Can We Just Hunt Already?

Better than the forbidden tailgate photo? Perhaps. But, someone still chirped about it when it was posted.

When did the study and discussion of bird hunting become bigger than the hunt itself? Waxing poetic is fine and it sells magazine articles. However, there should be some muddy boots, snoring dogs and some bird guts in a bucket after a long day too. Embrace the legacy of the hunt for what it is or else take up tennis and fly fishing. Here are some current trends that will probably come and go with a little luck.

Field-to-Fork. Prairie-to-Plate, etc.  Why is this a thing? Is it novel to shoot a bird, clean it and cook it?  We all have favorite recipes and we often experiment with new ones.  Hunters have been cooking their own game for years.  I guess it is a good thing that urban folks are embracing the hunt from a food perspective. But, I am not sure it needs a catchy name or corporate mission statement.

Pluck it schmuck.   Speaking of cleaning your own birds, I have seen some social media posts this past autumn calling out others who skin birds versus plucking them. “You are doing the bird and yourself and your family a disservice!” “Skinning birds is breaking game waste laws!”  Stop.  You just killed the bird, plucking it isn’t akin to catch-and-release fishing. We also know the difference in the final product and appreciate the advantage of leaving the skin on.  But, it also depends on the end game.  For roasting, yes, skin is in.  If you are making chicken nuggets out of your birds or a sweet-and-sour stir fry, it doesn’t matter.  If you want to pluck eight Huns, three pheasants and four sharptail after that long drive home from a banner day in North Dakota, knock yourself out.  I am skinning and grinning in that instance.

Fit-to-Hunt, Chukar Cardio Club, Feel The Rut Supplements……... I relate to this Olivia Newton-John “Let’s Get Physical” mission at some level. I am probably more skewed this direction than the guy that roads his dogs with an ATV and is carrying an extra 50 around his mid-section. But, if you are the same guy posting photos of yourself at the gym, this goes hand-in-hand with your narcissistic side.  Do you even lift bro?  I do work out nearly every day, some of which is at high-elevation, but no one else cares. Maybe the dogs do.  If you are in shape, they get to hunt longer. Staying in shape for hunting should be as routine as eating the birds you bag and doesn’t require a Facebook Group.

Instragram Judge and Jury.  Similarly to the plucking folks, there are a few strong opinions on the Internet, always quick to point out the injustices of the world, one being the dreaded tailgate photo. “Shameful”. “Barbaric”. “Unoriginal”.  I understand that stacks of birds can appear to some folks as wasteful and disrespectful. The truth of the matter is that tailgates are easy.  Often, birds on the ground or ones held up by hunters don’t show up well in photos.  For those of us that use photos as part of our hunting journals, there is some record-keeping advantage to those lined-up roosters and Huns. Looking back at my old photos of ruffed grouse hunts, I can quickly verify the peak years of the grouse cycle versus the bottom.  As far as being original, I am not sure there is anything original anymore.  The grouse/woodcock with a leather bird strap or pheasants hanging on barbed-wire, yup, been done. Often. While a tailgate photo may never make the cover of an upland magazine, it isn’t destroying bird hunting as we know it. Trust me, I love and respect those birds as much as you do. 

I am looking forward to the day where we can once again simply hunt for the love of the birds and dogs, not question someone else’s style or motives.   Unethical and illegal actions need to be addressed. There is no tolerance there. But, let’s not make our passion as hateful as politics and as complicated as an Ikea dresser.  Load up the dog, grab the gun and just go hunting.   

Next episode: The invention of the term Prey Drive and dog breeders’ love of it. Also, we search out the three upland bird hunters that do not have a podcast.

Dad and some ruffs circa 1966. Field to kitchen, if you will.