Ethics vs Laws

Snow covers the roads making for treacherous driving conditions, the emergency flashers from a pickup illuminate through the whiteout. Directly in front of the truck lays a yearling mule deer, her back legs are broken and repeated attempts to stand seem fruitless. I stop my vehicle and approach the pickup that is parked behind the wounded yearling. As I approach the cab a man steps from his truck, I ask if he hit the deer and if he plans to put the pitiful creature out of her misery. He announces through whisky-tainted breath that he did not hit the deer but was waiting for the local game warden to dispatch the animal. He then informed me that I would be breaking the law should I put her out of her misery myself. I turn and retreat to my vehicle with a now very angry demeanor; I recall the calf elk stuck in the fence along the Meeteetse highway a few years back. Her back leg was shattered and she was squealing in absolute pain. I called the game warden and waited while he came to end her suffering. After an hour and a half of waiting, he finally arrived on the scene and took several shots from his revolver to finally end her suffering. I as an ethical hunter, conservationist and lover of all things natural am appalled by the notion that only a police officer or game warden can legally make the call as to when and why a wounded animal may be put down. This fall a Bull Moose broke his leg and the officers took at least eight shots to end the animal’s life while a known hunter and marksmen with decades of hunting prowess was forced to stand by and watch. I do not condone people recklessly shooting animals or killing them along our roadways. But would like to see the laws fixed so wounded creatures need not suffer until the authorities see fit to show up. The wounded yearling was in the town of Cody Wyoming, and several people were witness to her long suffering while Cody game and fish officers took their time getting to the scene. Sometimes ethics directly contrast with man’s laws; however, the stiff penalties for taking the “good road” in such instances usually override commonsense and righteous behavior for fear of repercussion. I always offer up a prayer to those creatures who die on our roadways, and never accept their deaths as something expected. Each creature had a life before its death and deserves our respect even as a bystander after the fact. So next time you see that raccoon, deer or owl lying on the shoulder, offer up a prayer to them and honor their existence. Maybe the next time you meet up with one of their relatives in the wild, they will remember your prayers for the fallen and look upon you as a brother or sister, instead of as a threat. HAWK a/ho

FINDING THE GOOD

I recently read a story of an african hunter sent to me by a fellow outdoorswoman and survivalist... she has far surpassed my abilities in the world of survival and I am honored to share a quote from the hunter whose story she sent me.. the words of Nqate ...

"When you track an animal - you must become the animal.Tracking is like dancing, because your body is happy - you can feel it in the dance and then you know that the hunting will be good.When you are doing these things you are talking with God."(!Nqate Xqamxebe 1998)... A/ho to my fellow hunter.. and thanks to Robin for sending me the link.......

The mud flying from the tires would have been fun were it not for the fact that I was stuck clear up to the axles twenty miles from anything resembling civilization. This day has turned out to be a real disappointment, first I got a flat tire, then my truck slid into the ditch while trying to four wheel up an old mud slicked logging road. Daybreak brought with it a pounding rain combined with a cold west wind, my clothes are soaked from changing the flat tire in a pounding rain storm that would have drowned a duck.
Two hours later my spirits are low as I struggle through the wet landscape towards a high ridge to the north. Mule deer frequent this drainage this time of year, offering ample opportunity to harvest one of the long eared warriors. Through the pounding rain I see a large buck bedded next to a rock outcrop partially shielding him from the torrent of water falling from the heavens. On silent yet soggy feet I close the distance to ten yards and ready for the shot. The string slips from my fingers and the arrow leaves the bow in a graceful arc, with a resounding thump the cedar shaft impacts with the rocks inches above the deer, and shatter into a dozen pieces. The buck ghosts away into the storm leaving me standing wet and I must say a pitiful figure on the mountainside. I lay my hands on the earth and feel the warmth leaving the ground where the buck had been bedded all day, I turn to leave the ridge with a heave heart and forlorn disposition.
The rest of the afternoon is spent digging out the pickup and driving home through the now snow covered mountains, the storm has gotten worse changing to snow and beginning to freeze. Near the bottom of the mountain I am suddenly staring into the frightened eyes of a mule deer, the truck slides on the slick road as I hit the brakes. The impact sends the deer flying and jolts the pickup to the core, causing the Don Williams CD to skip in the player and my heart to nearly stop.
Outside the wind has grown to a howl and the headlights illuminate the deer laying in the road, the life slowly draining from her once graceful body. I feel her spirit slipping away and offer a prayer for her journey. After dragging her body into the woods and laying her among the pines and sweet smelling earth I once again begin the long drive back down this lonely stretch of back road. The storm has worsened but my spirits are better, my day seems to have been filled with hardships and disaster, but I realize that my bad day is nothing compared to that of the old matriarch now laying dead upon the frozen ground behind me. Her death was not one of honor or dignity and she will not be remembered by anyone but the one who took her life. I recall days spent upon this mountain and the spiritual connection I felt as the eagle called from the sky or a bull elk bugled somewhere in the pines. Somehow we forget to connect to nature when things go wrong and nature throws us a curve. During times like that is when we should recall our true place and all we have been given, instead of concentrating on the negative energy surrounding the moment. It is hard to do believe me, I often rant and rave at bad situations instead of embracing the good . Hawk a/ho

Mule deer..

Stalking the majestic mule deer is in my opinion, one of the most rewarding and fun hunting endeavors anyone could undertake. The Mule deer are a very diverse and wary animal, their ability to live in the high country as well as the plains and fertile river bottoms gives the hunter a wide range of hunting possibilities..My personal preference for hunting these ungulates is the spot and stalk method. Spotting a mule deer is no easy task, they have a natural camouflage and usually bed in terrain which hides them perfectly. For anyone wishing to hunt mule deer, our great state of Wyoming is probably the best bet for an opportunity with a bow. So put on your stalking shoes, brace your bow, and enter into the world of these big eared warriors. The hunt will be hard, the terrain even harder, but the memories and adventures obtained will far outweigh any hardship.. Hawk a/ho

Time spent in the wild outdoors for me is an obsession, a passion and at times a necessity.

The thrill of the hunt started when I was a young boy.

My father and namesake, was and still is a hunter, survivalist and outdoorsman.

Growing up I heard stories of his exploits and adventures while in the field, and I longed to learn the way of the wilderness.

I read every book and magazine I could find concerning the outdoors, indians, mountain men and the great Rocky Mountains. Through twenty plus years of roaming the rockies I have since had many of my own adventures.

The call of a rut crazed bull elk, or the sound of a lone wolf calling from a high ridge still stirs my wanderer's soul. Each fall I feel the call of the wild as the leaves begin to turn, and the days shorten. When crisp mountain air whistles through the pine scented forest,

you can be assured that somewhere up there my moccasins will be silently padding along some lonesome trail, searching not only for my intended prey,

but, hoping to find myself among the wilderness.