-DeerSlayer-

you want to know the reason people really hunt? the truth for me, and my friends is simply this...
I started hunting a few years ago with my uncle. i had never went before and never reallyt had an intrest, but i went along to show my family that i can really do it. that weekend of our first shotgun season, my uncle let me shoot a doe, and from then on, I knew the reason why everyone goes nuts about this sport. it is not because it makes you cool to go and kill an animal, and it is not because of "peer preassure". it is because hunting gives people something that nothing in the world would be able to do. It gives you a thrill, not knowing whats gonna happen next, not knowing if you will get a shot at a deer, or even if you will get to see a deer. I take hunting more seriously then anything. hunting is my way of relaxation and having the best possible time with my family and friends. I do not like to hunt without a friend or family member being back at camp to share a story, or have a conversation with. so why do I hunt?
to be closer to my friends and family, and experiencing the wonders that the great outdoors will bring to me each time im out in the woods. If you can't have a good time while hunting, then what is the point? but thats why we all hunt, to experience the greatest thrill on earth.

m.t.hands

if you gotta ask, i don't think you'll ever understand, it's either in you or its not.


btw, like several others have mentioned, it's not always about the kill, but about the time you are given to enjoy. like one of the commercials on t.v. mentions God only gives you so many sunrises and i'm not plannin on missin any..

oh yea! welcome and i hope you find the answer inside yourself

ike1371

outdoors, FOOD,and fun.

jones123

Seriously, I really did start in '96 because of PETA's and Anti's. I was a neutral. Hunting was OK with me, but I didn't care to kill anything myself. Then I realized that I was getting tired of anti's and didn't want to associate with them, so I went along with my good hunting friend in NV, just to support the tradition. But it was off and on, cause I wasn't all that successful.

When I really got the incurable bug was when my first son was old enough and shot his first deer on the closing day of a long, hard season in Montana (below). I will never forget the adrenaline rush that made the whole season worth it. I'm hooked for life, and so are my sons.


Guess I'm a reactionary, but you can thank PETA types for pushing me into your world, and I am so thankful they did. Think they'll invite me to a dinner to tell my story?

cardeer

Humans were created as predators and keepers of the animal and fowl by god. That makes PETA people anti God

kevin1

I hunt because I like to ,
that's all that needs to be said .

bearklr

I have written a story about just such a thing. I have posted it on here already but will attach it to this thread so you can see it. I know it's really long but it comes from my heart and I think you may enjoy it.


I never really understand why I can’t sleep the day before deer season, or why I stay up so late for that matter. The point remains that every year the same story unfolds. I lay in bed listening to the white tail run through the underbrush in the back of my head. It’s as if I am already in stand as the darkness envelops me, just listening to the sound of the crickets singing outside my window. Eventually the sounds fade away into nothing, only to be replaced by the harsh shrill of an alarm clock, and the sound of my father getting coffee ready in the kitchen.

Most days getting up at four in the morning would be a chore. I would have to wait for my legs to gather enough strength to pull the rest of my body out of bed, but not today, for today is the first day of archery season. It’s as if I was five again, and there was a shiny new bike waiting under the Christmas tree for me. But today is much different from that day. There is no bike, nor friends, nor Christmas trees. There is no snow on the ground or stockings hung on the mantle. There is only the faint silhouette of my father tying his boots at the kitchen table, and hint of coffee as it fills the room. It is at this moment that I realize how the true gifts in life can’t be wrapped up and tied with a bow. They don’t have your name written on them or sat under a tree. No, the true gifts in life are those that are lived. The ones that only a father and son can understand at four in the morning.

As I stand there in silence for the next few seconds I regain my composure and realize that I too must finish getting ready. As I finish my coffee and tie up my last shoestring my father is already waiting at the door with flashlight in hand. I move as fast as I can, snatching up my bow and head out by his side pulling the door tight behind me. The cool morning air hits my face as the crickets that sang me to sleep begin to fade into the distance. All is quiet except for the sound of our breath and the rustle of grass under our feet.

We continue to walk across the power line beside our house, heading to the treestands my father placed earlier in the year. Nothing is heard, nothing is said. We just keep walking with only the two glowing circles created by our flashlights to keep us company. They dance back in forth like two giant lightning bugs playing in the yard illuminating sticks and leaves as they go along.

We finally come to a point where our paths must split. My father heads along the left side of the field as I angle to the right to take my stand along the creek bed. Until this point the moon has helped lead our way but as I stand peering into the forest nothing can be seen but darkness. It almost seems as if the trees and fallen timber would swallow the light of my flashlight. Nonetheless, I manage to find the trail heading down into the trees that leads to my stand. I proceed with great caution, knowing that the slightest noise may alert the deer that are bedded nearby. I fight my way through the tangle of sticks and limbs, dodging the outstretched arms of the nearby trees as they try and prevent me from reaching my final destination. Upon arrival I look up at what remains of an antenna tower chained to a tree with a small stand perched at the top. There is already a rope in place, so I tie off my bow and make my way up.

Once perched atop the stand, it seems as if God has turned down the volume of nature. Everything seems so much quieter. You can hear the tiniest of noises and notice the smallest of movements. The mere sound of your feet on the cold steel below you sounds as if it could be heard for miles. It is at this time that I begin to relax. I take a deep breath and sway in rhythm with the trees as they dance with the wind. For a few moments the rest of the world does not exist. I just stare at the stars as they shine through the canopy, disappearing for moments as they hide behind the last few leaves still clinging to the branches. With my eyes now closed I hear those same deer from the previous night in my dreams as they creep through the saplings. Then I realize that those noises aren’t in my mind, but rather coming from the forest floor twenty feet below. I just watch as a raccoon, makes its way back to its tree for another days rest. I wonder to myself, where has he been all night? What has he seen? If only I could see out of his eyes for one evening, just to see this magnificent place from his point of view. Then, as quickly as he appears, he fades into the distance.

It isn’t long before the first signs of the morning sun begin to climb over the meadow. The leaves, which seemed dark and lifeless just an hour before, awaken for their first dance of the morning. I watch as the crimson and gold forms play amongst each other as if they have been waiting all night for this exact moment. The moment when the sun’s rays begin to penetrate through the oaks, piercing the forest like swords thrown down from the heavens and the crisp night air brushes one last time against my cheeks. This is the image that is emblazoned in my mind since I first stepped foot into the woods with my father so many years ago.

It’s not long until I hear movement coming along the creek bed towards my stand. I slowly turn around so as not to make the slightest sound. My weight shifts from one foot to the other so the stand does not creak from the movement. For a split second the tread on my boot catches the stand and the lightest of noises can be heard. To me it seems as if someone has just slammed a car door and broken the silence. My heart begins to race as all my movements cease. Slowly I look around but nothing has caught this small mishap. Once again I finish turning until the source of the noise is directly in front of me. My eyes strain to see through the dense saplings and I fear all is lost, but a small movement gives him away. A deer, slowly and methodically makes his way along the creek browsing on acorns strewn amongst the leaf litter. Once within forty yards I can see his ivory crown as it intertwines with the rest of the underbrush. It is him, the one that I have so often envisioned while sitting in stand on long autumn days. He is no longer a myth, but rather one of the most elegant creatures to ever pass through these trees. My heart begins to race and a warm metallic taste fills my mouth as my adrenaline begins to rise. I stare in awe as he slowly moves closer, weaving through the trees without exerting the slightest effort. For a second he stops, merely twenty yards away without a care in the world as to what is taking place around him. Not once does the thought cross my mind to reach for my bow. The mere sight of such a creature keeps me froze in time like the moss that clings to the tree at my back. He is the proudest, most confident creature in the woods, and rightfully so. What does he have to be afraid of? At this exact moment, he is right, there is nothing to fear, for I never even begin to pick up my bow.

I have entered these woods with my father for many years now, listening to him speak about the true meaning of being a hunter. I can still here his words as if he was speaking them right now. "It's not whether or not your hunt is successful, but rather the time you get to share with the woods that is the true measure of a good hunt.” It is at this moment that I truly understand what he has been trying to tell me since I was a boy.

It isn’t long before the thoughts of my father vanish and the deer regains my full attention. I know in the back of my mind that if I do not take the shot soon he will be gone forever, and this meeting between the two of us will be nothing more than a memory. This, I say to myself, is exactly the way I want it to be. He has given me everything I could have hoped for. At this very moment all I can think about is how lucky I have been to be blessed in the presence of such a creature. I know in my heart what could have happened. I know that I was the victor on that day. But I also know that he will never truly be gone. He will be there in my mind running through the underbrush the night before every season.

I just smile as he vanishes into the scrub oaks knowing that no matter what happens the rest of the day, I will always have a trophy to hang in my memories to keep me company.

Eventually day fades into evening and I can feel the last few rays from the sun fade from the back of my neck. I slowly descend from my stand to join my father for the walk home.

This walk is different from all of the other walks we have shared over the years. Few words are spoken and only those same two glowing circles emitted from our lights keep us company. I can faintly see our house in the distance as my father breaks the silence. “Did you have a successful hunt?” he asks me. These words stop me in my tracks. He turns and looks at me with a smile from ear to ear and he knows that the time has come when everything he has taught me about being a hunter came to be realized. I never really did answer the question but we both knew that there was no need for words. He knew by the look in my eye that no matter what happened in the stand that day, just being out there made the hunt “successful”. We stand in silence for what seems like eternity and then slowly finish our journey.

To this day that same deer keeps me company the night before every deer season, and he is the greatest trophy I will ever have. I know in my heart that I will never have a more successful hunt because no single day could ever compare to that one October morning. For that was the day a father and son truly understood each other. That was the day lessons were learned, and memories were made. That was the day every father hopes for and every son imagines. That was the day…a hunter was born.


Eric

Alsatian

The answer is complex. I think about it and come up with reasons, but it isn't like they satisfy me or close the discussion. I suppose it is like the question of why do men marry women or why do women marry men.

I like to cook, and game meat is a very elegant and rich focus for a good dinner. How do you provide more than a rare venison roast or other game for the table? You go out and shoot it. This is one component of why I hunt.

My father hunted before me. When I hunt -- with rifles and shotguns which I have inherited from my father (I have bought two firearms for myself, two for my son, and inherited five firearms from my father) -- and when I am successful, I somehow feel that this is honoring his memory and pleasing him in the use of the firearms he loved. Two of these firearms are rifles which he custom made himself. My son took a pronghorn antelope this past October with the custom .25-06 may father made. My father never went out west to hunt. He shot some deer with shotgun slugs in Illinois. I definitely feel that the pronghorn hunt honored my father and the .25-06 that he built. I like to imagine my father and I talking about my hunts, though he is dead now. I like to imagine my father and I going on hunts together, such as a pronghorn hunt, though that is impossible. I did hunt pheasant with my father in Illinois. So hunting is a connection with my father.

Hunting provides a connection with a tradition and experience that goes way back in time, well into pre-history. While we have advanced technology -- high power rifles, advanced multicoated optics in our rifle scopes, binoculars, laser range finders -- some aspects of hunting are no different today than 10,000 years ago. My rifle is an advantage over a long bow, but the best advantage is scouting one's hunting ground, discovering the pathways of one's quarry, inferring that there is a bottleneck which funnels the movement of deer through a certain point, and setting up an ambush at this point. I took my deer last fall at about 20 yards range. I accidentally lucked into a funnel which pushed deer past me from two directions!!! I only recognized the "funnel" character of my ambush spot after the fact, but when you recognize such a feature in advance and employ it to get close and score on the quarry, you are sharing an experience with the hunters 7000 years ago. Very real connection to that ethos.

I like being out in nature. Being out and hearing the owls, seeing the stars. Watching the world come alive. I would be in my bed at that hour if it weren't for hunting. Having a reason to be out in the woods makes the experience different and richer than just taking a hike. I imagine fishing might provide some of this same benefit.

I like the feelings of self-reliance that come from being able to kill a deer, field dress it, skin it, quarter it, butcher it into meal sized packages, and then later cooking it. I like the feelings of self-reliance that come from being able to find my ambush point in the dark, to walk around the woods and not get lost.

All of these things contribute to my pleasure in hunting. I am beginning to take my son out hunting with me now, and this adds and extra dimension to my pleasure in hunting. I feel that I am passing on good values to my son -- self-control and discipline to develop the necessary marksmanship and to handle a firearm safely, self-reliance, knowledge of how the world works (we kill to live -- this fact is disguised when you only buy your meat in the supermarket, paying some faceless person far away to do your killing for you).

There is another element that has just occured to me. When we enter the hunting grounds, we are all equal. The guy born with a silver spoon in his mouth with an expensive custom Mauser is basically at no advantage relative to the guy who has a used .303 British with open sights he bought in the pawn shop (I'm not talking about trophy hunting, which DOES seem to be about money and fat cats have an advantage). One's political connections and ability to brown nose are largely irrelevant. You are on your own. I have done a poor job of articulating this idea, but this "equal" and "level playing field" thing is also an aspect that pleases me about hunting.

Goodguy

When I sit to a meal of meat, fish or fowl taken by my own hand I have a deep understanding and appreciation for the life that was given to provide that meal. I believe this is quite unlike the unappreciated sanitized version as conveniently offered by the super market to the many people who will criticize us. There is also the added bonus of the wild game NOT being full of growth hormones and chemicals to fatten and bring it quickly to market nor the meat being processed with all kinds of injections to tenderize, preserve and alter its taste.

However, there's a lot more to hunting than harvesting the game or finding a better trophy. What continually brings me back to it is being so close to nature in a remote area; the smells, sights and sounds of the woods, lakes and country side; a bright, cold, crisp morning with frost on the trees and snow that squeaks underfoot; seeing and hearing wildlife in natural settings; the excitement of the quiet and solitude suddenly broken by a baying hound over the next ridge; the feel of a fine rifle in my hands; a great hot meal in the hunt camp and most of all the camaraderie of family and friends sharing the experience.

rick_reno

I hunt because I enjoy it.