I’ve been looking within for answers to a question that’s pertinent to fewer and fewer people.
Why do I hunt? It’s a bit late in life for self-reflection on an activity that has driven much of my spare time in fall, the most beautiful of seasons. The last couple weeks have been spectacular with fiery canopies lit by bright sunshine. Toss in jacket less attire, and even the political entree of the day won’t coerce my body to sit lifeless in front of a television.
But why hunt? The Campbells at our stage in life do not lack for food, hobbies or projects needing attention before winter sets in.
Two reasons come to mind. One is camaraderie, a sense of sharing among people who hold the same interests. Hunters tend to be story tellers because, well, they have stories to tell. Passing on those tales — which is akin to communicating techniques, strategies, boasts and humor — draws people closer.
A friend and I were fortunate last week to take a 16-year-old on his first-ever hunt. He is the grandson of a farmer who had given us permission to traipse his fields. The young man was green and enthusiastic.
We generally prefer to hunt behind my setter, but when a rooster skirted across the road and into a ditch, the young man’s eyes lit up. We were in South Dakota, where it’s legal to hunt rights-of-way and even to retrieve game on private land.
We stayed back as Peyton crept ahead. The rooster exploded ahead of him, cackling defiantly, followed by a blast of lead.
Peyton returned to the truck in triumph. “I missed him by a mile, but I don’t care!” he said. “I got my first shot!”
We all smiled for the rest of the hunt and through dinner, for which grandpa joined us. We heard Peyton’s story in a growing number of versions. I was blessed to have played a part.
Where I hunt offers a second reason for why I hunt. Wild game tends to hang out where people don’t. Often the best places to erect a tree stand or walk a grouse woods are farthest from the complications of life.
Quiet places where the voices of my mom and dad can be heard. Where the priorities of a good life are put in order.
Where God reigns. I don’t claim to be as much of an efficient hunter as I am a compelled hunter. I laugh at my first missed rooster and buckle down after my third. Even on my accurate days, I haven’t impacted wild game populations nearly as much as a driveway punched up a wooded hillside to a new homesite or certainly not expansion of a dusty gravel pit.
Behind my hunting are drives to experience camaraderie and solitude. Strange, huh?
I’m both appreciative, in a selfish way, and alarmed at the dwindling hunter population. Fees paid for hunting and fishing licenses represent the bulk of funds dedicated toward conservation in our nation.
Hunting is a great tradition — a unifying force among sportsmen and women — in Leelanau and throughout America. There are good reasons for that.
