The morning is foggy and quite crisp. You've been out here in the scrub for the last three hours, well before dawn. You live by the mantra that the "early bird gets the worm." Well, today the early hunter is going to get the buck and by the look of the scrapes you've seen, it's going to be a big one. You give a grunt through your deer call, and settle down into the foliage around you with your rifle at the ready. Your breathing stills as you see the big buck move into the clearing, its dark eyes looking for a challenger. You wipe the dampness off your hands onto one of your hunting t-shirts, and line up your shot.
This is what it's all about, guys. The thrill of the hunt. There are so many different feelings sewn up into one experience that that act of hunting is a unique and powerful experience for anyone who has every tried it. You are brought back to the deepest roots of mankind by stalking your own prey and bringing it down. You can taste the essence of what it was like to be one of those people from the past who lived and died based on their skill at taking down their intended target. You may go home, throw your hunting t-shirts in the wash, and plop down in front of a television but for that brief moment, you can feel that deep desire for a kill.
Nothing makes me angrier than when I am minding my own business in a public place, enjoying time with my family or friends, and I'm accosted by someone taking offense in the fact that I'm wearing one of my pro- hunting t-shirts. I have been told that I'm a killer, that I am a monster, and that I murder animals for fun. I'm even told this, at times, within earshot of my children, who don't even know any better. All I can do is tell them that they are being very rude and move on from the area, because there is not debating a point with those kinds of people. Let them go home and eat their processed meats while I dine on game I humanely killed with my own two hands.
The kills that a hunter makes, he earns. It is not something so simplified as strolling through the woods, whistling a happy tune, wearing hunting t-shirts, and killing deer as you come across them. Hunting is difficult and takes much more discipline than its critics give it credit for. Hunting should be done when the deer are most active, which means waking up hours before dawn so that you can be in place when the deer are out. Deer spook very easily, so noise discipline is a must. There are hunters who spend several hours in one place and never fire a shot. These are the willing sacrifices hunters make to practice their sport.
There is a point to hunting that is well outside the mere concept of "killing for sport." Hunting satisfies a deer, instinctual need within me to be a provider. This need is so visceral and intense, that just working 40 hours a week and buying groceries does not quell it. I have to hunt and I have to bring back fresh meat to my loved ones. It may seem ridiculous, but it is the only thing that makes me feel like a true provider. All of the guns, hunting t-shirts, deer calls, or camouflage in the world can't make me feel that way. It takes the reality of the hunt to make me feel like a man.
This is what it's all about, guys. The thrill of the hunt. There are so many different feelings sewn up into one experience that that act of hunting is a unique and powerful experience for anyone who has every tried it. You are brought back to the deepest roots of mankind by stalking your own prey and bringing it down. You can taste the essence of what it was like to be one of those people from the past who lived and died based on their skill at taking down their intended target. You may go home, throw your hunting t-shirts in the wash, and plop down in front of a television but for that brief moment, you can feel that deep desire for a kill.
Nothing makes me angrier than when I am minding my own business in a public place, enjoying time with my family or friends, and I'm accosted by someone taking offense in the fact that I'm wearing one of my pro- hunting t-shirts. I have been told that I'm a killer, that I am a monster, and that I murder animals for fun. I'm even told this, at times, within earshot of my children, who don't even know any better. All I can do is tell them that they are being very rude and move on from the area, because there is not debating a point with those kinds of people. Let them go home and eat their processed meats while I dine on game I humanely killed with my own two hands.
The kills that a hunter makes, he earns. It is not something so simplified as strolling through the woods, whistling a happy tune, wearing hunting t-shirts, and killing deer as you come across them. Hunting is difficult and takes much more discipline than its critics give it credit for. Hunting should be done when the deer are most active, which means waking up hours before dawn so that you can be in place when the deer are out. Deer spook very easily, so noise discipline is a must. There are hunters who spend several hours in one place and never fire a shot. These are the willing sacrifices hunters make to practice their sport.
There is a point to hunting that is well outside the mere concept of "killing for sport." Hunting satisfies a deer, instinctual need within me to be a provider. This need is so visceral and intense, that just working 40 hours a week and buying groceries does not quell it. I have to hunt and I have to bring back fresh meat to my loved ones. It may seem ridiculous, but it is the only thing that makes me feel like a true provider. All of the guns, hunting t-shirts, deer calls, or camouflage in the world can't make me feel that way. It takes the reality of the hunt to make me feel like a man.
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