Hunting Part 1

Papa has pushed me to comment about something that I think, many of y'all do not care about at all, nor have an inkling of what the allure of doing so is. Hunting, of course is the pastime he spoke of many years ago, and hunting is what I want to speak of now.

The beauty of it is that it's something you cannot liken to anything else you do. What other endeavour, if you're not an emergency room doctor, will instantly decide life or death for another creature? For whatever the motive, that ability alone is, in and of itself, pure unmitigated power.

One could argue that desire for such power is a selfish attempt to overcome shortcomings and I'd assume that could be true, for some, but for the hunter I doubt any such notion could be further from the truth.

The hunter is there to feel the moment, to separate himself from everything that has become common and unholy like MVP cards and reality TV shows and Nintendo Wii's... The Hunter is there to make himself a part of everything that is real, and natural and transient, like himself and you.

It may seem pointless, to the uninitiated, all the work and suffering which should go into preparing for the hunt, but the preparation is the most important part. The practice, the maintenance, and the willingness to work is what makes hunting humane and viable.

Humane hunting is not an oxymoron. The Hunter knows he must kill, but he knows he wants it done quickly, painlessly. Most callous is the lout that wounds and loses, or worse, leaves a deer. One who would do that is not the Hunter I speak of. Not the Man I want to be nor want to be associated with.
So, one must practice the art of the rifle, of the cartridge, and shooting. However, the grace and nuance of a rifle shot and shot well would be better left now for another rant, another note. We just want to get the wherefores of setting our sights on wild and free game and taking them crisply with character and no malice, only the desire to self sustain.
I only mention deer as they are most abundant now, now that progress and "civilization" have allowed deer to flourish and their predators to disappear. And that said, obviously, we, the sardines in a can are the last predation, the last hope of maintaining a viable deer population before wasting disease, and starvation take their toll.
I will describe to you now, the choking feeling, the compunction and anxiety with which we place a cross-hair upon an animal's vitals that are just a skin's thickness away from the light of day. For perspective feel your own ribcage, and judge the distance from fingertip to bone; a half an inch? Fragile are we, and them, and our hearts beat less than two inches below the ribs you feel...nestled between our lungs, only four inches that a bullet can pass through in less than a hundredth of a second.
Not different, our beating hearts, and yet, the cross hairs are upon the Deer's, and the tension builds within you, the Hunter, and you think you know what it will be like to kill another, yet you do not until you can, or have to. It is now, for you're about to take the life of a beautiful creature that weighs just as much as you do, shares a certain physiology with you, and, just like you, is only hard at work making a living in an unfair an capricious world
Yes now is the moment you decide, or find out if you can or cannot take the life, the life of a graceful animal, a creation of nature not so unlike yourself. I can, and do, and feel sick, and exhilarated and regretful and proud. Because I have put the work into the craft, and have built equipment that is up for the task, and have rose before dawn to partake in the ritual. I am proud to make a clean kill or harvest as we like to say. And I am there! I am now, which I will never be again, and nor will the Deer.
Indeed, that moment passed.