost or forgotten that they had. It always pays to be patient and know all of the facts before making a rash decision that might cause problems later. She doesn’t complain about the time spent on in a duck blind or on a deer stand anymore.

If you are a hunter or fisherman, then you will probably have a good idea of what I have been trying to tell you in this rambling essay. If you are not, then all that I can ask is that you don’t criticize those of us that are. After all, until you have walked in another’s shoes, you can’t know what they are feeling or thinking, now can you?