Long before the advent of slaughterhouses and Safeway, there existed another way of obtaining meat. It required skill, diligence, patience, stealth, and a knowledge of the animal thought and instinct that could only be obtained through experience. I’m of course talking about stealing your neighbor’s chickens in the dead of night while he, being a big fan of grandpa’s “old cough medicine”, sleeps away the hours, thereby leaving his chickens open for “borrowing” and “firecrackers.” Also, there is hunting.
Hunting is, for those of you who don’t know or have forgotten because of living in California, is a “sport” where men (and a few woman, some who resemble men) “harvest” (meaning kill) animals using high-powered assault weapons known as “guns” (meaning “fire sticks”) so that they can bring home the “carcass”(meaning body) and (1) eat the meat of the animal (2) Discuss the size of the animal, and it’s defining marks (be it antlers, horns, paws, etcetera) (3) repeat step 2.
Why hunt? Well actually, I think there’s a pretty good answer for that. In many parts of the world, if you do not hunt you and your family (and maybe even that mooching neighbor) will die from starvation, so there is a sense of obligation. That is not the kind of hunting I’m talking about. I’m talking about the other kind, the kind that does not involve subsistence, survival, or obligation. I’m talking about American hunting.
So again I ask in a nasal Woody Allen voice “Why hunt?” Hunting in America is hard to really classify. There are so many kinds of hunting, so many different kinds of hunters, and there are so many kinds of guns (just ask Ted Nugent) that it probably seems next to impossible (and closer to nuts and even closer to pointless) to find some all encompassing answer to why people in America hunt in this day and age, when they could get their meat in an easier, bloodless way and in a quicker amount of time, all in normal clothes (I’ve never had to wear camo to obtain meat at Safeway).
To be brutally honest with all three of you reading these words of mine that I have grouped together to form a more perfect union, I mean essay, I will answer you with this: I am not sure why. Don’t get me wrong, there are many good reasons why you should hunt in this country and I could name them one by one, but the problem with them is that I highly doubt many hunters even know of these reasons (like the issue of slaughterhouse management, depopulation, health, politics, etcetera) or care about these issues (some do, because as I’ve said, there are many different kinds of hunters. Richard Simmons loves to vaporize deer, as does Eric Clapton and every NASCAR driver you see at the Daytona 500).
So barring that in mind, I give you three reasons why men (and a few women, some who resemble men at first glance and even afterwards) still hunt to this day, when they could get their meat elsewhere (note: I am only 16 and in 10th grade, so do not expect Shakespeare, who wrote How to Kill Everything that Moveth in the Woods of Avalon and Why Huntest Thou, Man?).
Firstly, I think hunting has to do with ego and masculinity, like most manly activities in America. For example, I think with hunting you feel LIKE A MAN! UGGHH! GET ME A HAMMER AND SOME NAILS; I GOT A RACK TO PUT UP ON THE WALL! I’m guilty of this too, and I’m only 16 (imagine when I’m 40). Every time after I go moose hunting with my father, the pastor and his three sons, I feel tough. No, I’m not kidding. As I open the door, the classic spaghetti western music plays in my head while I one thought flows through it: Oh yeah, I’m Cool Beans baby.
Of course, this façade comes crashing down the moment I take off my hiking boots and head straight to take a manly shower and then read my manly MAD magazine while drinking a manly cup of tea (with cool sugar and stoic evaporated milk) before collapsing into my bed and passing out, but for the few moments I walked into town with my manly backpack on and a rifle to my name, I felt LIKE A MAN! UGHH!
The animal just reinforces this feeling. From hanging antlers on walls to displaying the stuff animal, it’s all in the intent to impress, to show off. It’s a way for guys to flaunt their skills without having to show them, which is the essence of cool. And the bigger the display, the better. This is why bear hunting is more popular than say, squirrel hunting for guys. Squirrels look like toys when stuffed, bears look like wild beasts that could only be tamed by a few bullets to the lungs. By a gun. By a MAN! BY A MAN WITH A GUN! UGHH!
The second reason involves a few things, which would seem like a few reasons, but are all linked by one encompassing aspect which I will call the excuse factor. Hunting offers a lot of excuses for guys (and a few women, some who even sound like…ah, never mind). You get to be immature with your buddies, get away from your responsibilities, and you don’t have to restrain your urge to kill cute animals like you do in the Bambi-loving society we live in today (thanks Disney!)
The pranks I’ve heard in hunting stories range from stupid to clever to everything in between, all in the intent of good fun. Grown men really can’t do this anywhere else. Imagine at the office when Vern, who “borrows” everything from pens to calculators, asks why there is poop on his office chair that he has just sat in. A bunch of the other guys in the office bust up laughing, and then Vern tells the boss, thus ensuring the pink slip to all involved in Operation Feces. Not so with hunting! Put small rodents in the sleeping bag, oatmeal in the boots, fake unibrows and mustaches (via pen) on the face, all in the name of fun!
Then there are the responsibilities of life. “Don’t bring em hunting,” says the infamous motto that’s never been heard before, part of the reason being that it’s not catchy, and the other part being that I just made it up to help make a point. From bills to jobs to house chores, hunting lets you get away from it all for a few days, and what better way to vent your frustration with these annoyances of everyday life then pumping a few of God’s wonderful creature’s full of hot lead? Besides knitting socks, I mean.
Which brings me to the part of hunting most essential to the sport’s existence: killing the animal. Most hunters feel a tinge of sadness before pulling the trigger on an animal, realizing that they will have taken a life, which is a natural feeling for human beings. This thought is then stomped by the thought of how nice the horns will look mounted above the fireplace in the middle of winter, and whether or not the meat would taste better sautéed in sauce or grilled in chives with a little bit of butter. Then the thought of the boss berating you comes into the occasion, and with that how can you not pull the trigger? BOOM!
I think the best way I can explain this last reason is through my own life, and what happens every September in a magical place called Kimball Pass. I “participate” in this brutal exercise every year with my father, my pastor, his three sons, and usually a friend of mine (the person changes every year, if that tells you something about the trip). My dad calls this moose hunting. I call this insanity. We walk many, many miles on foot (motor vehicles are outlawed in this area during hunting season) with heavy packs and pushcarts, lose weight, experience the hell bound terror of gnats, and generally walk a lot. Did I mention that already?
I’ll be honest with you, this hunting doesn’t sound like any fun on paper. My dad will discuss his hunting plans of the year with his buddies, who hunt religiously for moose like a fat kid for a happy meal with extra fries, and I feel like the odd man out. I think, “Why would anyone take off work for, plan around, and buy expensive things for something that feels like work, has no sure guarantees, and can make you feel worse then storming Normandy Beach while wearing bulls eye boxer shorts in the middle of December during WWII?”
And I still don’t know. When hunting, I don’t enjoy it. It is not a fun endeavor. The cabin we hike to is thirteen miles in from the road, and all uphill. We have gone in three times, and have come out with nothing. From a teenager’s perspective, it seems boring and hard. And it is to a point. But when I look back on those hunting trips, I do not just see the hours of pushing a cart up the many hills of yonder, the intense sitting on a wind-exposed hill for seven hours, all in the quest for a moose. I see more. I see hanging out, excitement, nature at its finest and many memories.
I do not have the best memory in the world. Experiences I have had in my life rarely feature accurate dialogue, complete sequences, and other nuances you associate with movies. To be honest, my life can feel like a blur sometimes. I don’t really remember what I did a few weeks ago. I could give you a vague outline, and that’s all. But if you ask me what my first moose hunting trip was like two years ago when I was entering into 8th grade I can give you line for line wording, feelings I experienced, the things we saw, all in complete accuracy sprinkled with mild exaggeration. Why? Because although hunting can seem pointless, exhaust your legs, bore you half to death, and give you a sample of mosquito heaven (for the mosquito, not the hunter), it’s all worth it when you drag yourself into your home and tell your family and friends your adventure from hell that turned out to be pretty fun after all, or at least manly.
UGHH!
