This article was originally published in Backcountry Hunter and Angler Magazine's Summer 2014 edition.

 

What is Fair Chase?

 

                I recently received a notice from my BHA chapter about a meeting to discuss the use of drones for scouting and hunting game animals. To many this doesn't seem "fair" as it doesn't align with principles of "fair chase." With this meeting on the horizon, it seems appropriate to consider what "fair chase" is. And to do it again, if you've done some thinking about it already. This particular technological advancement, like high fences, canned hunts and baiting, has received a very strong reaction from many in the hunting community. However, the length of that same list of activities, all of which are currently in use, is evidence that the concept of "fair chase" remains unclear, and its practice is not universally valued even among hunters. People who are against hunting in general tend to point to practices that appear unfair, or unsporting, or unnecessarily cruel, to support their reasoning that what we do is reprehensible. 

Too often we return to thinking about values, of all sorts, only when faced with a glaring violation of them. Our gut-check reaction to it inspires us to resist the violation, maybe even become "activists" around the issue. Yet it is exhausting to maintain that intensity and eventually we return to some sort of apathy, once the battle is over or we're too tired to continue. This apathy can lead us, or allow us, to tolerate the little red flags that are indicators of the long and steady erosion of these principles. What we are facing now did not start with drones. Their use did not spring from the diabolical mind of some evil sociopath masquerading as a hunter. We, the hunting community, allowed it.  Even encouraged it. We are complicit in its development, and therefore responsible for correcting it.

Ask yourself, is the gear that you buy to go hunting with chosen because you have measured it against the yardstick of "fair chase?" What is "fair?" It implies something like a sporting event where both parties respect each other enough to agree to rules that ensure that winning or losing is determined by their individual skills and abilities. Not whether they stacked the deck against their opponent. Or successfully spied on their opponent's training session. Or managed to steal their game plan. So, back to hunting. Where do imported exotic animals held behind high fences fit into this concept of fair chase? Or barrels of vanilla wafers soaked in molasses, set out to attract starving bears fresh from hibernation? Or trail cams? Do we really need such advantages in order to have the experience we are looking for? Are they "fair?"

To me, the admittedly abstract concept of "fair chase" implies that how and why I hunt or fish is more important than whether or not I get anything. It's not survival anymore, our nation is too fat for me to believe that (and so am I). Nor is it a competition. We've won. Run the score up anymore and we won't have anyone to play with. It's a privilege, a tradition, an occupation that some cannot imagine living without, and to many it's a spiritual pursuit which demands reverence and respect for the creatures and places involved, or it will eventually go away. I subscribe to the latter view, which is why I react with revulsion to the idea of harassing or killing anything that is not trying to kill me, from a drone.

I am happy that BHA is taking a leadership stance on this issue, as they have done with so many other issues critical to the survival of both hunting and fishing activities, and to the retention of relatively undisturbed places to pursue them. However, it is not clear to me that there is a concise and unified stance on what "fair chase" is, even within BHA. I believe this has contributed to a steady erosion of the practice of it in modern hunting society. Without a clear definition, it is fair for someone to think "We allow compound bows with scopes, and laser rangefinders, and trigger releases.  Why not crossbows?" It is fair to say, "We pay people to help us find a trophy animal in the wild, why not make it even easier by locking the critters behind a fence?" It is logical for someone to think, "We use trail cams to locate animals and map out their movements, why not drones?" Until we define "fair chase" clearly, and then consistently behave and shop in a manner that reflects the principle, we leave loopholes of logic through which anyone might fall, well-meaning hunters and gear manufacturers alike. 

One way to keep the concept of fair chase front and center is to strive to make the evolution of your equipment preserve the challenge of your endeavor. Harder demonstrates virtues of desire, determination, respect, and self-discipline. Easier demonstrates….well, you fill in the gap. Never let anyone shame you when you follow your conscience by calling you a "purist," "extremist" or "snob."  Labels say plenty about the person applying them, and virtually nothing about you. Good judgment has nothing to do with being judgmental. 

Whether new technology fits the "fair chase" definition should be determined by the number of conscientious participants involved in the decision, not by the wallet of the industry representative or the politically divided government agency. Be deeply suspicious of what the outdoor industry tells you is a valid or better way to do things, and decide for yourself. While industry representatives may be outdoor enthusiasts like us, and we depend on them for many things, the industry is about money first, not "fair chase." The good thing is, if we don't buy it, they won't make it.  

Hunters need to self-regulate, or they will be regulated. 

 

 

So...I haven't written for quite a while and have debated for a long time about whether to write about the following story at all, never mind how to do it.  I eventually decided to go ahead and share it, though it isn't pleasant.  However, it is a reality and to ignore it and continue on presenting my hunting season without including it would seem a falsehood to me that is unacceptable.  Maybe there's a learning experience here that will lead to a greater good.

 

Day 11

 

Drove out to a favorite spot today, real early in the morning.  I was feeling energetic and confident in my knowledge of the area, so I took some off-trail risks that really paid off, at least in my enjoyment of the morning.  I hunted a long, strenuous route that began by hiking up to a ridgeline that I followed for some distance, enjoying the striking bright red sunrise (there were fires out to the east).  Once I reached a certain waterless drainage, I allowed it to lead me to its bottom where it intersected a creek, and hiked up the creek bed, through shadowy, mossy trees and sword ferns.  (Not sure what the name of that damn spider is that strings webs across the trail, but I've got his number now, and carry a stick to wave in front of me when moving through the thicker areas).  I found a wallow, though it seemed more a drinking area for elk and deer than what the name would imply.  Prints were everywhere, and that peculiar, musky stink of elk urine.  (It seems strange to love something as outwardly disgusting as the smell of an animal's pee, but I do.  Makes something wild boil up in my blood).  Hung out there for a good hour, hoping something would appear, then practiced my cow-call a few times to see if it would stir anything up.  When the raging bull I expected did not make an appearance, I followed the stream to it's head, and climbed out on another ridge.  Saw some quail blow up in front of me, and didn't bother to waste an arrow. 

 

I finally found a set of fresh deer tracks, the edges sharp and standing tall in light dust on the ground.  I blew gently on them and watched them crumble, so I was sure I was on to something.  When I'm stalking, I imagine myself slipping through the woods like butter on a hot griddle, but I'm pretty sure that the reality is something, well, less pretty.  Nevertheless, after a quarter of a mile, I found myself tailing a young deer who was feeding away from me with his nose in the wind.  Couldn't have been more perfect except he was just outside of my comfortable range.  I'd been practicing a lot though, and had consistently been making shots in the kill-zone at my home range from 25-30 yards, so I decided to take a chance.  He must have sensed something was up as he turned 90 degrees to look around, presenting the broadside that I needed.  I sent a beautifully executed attempt underneath him and he bolted at the sound of the arrow clattering off through the rocks and branches.  I really can't blame the miss on anything, nor do I second-guess the decision, despite the distance.  It felt right, the opportunity was earned..., those are the breaks.  Smiling at the memory of how he bounced straight up as though the ground beneath him had exploded, I watched him go, then went to look for my arrow, which I never found.   

 

I decided to go back at that point.  It was starting to get warm, and we were expecting a friend to come in today, and I always miss time with Shorty, and there were probably a few more excuses to come up with.  Really though, I think I knew that there was no way to top the day's adventure so far, missed shot and all.  It took me an hour to get back to the truck. 

 

At first I didn't realize there was anything wrong.  Got to the passenger door and the lock was up.  Called myself a dummy for being so careless, and noticed that my backpack was missing.  Then it started to hit me, one realization after the other, in quick succession.  My pack-board had disappeared, along with the converter I used to charge my phone while driving.  The driver side was unlocked too.  My sunglasses were gone from where they hung on the rearview mirror.  The driver side rear window was broken out.  And on and on.  I spent the next hour and a half talking to confused dispatchers (how do you describe a turnout on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, and who's jurisdiction is it, and why isn't there a deputy on duty until noon, oh, I see, cutbacks...) etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.  Eventually I was told to go home and wait for a call; no fingerprinting, no patrol car, no "boots on the ground" examination of the scene.  So I brushed the glass off the seat, and went home.

 

That evening I finally received a call from a detective, who essentially told me that other than taking the report, there was very little he could do.  We summed up the value of the damage and the stolen items (well over 500.00), and I spent the next few days in a haze of anger, and self-recrimination, and the constant "sick-to-your stomach" feeling that lingers after something violating happens to you.

 

I go to the woods for the peace of mind and escape that it provides me.  The irony of what had happened was a bitter pill to swallow.  My wife kids me for my cynical view of humanity, and she is right to do so.  I need to work harder at keeping my cynicism in check, as I'd probably get annoyed with myself if I had to listen to my frequent bitching about politics, people, and the decimation of natural areas.   I did my best to get over the break-in, eventually deciding that I'd had the bad luck to step on the one turd in a field of green grass.  (A metaphor I'd pursue with some enthusiasm if the reality presented itself).  Now, if I could just get past the nagging feeling that the turds are beginning to outnumber the blades of grass...



 

Day 8

 

Worked things out with my lovely spouse so that I could have a few days in a row to do an extended hunt.  I went to the super-secret spot that everyone else knows about, but ha ha! I had a day off in the middle of the week and it was almost like a wilderness experience.  I live for that feeling of isolation in a world that is wired so differently, with completely different rhythms, than the one I live in the rest of the time.  Parked at the end of a spur that continues on deep into a drainage past a tank trap which discourages most of the ATV's and other off roaders.  I have found elk in here virtually every time I've been here.  It has that dark, lush and steaming feeling of the primeval forest I've described in earlier entries, most of the time.  However, after 7-8 weeks of 80 degree plus temperatures, and no precipitation, it was like walking through a bowl of corn flakes. It was getting late but it had been a long three days at work, and I was restless.  (I shouldn't complain, I shorten my work week during hunting season which is a luxury many don't get to enjoy).  So I grabbed my gear for an evening walk down into the drainage to see what was happening.  Elk in this area, even during early hunting seasons, seem to mostly stay down low in these steep coastal mountain drainages. 

The downside of this is they are hard to get to, hard to sneak up on, and the pack out, if you're lucky, is daunting.  The upside is that they are there, and you're likely to see one of the more majestic looking critters in the North American wilds sooner or later if you spend enough time, plus, you'll get natural scenery like the pictures provided.  This is about as good as it gets on public land, and I am grateful it is still here to see.  Got a serious case of what my wife teasingly calls "the bends" (I gotta see what's around the next one) and ended up farther out than I had planned.  Tired and happy, with some old elk sign for encouragement, I returned to camp.

 

Day 9

 

Up later than usual, and sore.  Did an abbreviated version of my morning routine to shake the rust out of my joints, and traveled a twin track uphill, figuring that by mid-morning elk and deer would be finding a safe ridgeline to bed down on.  Saw 6 deer (all does) and a cow elk on my way up, so I was practically running to get to the spot I'd decided on.  Spent the day hiking ridges, and the evening back in the drainage of the night before.  Despite lots of sign, didn't see anything else for the rest of the day, other than a few vistas that stopped me in my tracks and distracted me from the pursuit.

By this evening (Friday) the local hunters started racing in after work.  Two separate trucks came down the 1/2 mile long dead-end spur I was camped on, looking for a place of their own.  While I can't begrudge others like myself who are looking for space to hunt away from the daily grind, it does underscore how necessary it is to protect such rare and precious
places that are left.  There are only going to be more people who want to have the experience, and with more people comes more pressure.  My secret place is obviously not a secret. 

 

Day 10 

 

Up on time this morning, my last day away from home.  It's a Saturday, so the hunting community is out in full force.  I'd decided to drive to a new area, but on the way found myself following a couple fellows who were driving pretty slow and glassing the slopes from the road.  They obviously didn't see me and I wasn't of a mind to honk (there's no honking in hunting!). Eventually they noticed me and let me by, and I noticed that I was starting to get a bad attitude.  Figuring that the best I could hope for today would be to scout somewhere I'd never been, I picked a heavily overgrown twin track and crashed my truck through the high grass and saplings down a bit in to a drainage I hadn't explored before.  Got out, grabbed my stuff, and walked the rest of the way.  Turns out that was the ticket.  While the SUV's, ATV's, and 4x4 pick-ups buzzed around above like gnats over a fruit bowl, I started a hike down into isolation that eventually led to this....

 

Then this...

 

And finally, this...

 

They were in the bottom browsing calmly, as if they hadn't a care in the world, seemingly unaware of the dangers all around up above.  Maybe confident in their ability to outrun and out-negotiate the terrain in this area, against anything that might threaten.  Certainly it was true in my regard.  Between my self and this small group was the detritus of old logging operations, consisting of a knee deep layer of small branches (what my timber-cruiser uncle would call "dog hair," as in the piles of fuzz that you find in the corners of a room while vacuuming).  Interlaced through this were small briars, equivalent to 4-5 pound test monofilament.  One alone is not much of a barrier, but drag your foot through 3 or 4 and you'll likely end up on your face.  Sprinkle on top a layer of dry leaves, and the futility of attempting to sneak up on them becomes obvious.  I tried anyway, with predictable results, though I did notice that my attitude problem had disappeared all of a sudden.  Off they went with the "crash crash, thadump dump dump!" sound of heavy animals quickly leaving the scene.  I finished scouting the area after they had left, and determined that I will not be driving that twin track any more.  I want the saplings to continue growing so as to discourage frustrated knuckleheads like me from driving down into my new "secret" place.  I'll walk there instead.

Day 7 of Archery Season

 

Dropped by the beaver pond for a quick look see, (nothing there) and remembered to keep the wind at my back.  Improved my hunt quite a bit, as the deer I bumped on the way back let me get within 60 yards rather than 400 like last time. 

 

Went to the west side of the coast mountains.  This really is my favorite area to hunt.  The trees are huge, and the canopy is so tightly woven that light barely makes it through.  On a foggy day (like today) the overall effect is brooding, almost oppressive, like I need to watch my back, despite knowing full well that the apex predators in Oregon have been either wiped out or conditioned to avoid humans like the plague.  "Primeval" is a term that has been over-used to describe the Northwest rainforests, but I can almost imagine it when I find stumps like the one pictured.  5-6 of the "huge" trees I've already described could grow out of it, if their trunks were tightly clustered together.  The picture doesn't do it justice.  (Might be the fat head in the foreground ruining the perspective).  Try to visualize a forest consisting entirely of such behemoths. 

 

No elk today, despite an enjoyable effort.  On the way home I saw a 6 point buck by the side of the road that a nice family in a minivan hit just a few cars ahead of me.  Also passed a sign with a phone number to call, advertising "gopher control."  It had a ground squirrel sitting on top.  That about says it all for this first week of archery season.

  

 



Archery Season - Day 4

 

Starting to hit a stride.  Going to a well-known place was the ticket.  Followed a twin track up high just a few miles from my house, and had a great day.  Some deer sign, but no elk.  Bear scat in a couple of places.  Broke a couple of hand-made arrows chasing a covey of quail.  Didn't connect, but it was nice to actually draw the string.  Shame about the arrows, but totally worth it.  I'll have 10 months to replace them once the season is over.

 

 

Day 5

 

 

Starting a little late because I need to drop the baby off.  8am and already warming up.  Stopped at a random gated area I'd never visited before (walk-in only) and headed up an old logging road.  Almost immediately started to see signs of deer, tracks, scat and a rub.  A little meadow through the roadside trees drew me in to investigate, and a movement to my left caught my eye.  Had the arrow on the string when something made me hesitate on an easy shot: the ears and head of a deer quartering away, but small.  She jumped up in that peculiar pronging style deer have, white tail flagging, and I recognized a fawn, barely out of spots.  She might have been legal (females are allowed in this area, and anything with primitive equipment is a trophy) but I had to pass.  Very encouraging, however.  Spent a long day walking down likely spur roads.  Saw the first elk sign of the season, tracks and scat.  I'll definitely come back here tomorrow.

 

 

Day 6

 

 

At the gate at dawn this morning.  Headed in and within a mile found some very fresh elk sign.  The tracks disappeared quickly after I found the scat, and I had to choose between two different paths, both grassy and likely to hide any prints.  I figured downhill toward water would be the likely path and chose that direction. 

 

One of the things I like about hunting is that I'm always learning something.  Sometimes I learn the same thing more than once.  Like "keep your nose in the wind."  While it appeared from the tracks I found in a dusty area that I'd chosen the right path, my inattention to the fact that cold air sinks left the wind at my back, which I remembered the hard way when I was scented by a couple of deer from 400 yards away.  Rather than stubbornly continue on and possibly scare the elk out of the area, I turned around and headed upwind, resolved to be more careful. 

 

I eventually came across an old beaver pond that was mostly dry.  It was fun looking at the tracks in the muddy banks, including a bear, whose recent droppings I found near by.  (My sister-in-law is giving me a hard time for taking "pictures of poop?"  She doesn't know a good thing when she sees it).  A tree with claw marks and tracks in the mud (pictured) identified the area as a regular haunt.  I have mixed feelings about hunting bears, as they have kind of been a totem animal for me since a full beard in college earned me the nickname Griz (after Grizzly Adams).  The little black bears here in Oregon are so reclusive it is unlikely that I will see any without significantly changing my hunting style.  I move too much, not liking to sit and glass the clear cuts which is how most people get them now that baiting and dogs have been banned (both of which I am generally okay with seeing go).  Hard to know what I'd do if I crossed paths with one.  Guess I'll see when the time comes.   

The day ended without taking a shot, though I took a lot of photographs to show off to folks back home.  I'm going to give this area a day to rest, then be back and a bit more focused on the promising spots that I have found.

Day 3 of Archery Season

 

Today was a train wreck.  Drove for a couple of hours to find that the timber company land I wanted to explore was closed to the public "due to extreme fire danger."  Hadn't planned on taking that long getting there (I know, MapQuest would have saved me) and it took just as long to find another more accommodating spot.  Saw two bucks in velvet, one chasing a doe, but too close to civilization for me to pursue.  Practiced my calls, walked for a few hours, and came home when it grew insanely hot.  I'll go somewhere I've been before next week.

Day Two

 

Not much to report today.  Went out in the evening, and while heading toward an old favorite hunting area I impulsively stopped at a gate I'd never explored behind.  Some of my best days have been spent on such impulses, though today I didn't see any elk or deer.  Hiked 12-13 miles to find a small, desiccated pile of wapiti dung, likely from a year ago.  No tracks, and one rub, also at least a year old, judging by the colorless and odor free bark laying around the trunk of the victim.  Did see 6-7 small snakes sunning in the road, one of whom was hilariously aggressive (defensive?) despite being only 8 inches long, at best.  He reared back and let the tip of my bow have it when I tried to determine if he was alive or not.  I let him go, unmolested.  Had to admire the fight in the little fellow.
 

Anyway, saw some beautiful, Ferngully like drainages, and a simply BRUTAL clear-cut.  A lot is said about how clear-cuts create browse for deer and elk.   I've passed this one (not pictured) occasionally on the highway for about the past 10 years, and have yet to see anything approaching "browse" show up, (or elk and deer, for that matter).  Just a tangled mass of root balls, stumps, and towering burn piles that have yet to be burned.  Not even those annoying, low-growing berry vines that take about five minutes to completely entangle any brush pile on my place that I dare to leave overnight (I'm exaggerating a bit, of course).  Hide it all by lining the highway of tourists headed to the coast with a thin barrier of cottonwoods, and the illusion is complete, like a Hello Kitty band aid covering the results of a compound fracture.  Really, there is no excuse for it.

 

But, I digress, and will do so again in the morning.  I will go south, to try again.

Day one of Archery Season

Didn't hunt last year due to the arrival of Shorty.  No regrets (well...not many;), but I was sure looking forward to this year.  Still won't be what I'm accustomed to, with just one overnight trip in the schedule, but even an abbreviated season is better than none at all. 

Typical first day garbage, though.  Woke up at 4am, had my coffee, and packed all my gear into the car.

Well, almost all of it, as I realized when I hit the summit of the coast range during the first rain in weeks.  While conditions were perfect for stealthy roving, my license remained in the drawer by the front door, safe from loss, and apparently safe from use as well.

So my first day of hunting became a day of scouting.  I headed back a few miles toward town, and continued looking for likely places close to home, a concession I'd made with my wife in honor of Shorty still being small and labor-intensive.  I parked, and took my bow and the only blunt I had (which I soon lost) so that I could shoot a stump or two. 

Saw 4 does (no bucks), 3 covey of quail, and (on the way home) 3 separate flocks of turkey.  The turkey seem to hang out near the farms and homes, where there is a lot of easy feed and few predators.  In many years of roaming the surrounding public and private timberlands, I have never seen one outside of a town or township, where they occasionally make the paper as a nuisance, chasing chickens and crapping all over people's yards and porches.  I know a few folks that were participants in the re-introduction program with the turkeys.  I doubt they suspected at the time that the critters would voluntarily domesticate themselves.

All in all, other than the forgotten license and inaccessible turkeys, an encouraging start to the season.

Got an e-mail recently from a friend who expressed the opinion that adding some "how-to" type writing to my blog might help with increasing the interest.  I'm sure he's correct, and I intend to share some of my bumbling at some point.  However, I am equally sure that my expertise is not in the crafting of primitive tools.  My creations are serviceable, and meet my needs without being an embarrassment when I use them in public.  Make no mistake though, others do it much better.

 

One of these others is a fellow by the name of John Strunk.  He lives on the Oregon coast with his wife Pat, and a nicer couple would be hard to find.  My favorite story about John illustrates the type of person that he is, and one of the reasons I like and respect him as much as I do.  It occurred one day while we were wandering around "stump shooting."  Knowing that he is both an avid fisherman and hunter, I asked him which was his first love.  Without hesitation he told me, "my wife." 

 

John is a retired wood shop teacher with a long-time interest in bow-building.  His skills have moved well past craft to artistry, and I have had the privilege of taking a couple of classes from him that have truly impressed me, not only for the amazing performance potential that he helps you to release from simple pieces of wood, but also for his ability to make the finished product beautiful in the process.  He's a fine teacher, with a calm and clear style, ideal for young and old alike.  Within the past few years I was able to acquire a couple examples of his handicraft, and they can  easily compare in performance with the few glass bows remaining in my collection.  Whatever limits they have in contrast to fiberglass they more than make up for in attractiveness and that indescribable, soulful feel that wooden tools have that glass and plastic simply do not.  He's been in a few publications, one of them being the (now) four volume set of the Bowyer's Bible, and I've come across one or two articles in Primitive Archer Magazine.  John continues to offer 1-2 day classes, either in the intimacy of his home shop, with room enough for maybe 3-4 people (including John) and also in workshops that he holds at various gatherings for archery enthusiasts.  Last I spoke to him, his bow making business had achieved the level that he no longer needs to advertise, as orders generated by word of mouth have been sufficient to give him all the business he can handle.  That being said, I am going to publish his e-mail. 

You can reach him at spiritlongbow@centurylink.net .

To actually get a look at the man, hear his philosophy in his own words, and some other examples of his work, check out the link below.

http://traveloregon.com/trip-ideas/grants-getaways/taking-aim-at-archery/ 
 
 
 
 

Achievement

One of the things that annoys me the most about modern hunting practices, as advertised in visual and print media, is the continuing insistence that modern hunting and the hunters who use the latest innovations, (clothing, tools, machinery, etc.) are tough, macho, stalwart.  I have to chuckle every time I think of a recent advertisement for a 4 person ATV, full of grim faced "outdoorsmen"; machine and riders all in camouflage, driving through a creek, mud flying, hanging on with obvious manly effort and determination.  I'm sure with all that attention to obscuring their presence, they drove right up on the object of their strenuous quest.  How rewarding it must be.

Okay, contrast that image, with this reality.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=826HMLoiE_o

Now this guy really is a bad-ass.  And secure/sensitive enough to pray in public.

I dare, (nay, double dog dare) some outdoor network to present a show based entirely on the successes or failures of hunters (male and female) who commit to primitive gear and hunting skill, pursuing wild game, (non-managed, no 'ranches' or high fences).  It will likely never happen.  Who would sponsor such a show?  Imagine the ads for this one.  "How to succeed as a hunter and achieve a hitherto unimagined sense of personal satisfaction, while utilizing exactly nothing that we sell!  If it's too hard and you want to settle for less, give us a call!"  While I utilized male oriented language, we shouldn't leave out the super-model huntresses currently and more recently gracing the air waves.  They too can enjoy the sweat, grime, and strain of hunting without space age polymers and petroleum based fibers getting in the way. 


I'm considering a Kickstarter campaign for just such a project.  Let me know if you're interested.

Selling Public Lands

 

 

There is a tragedy that has been repeated in my family for generations.  I wouldn't get so personal except to draw parallels to a similar tragedy that is being proposed in the most recent House GOP budget, released March 20th of this year. 

When my great-great-grandfather died he left a legacy of acres and acres of gorgeous farmland, (admittedly a subjective opinion, but one held by my father, who has described it for me in vivid detail).  It was sold for what was described as a pittance (even then).  This was done despite my fathers passionate attachment to the property.  He expressed love for the farmland and the lifestyle, and would not have lost it willingly.  An added bit of sadness is that while the fortune of the family was briefly advanced, the benefit was not nearly as sustainable and valuable as the land itself.  Today that land is likely worth better than a million dollars.  Maybe several million.  Today, none of us are millionaires.  Quite the opposite, in fact.  All we have left of my great-great-grandfather's legacy are memories that are steadily fading with the aging and passing of those who knew him and lived there, and a few ancient farming and household items gathering dust in a storage unit. 
 

This sad event was repeated when my grandmother was too frail to live alone anymore.  A house that held precious memories, and was seen as having more sentimental than fiscal value by the grandchildren she spoiled, was sold in a short-sighted rush to cover the cost of grandma's care and living expenses.  The house, like great grand-dad's farm, was let go for quick cash to a real estate agent.  He then hiked the price up substantially, sold it again within a year, and within five years the house was featured in a major motion picture that made hundreds of millions at the box office.  The potential and intrinsic value was either ignored or not perceived at the time of sale, resulting in a tragedy whose full impact is discovered only in hindsight.  I didn't go to see that movie.

 

The purpose of my story is less to air out the dirty laundry of my family's financial misadventures, than in response to the House GOP budget of this year.  It proposes to sell off  "3.3 million acres of public lands in Arizona, Colorado, Idaho, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New Mexico, Oregon, Utah, and Wyoming..."  These lands are described in the budget as "unneeded" by the public, and expensive to maintain.  Whoever made that determination certainly did not consult me, nor did they consult the millions of recreationalists who utilize public lands.  The creators of this budget option justify it by emphasizing the short-term benefits of increased cash flow from the sales, and possible job creation from business interests that might purchase the lands.  They describe potential savings from no longer needing to "maintain" the land.  What it doesn't take into account are the millions, possibly billions, of dollars generated by the fishing, hunting and outdoor recreation industries, and how that is a self-sustaining source of revenue that can be counted on for generations. If the opportunity for the activity is not lost.  That opportunity requires accessible public land, at least for those who are unable to afford to pay private landowners for the privilege of using theirs. 

Such proposals do not make sense fiscally, nor do they protect the public's "interests."  It is difficult to imagine what the motivation behind it might be, but at best, it is short-sighted and misguided.  At worst, it is selling the legacy of the nation to those with power and money, in order to create opportunities for them to acquire more power, and more money.  The rest of us are left with fading memories. 

If you would like to get involved in fighting this threat, please follow this link.

http://www.backcountryhunters.org/index.php/sportsman-s-pledge
 

"Pro" is for "Progressive"

 

Been a while since I posted.  Life has been busy. I'm sure other parents can relate. 

 

Part of what I'd hoped to do with this blog is explore what is of lasting value in our progress as human beings, but without disparaging or forgetting what has always been valuable.  In our consumer oriented culture, we tend to look at old ways of doing things as somehow inferior to the new.  While sometimes this has led to unforeseen negative consequences and unnecessary suffering, just as frequently human resourcefulness and advancement has had the opposite effect.  I joke about being a Luddite, but I am also very aware that if I was a Neanderthal, without modern medicine to address the serious knee injury I suffered in my mid-twenties, Nature would have selected against me a long time ago.  I am very glad to be here.


I would separate technological and social advances into two groups; those that support the meeting of our basic needs without inhibiting our evolution as human beings, and those that don't.  The former are generally easy to distinguish from the latter.  Typically they are motivated by long tested values such as compassion, empathy, justice and generosity.  Not to mention being functional and pragmatic.  An example would be the afore-mentioned modern medicine.  As much as doctors can be maligned for common human weaknesses such as greed and arrogance, the underlying motivation for those in the helping professions is a concern for the well-being of others.  They have a code of ethics which helps to preserve a focus on this value, so fundamental to the spirit and reputation of their profession.  We, as customers, depend on this code to protect us.  It allows us enough assurance and faith that we can put our very lives into someone else's hands.

An example of non-progressive advancement would be the evolution of weapons of war in modern times.  While it has been said that such things protect us, and are a "deterrent" to aggression, their proliferation contributes to an exponentially increasing potential for destruction, intensification of fear, and divisiveness.  The underlying motivations for improving weapons technology these days are generally not from a sense of justice, generosity, empathy, or compassion.  More like cynicism, suspicion, and considering the money involved, self-interest. 

"So," you ask, "if you hate weapons so much, how do you explain the fact that you use weapons to hunt with?" 

My answer is simple.  I don't hate weapons, I distrust what is made with the express purpose of killing or dominating other humans, and I regret their occasional necessity.  War is a reality, and a defensive response to naked aggression is easily justified.  But we need not be at war with the animals we hunt.  They have not improved their technology one bit.  For my hunting purposes, I use as little as possible to get the result I am looking for.  That is my ethic, and this is where "progress" and "primitive" intersect.  To my mind, some things need little or no improvement.  Sometimes, we get it right, and it is good enough.  There is a tipping point where a development stops serving an ethically constrained need and starts to serve something, shall we say, a little less wholesome.

Our ancestors needed to eat, needed to defend themselves.  As I've said before, tools were developed that allowed this to happen, primarily made of stone and sticks, and our ancestors were very successful with such tools, (as evidenced by the fact that I am writing this, and you are reading it).

Today, I too have needs.  They compel me to find resources for myself and my family, and, like the doctor, it is important that I do so with a focused attention on ethics.  Whether that is through my job, or through hunting, the principles are the same. In my work, when I get my needs met in a manner that harms my client, either through exploiting a weakness or by manipulation, I am in the wrong.  It doesn't matter how long I get away with it, or how much money I make from it, nor does it matter if my client deludes himself into thinking that he has benefited. I am still in the wrong. 

If I go hunting with a tool that twists the natural predator-prey relationship from being a mutual struggle for survival, to one where I nearly always win without breaking a sweat, I am in the wrong.  It doesn't matter whether I acquired a Boone and Crockett record, or the admiration of my peers, or a sponsorship from the hunting industry. 

To me, this is an ethical decision.  There may not be a clear line of what hunters should or shouldn't use for hunting, but it is clear to me that all hunters need to ask themselves these ethical questions: "Will this tool give me an unfair advantage?"  "If everyone hunted like I do, how would that impact the population of animals I hunt, or the habitat they need to exist?"  "When I leave, will my presence here have enhanced or inhibited the enjoyment that the next person gets from this place?" or, "How will it impact the next animal  that passes through?"  "How do I give back in return for the privilege of hunting?"  "Have I earned the right to be here?"  "Did I allow greed to make my decisions, or another, higher motivation?"

When I consider these questions, they lead me to:

- Hunt with a self-bow, and aspire to hunt entirely with tools I have created, from natural materials that I have acquired myself.

- Eliminate all electronic technology from my kit. 

- Use a traditional compass and aspire to navigate through observation of the sun and stars.

- Take only what I need, or what my family and friends can use, within the limits of the law. Be proud when that means I don't take my "limit."

- Attempt to use everything.  Waste nothing.  Something died, as we all will, and I need to respect what was left behind, as we'd all want for ourselves.

- Hunt on foot.

- Practice low- or no-impact camping and travel.

- If a species is endangered, excessively vulnerable, or severely pressured, I won't hunt it.  This means no water-hole blinds in times of drought, no endangered sage grouse (even if the season is open), and no hunting over bait, among other considerations.

- Knowing that the interconnection between all living things is both more vital, and more complicated, than I can fully understand, I try to get involved in protecting the habitat, health and populations of all animal species.  Whether I hunt for them or not.

My hope is that this list will not be the end of this exercise; that others who read it will expand upon it, argue against it, or otherwise help me refine it into something that will be truly useful.  Our natural world and the creatures that inhabit it are in crisis, one that we have at least partially inflicted upon them.  We must take responsibility for what we do, and the impact that it has.