By RON SCHARA
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Over the passing autumns, I've heard a thousand hunting stories and probably told just as many.
In the recently published Minneapolis Star Tribune hunting section, I read still more hunting stories _ great tales submitted by readers.
If anything, these yarns might prove that as a species we humans haven't changed much. Early man told their hunting stories by drawing on cave walls. Now, we use cell phones or e-mail. Otherwise, the thrill of the hunt remains pretty much the same, I suspect.
Not all hunting stories are equal, of course.
I've never liked hunting stories that almost completely were about the tools of the hunt, technical stuff about rifle calibres, bullet shapes, bullet weights, drams of this, velocity of that. Oh, I know a hunter needs to know about weapons and accuracy and the like because every hunter seeks shots that kill, not shots that wound.
However, hunting stories about big bucks whacked by my trusty ol' rifle seem so mechanical, so shallow when we hunters also know that a big buck in the crosshairs generates more hunting passion from us than praise for a bullet.
In fact, some of my favorite hunting stories are about missed shots or about missed opportunities or about being outfoxed. Telling these stories is one my strengths, speaking from experience.
But I think it's important that non-hunting folks realize that, despite fancy rifles and scopes, ATV's and GPS, scent blocks and buck urine sprays, hunting success still carries no guarantees.
And that's good. A guaranteed bag is not hunting.
Stories that reveal the camaraderie of hunting also are important. One's hunting friends often tend to be one's best friends as well. Together you face the elements, the highs and lows of hunting; together you share the spirit of a hunting campfire.
We also could use more hunting stories about passing it on. It being hunting. It's not easy to be a hunter these days if you're a kid. When I was a kid, I walked with a single shot .22 from my backyard to a brush patch, and I was hunting rabbits on Saturday afternoons.
Pity the kid who lives in the city today and wants to hunt rabbits.
To reach a brush patch, that kid has to contend with busy parents and traffic jams and no hunting signs. Hanging out on street corners and hunting trouble is easier.
It's sad.
All the more reason those of us who hunt should keep telling stories about hunting. If only to pass it on. I raised two daughters, Simone and Laura, and both can handle a shotgun. Granted, I'm probably more proud of that than they are. But our hunting together has made bonding memories for them and me.
This idea sounds corny and old fashioned but I believe in it anyway:
Better to take a kid hunting than go hunting for the kid.
