In the moments after a successful hunt, when approaching a downed animal, we all—consciously or not—take a small moment to give thanks. Whether it’s to God or the spirit of the fallen animal itself, we feel compelled to send a small prayer of gratitude out into the astral plane. It’s a compulsion as old as
Tag soup, as it’s known in the hunting community, is what a hunter is left ruefully sipping on instead of savoring a choice piece of backstrap or turkey leg when they fail to fill their tag. It’s a common recipe, served frequently at the end of most hunting seasons. Although tag soup has gotten a
The cabin sat alone on the edge of the mountain. For most of the year it stood unused and empty: its roof stacked heavy with snow in the winter, its weathered sides fading to gray in the spring and summer sun. Yet the cabin was not forlorn; it was not abandoned to simply decay and
I blame it on Bambi. Whenever I try to have a rational, calm discussion with a non-hunter about why I hunt, that adorable little baby deer is the first thing that comes up. It doesn’t seem to matter if I explain that no real hunters are out there searching for does with newborn fawns munching
