Why I Love to Hunt
by: Slavko Bekovic

The sun was just beginning to ascend of the horizon and the morning air was crisp in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. There I was, sitting in full camouflage attempting to be as quiet as possible. Armed with only my hopes, dreams, and a .270 Winchester, I was ready like never before. Slowly, I pull out the rattle bag and start my sequence. As I begin to smack the bag, I hear the rustling of leaves and the breaking of twigs and branches in the distance.
I finish off my rattling sequence and wait silently for the buck I had dreamed about the night before to arrive and present itself. With the safety on and my hopes high, the sounds begin to get louder and louder. Could that be it? Could it be coming to inspect out the situation? Any buck would, right?
I slowly look to my left. Nothing. I then look to my right. Nothing. I look into the opening in the pines only 30 yards ahead. Nothing. Suddenly, more crunching. It was coming closer. My heart is now racing endlessly and my breathing was becoming harder to maintain. As silently as possible, I lean forward and look to my right and catch a quick glimpse of golden brown fur.
I look again quickly and see the brown fur behind the pines and suddenly, out comes…a squirrel. A measly squirrel! The meeting between my father and I in front of the stand after the morning’s hunt was like no other. Considering the way I was telling him what had happened, he must have thought I killed a monster 12 pointer with heavy-massed brow tines. I wish!
The disappointment was uncanny. My hopes were dashed. My dreams were shattered. Not many in this world can get that riled up over a squirrel. Not even of your hunting for them! All I know is that hunting is not only a sport, but a tradition. That is why I love to hunt.

Thoughts?