Interesting column in the outdoorwire.com today
Jun 28, 2021 10:40:30 GMT -5
Woody Williams and jman46151 like this
Post by jjas on Jun 28, 2021 10:40:30 GMT -5
Perspective Shift
Lying on a hospital table wired into a machine that’s making video of your beating heart has the power to change your perspective on lots of things.
It reminds you no one, even you, is ever more than one next heartbeat from eternity.
As you watch that muscle repeat its work, as it has for nearly seven decades, you’re reminded of the truth your parents taught you as a child: we really are “fearfully and wonderfully made.”
It also has the power to change your perspective on external things.
Lying there, it occurred to me that over the years, I’ve stopped a lot of beating hearts.
This spring, after discovering a none-too-bright mother rabbit had deposited her new family in our backyard flower beds, I found myself engaged in repeated footraces with our dogs to prevent their going on an impromptu rabbit hunt.
After losing one of those races, I created a shelter for the remaining baby rabbits. Their mother’s determination had earned my grudging admiration. In exchange, they were given the chance to grow to the point they could get the heck out of our yard as something other than a chew toy.
Eventually, some of them did. Now, we have three more pesky rabbits sampling our yard. Appears they consider it their home, too.
A female robin repeatedly tried to build a house on our back porch. I constantly tore it down and tried to chase her away. She finally managed built a nest (on top of a softball I was certain would confound her). I refused to tear it down until after her fledglings literally flew the coop. The minute they did, we bird-proofed the columns.
Next spring, there won’t be any maternity quarters on our porch.
There’s a point to this, I promise.
Seems I’ve lost some of the desire to harvest. No, not the urge to hunt. Sitting in a blind or walking a field looking for game is still rewarding. But the urge to hunt anything I don’t plan to eat has all but disappeared. For those animals, shooting them with a camera has become as satisfying as dropping them with a well-placed shot. I don’t need another trophy on the wall to prove I can hunt.
Maybe I’ve returned to my Native American roots, I don’t know. Plains tribes (Cheyenne, Crow, Sioux, and Blackfoot) viewed counting coup - touching an enemy without killing him - as a greater act of bravery than taking another life. Owners of multiple-ringed coup sticks were respected for bravery, and considered great warriors.
Knowing how to hunt and fish are invaluable skills. I know how to put food on the table.
But as it stands today (and life is always subject to change) I don’t have the need to go afield every day to bring home my family’s daily sustenance.
Absent the need, it appears I’ve lost the urge when it comes to trophy animals.
Wingshooting, waterfowling and depredation hunting hogs, on the other hand, still appeal. Guess it’s because I connote them with something other than trophy hunting.
For years, I’ve listened as lifelong hunters talking about their most memorable hunts. Their stories have been a mix of every emotion imaginable.
Some were funny. Others weren’t.
But all share a common thread: the respect for their prey.
Whether hunting squirrels, rabbits or big critters, none of the stories ever belittle the creatures.
Hunters only laugh at hunters. I believe that’s a subtlety people often miss. And it’s an eye-opening realization.
Hunters never lose sight of the fact that for them to harvest, something else must die.
While hunting quickens your heart, it stills another.
That realization is part of the mix of rushing emotions every hunter feels after a successful hunt.
Joy and sadness, awe and ecstasy, all mix in an emotional cocktail only hunters ever taste.
It’s part of the ethos of hunting.
Ridiculously early treks in all sorts of weather, watching woods come alive, then retelling the experience around the campfire make for a heady experiences. Many of the best hunting stories don’t involve taking animals.
Watching my own heart beat, I realized for me, hunting today is more about the experience than the harvest.
That doesn’t mean I’m turning against hunting. Or shooting. Or tossing my hunting gear, selling my rifle or letting my licenses expire.
I’ll still be wearing my gear, just shooting trophy animals using long lenses, not telescopic sights.
Those highly perishable shooting skills won’t be allowed to atrophy either. I’ll just take far more shots at paper or steel than hide and bone.
Regrets? Certainly. Never hunted cape buffalo in Africa or shot doves in Argentina.
But I’ve shared amazing times with wonderful friends. Together, we’ve created memories that bring back the smells of campfires and woods, even in a hospital diagnostic bay.
But I’ve realized I have very little desire to stop another heart in order to give mine another rush.
There are plenty of other things in the outdoors that still take my breath away.
That may not always be the case, but for now, they’re enough.
— Jim Shepherd
It reminds you no one, even you, is ever more than one next heartbeat from eternity.
As you watch that muscle repeat its work, as it has for nearly seven decades, you’re reminded of the truth your parents taught you as a child: we really are “fearfully and wonderfully made.”
It also has the power to change your perspective on external things.
Lying there, it occurred to me that over the years, I’ve stopped a lot of beating hearts.
This spring, after discovering a none-too-bright mother rabbit had deposited her new family in our backyard flower beds, I found myself engaged in repeated footraces with our dogs to prevent their going on an impromptu rabbit hunt.
After losing one of those races, I created a shelter for the remaining baby rabbits. Their mother’s determination had earned my grudging admiration. In exchange, they were given the chance to grow to the point they could get the heck out of our yard as something other than a chew toy.
Eventually, some of them did. Now, we have three more pesky rabbits sampling our yard. Appears they consider it their home, too.
A female robin repeatedly tried to build a house on our back porch. I constantly tore it down and tried to chase her away. She finally managed built a nest (on top of a softball I was certain would confound her). I refused to tear it down until after her fledglings literally flew the coop. The minute they did, we bird-proofed the columns.
Next spring, there won’t be any maternity quarters on our porch.
There’s a point to this, I promise.
Seems I’ve lost some of the desire to harvest. No, not the urge to hunt. Sitting in a blind or walking a field looking for game is still rewarding. But the urge to hunt anything I don’t plan to eat has all but disappeared. For those animals, shooting them with a camera has become as satisfying as dropping them with a well-placed shot. I don’t need another trophy on the wall to prove I can hunt.
Maybe I’ve returned to my Native American roots, I don’t know. Plains tribes (Cheyenne, Crow, Sioux, and Blackfoot) viewed counting coup - touching an enemy without killing him - as a greater act of bravery than taking another life. Owners of multiple-ringed coup sticks were respected for bravery, and considered great warriors.
Knowing how to hunt and fish are invaluable skills. I know how to put food on the table.
But as it stands today (and life is always subject to change) I don’t have the need to go afield every day to bring home my family’s daily sustenance.
Absent the need, it appears I’ve lost the urge when it comes to trophy animals.
Wingshooting, waterfowling and depredation hunting hogs, on the other hand, still appeal. Guess it’s because I connote them with something other than trophy hunting.
For years, I’ve listened as lifelong hunters talking about their most memorable hunts. Their stories have been a mix of every emotion imaginable.
Some were funny. Others weren’t.
But all share a common thread: the respect for their prey.
Whether hunting squirrels, rabbits or big critters, none of the stories ever belittle the creatures.
Hunters only laugh at hunters. I believe that’s a subtlety people often miss. And it’s an eye-opening realization.
Hunters never lose sight of the fact that for them to harvest, something else must die.
While hunting quickens your heart, it stills another.
That realization is part of the mix of rushing emotions every hunter feels after a successful hunt.
Joy and sadness, awe and ecstasy, all mix in an emotional cocktail only hunters ever taste.
It’s part of the ethos of hunting.
Ridiculously early treks in all sorts of weather, watching woods come alive, then retelling the experience around the campfire make for a heady experiences. Many of the best hunting stories don’t involve taking animals.
Watching my own heart beat, I realized for me, hunting today is more about the experience than the harvest.
That doesn’t mean I’m turning against hunting. Or shooting. Or tossing my hunting gear, selling my rifle or letting my licenses expire.
I’ll still be wearing my gear, just shooting trophy animals using long lenses, not telescopic sights.
Those highly perishable shooting skills won’t be allowed to atrophy either. I’ll just take far more shots at paper or steel than hide and bone.
Regrets? Certainly. Never hunted cape buffalo in Africa or shot doves in Argentina.
But I’ve shared amazing times with wonderful friends. Together, we’ve created memories that bring back the smells of campfires and woods, even in a hospital diagnostic bay.
But I’ve realized I have very little desire to stop another heart in order to give mine another rush.
There are plenty of other things in the outdoors that still take my breath away.
That may not always be the case, but for now, they’re enough.
— Jim Shepherd
