On the hunstman’s ethos
This past deer season I was present for the harvest of three white tail deer: each with its own lessons that I’ve incorporated into my hunting ethos.
The first deer I ever shot was on the day before Thanksgiving, 2021. I was in Oak Bowery, Ala., with a good friend and mentor sitting in his shooting house on a power line. We watched as a few fawns and spikes milled around in the food plot and a large doe made her way out of the wood line. I lined up my shot behind the doe’s shoulder with a borrowed .270 and pulled the trigger.
CLICK.
I had forgotten to rack a round. My buddy took the rifle and quietly racked a round for me. “Don’t panic” he whispered. I lined up the shot again.
CLICK.
A dud. The first he or I had ever seen. This time, I changed out the round myself while the doe stared me down, and I dropped her with a “perfect shot.” Flabbergasted, we climbed down the ladder to collect her, and found a few quartz points that had been disced up by a tractor from the ground where she lay. Despite my blunders, which were partially out of my control, I was proud of the shot I made. So proud, that I didn’t mind the three-legged squirrel dog violently yanking on the doe’s hanging cape while I was quartering it at the farm house. “Sorry Hank, it’s tradition.”
The second deer was taken in Tuskegee National Forest. My good buddy had put in hours of scouting and sitting over two seasons to earn his first public land buck. Countless disheartening days of still woods, and being surrounded by scrapes and rubs in ghostly quiet woods had slightly worn the edges off his confidence. But on the morning of January 10th, he was rewarded, and I was witness.
Just as the sun topped the tree line, a healthy 8-point came chasing a doe through a hardwood bottom and slowed down long enough for my amigo to drop the deer with a beautiful shot at 75 yards with his .270. The young buck wasn’t huge, but a wild and handsome 3 year old, something nevertheless to be proud of. We celebrated the hunt the best way we know: with hot salty biscuits from a close-by Jack’s. The pride my friend felt of this harvest was inspiring to me. In my mind, there was a stark contrast between his harvest and mine, though the result (dead deer) was the same. While he didn’t scoff at mine, I knew that he would not have felt the same pride with a food plot doe beneath a shooting house.
The third deer was a big rutting buck taken at the Whitetail Institute in Hope Hull, Ala. on February 5th with my girlfriend’s dad, a once in a lifetime opportunity. He had invited me to hunt with him several times on his friends’ perfectly manicured land. After seeing what my roommate achieved on public land, I had complicated feelings about hunting on someone else’s property. I hadn’t put in the work, but I was expecting the same gift. Was I worthy of a harvest? Maybe so, if I could make a good shot.
A wide horned buck walked out of the wood line a hundred thirty yards away with a few does a couple minutes after sunset. I lined up on his front shoulder with a borrowed B.A.R. 30.06 and focused on my breathing. I fired, and the deer collapsed. I let out an audible sigh in the silent field. My relief was suddenly interrupted though when I looked back through the scope, and the deer was pawing at the ground, dragging himself into the woods with his forelegs. I had shot high, and shattered his spine. “Shoot him in the neck”. I fired again, and put a round through the middle of his neck from behind.
We collected the deer, took some photos, and I forced a smile. We drove back to camp to meet up with another in our party who had killed a doe. The retired NFL punter slapped me on the back, and congratulated me. He was confused that I wasn’t fired up about my first buck. I told him I was disappointed in my shot. I didn’t feel like I made a clean kill, and that was further complicated by pre-existing feelings of being unworthy. I was so grateful for the opportunity and the harvest, but I was disappointed in myself.
These three hunts showed to me that the gray areas of ethical hunting are not so easily defined. After some contemplation, I’ve arrived at the conclusion that we all construct our own unique hunting ethos by taking what is passed down to us and living our own experiences. Before we hunt, we carry certain expectations given to us by our teachers, and we form some baseline rules for ourselves that are tested based on the circumstances we are dealt. Under the same circumstances, different hunters will make different decisions based on our beliefs about our skill, and the risk of breaking our own rules. One hunter may take a riskier shot than another because he is a confident marksman, or because he can miss his mark with a clear conscience. Through experience, and feeling, hunters decide what mistakes we can live with, and what we strive for.
This is not an attempt to justify my back-whacked buck, but I’m also not saying it should be unacceptable. I’m still grappling with it. This is purely a reflection on my own learning. I expect with each hunt will come more questions. The observations I’ve made while hunting and through discussion with fellow hunters suggest to me that the huntsman’s ethos is not necessarily a trajectory towards some common ideal. We all strive for different things, and what is acceptable to one hunter may not be to another. The beauty is that we are given the freedom and responsibility to decide for ourselves.
