A Hunter's Epiphany

When I was a much younger man I was a very avid hunter. Birds, squirrels, rabbits, deer, elk, at one time or another, all fell into my gun sights. I grew up with hunting as a cornerstone of 'rights of passage' into fall and winter. After all, male bonding required this activity explicitly. Shivering incessantly in a duck blind at six in the morning was simply a testosterone rush, or so I was lead to believe.

Today nothing could be further from the truth for me. I get absolutely no pleasure from the killing or death of any other life form in the animal kingdom. In fact this morning I added my name to Oceana's congressional petition for the protection of sharks, blue fin tuna and certain coral species, the type of activity in which I now find myself regularly engaged.

I have been asked numerous times where my epiphany came on all of this. It was a cold November morning in 1984 in the upper peninsula of Michigan. It started out like many other duck hunting mornings from past seasons and mornings earlier in that particular season. It was cold, very cold for the middle of November even that far north. Three of us sat on cold metal seats in an aluminum boat well concealed in our neatly crafted blind. Apparently the waterfowl had the same take on the morning that we did- simply nasty, as none were to be seen anywhere. Finally a discussion ensued on the merits of just chucking the hunt and heading to a local cafe for a hot breakfast. Decisions with three very chilled individuals do come quickly. "Let's go," became the unanimous cry.

However, within a matter of seconds my friend John spotted a flight of about 20 ducks in the distance heading on a course that would likely bring them into our range. Departure was quickly delayed to further investigate this possibility. Yep! They were headed right down our slot; safeties off! As an experienced duck hunter I was capable of picking out particular species by characteristics of flight, bird profiles, and certainly when close enough, by markings. It did not take long to determine these ducks were common mergansers, a quite common, largely fish-eating duck in those particular waters. 'Fish' ducks tend to be quite greasy and not at all flavorful when compared to more sought after grain-fed ducks. Everyone in the boat that morning normally spurned 'fishies' for that reason.

I quickly said, "Mergansers; let's just get out of here and go eat." Both of my partners quickly rejected my suggestion with " Hell no, we have been here freezing our asses off for two hours. We are going to bust these ducks, period." Within another thirty seconds the whole flight was in range and a massive fuselage erupted with ensuing carnage. Within ten seconds twelve lifeless bodies were on the water in front of us with two more wounded birds attempting to swim out of range. We 'cleaned up' those two on our departure for breakfast.

Once we made the landing a brief conversation ensued regarding the merits of taking the time to dress the birds for a meal. No one wanted them. Of course not, mergansers were, after all, the ducks from which all had received the name fowl! Fourteen carcasses were discarded that morning for the local fox and muskrat populations to dispose of. Almost immediately the event began to burn a hole in my psyche; breakfast left me with severe indigestion. For days subsequently the events of that morning played over again and again in my mind. I could not shake the thoughts. I was very soon asking myself who was I to think I could recklessly dispatch life so callously. My hunting ended with that event.

Today I strongly believe that inhabiting the top of the food chain hands us a very important obligation to be stewards of life beneath us and protectors of the environment in which all of that life has evolved. It does not entitle us to take life, and certainly not senselessly, for the purpose of recreation. Ironically, trophies to my success as a hunter still hang from the walls of both of my log cabins in New Mexico and Missouri. They remain as conversation triggers on how I find absolutely no joy in taking life at this point in my life. Hopefully many former hunters will seize the opportunity to tell about how time does cure destructive habits and addictions. Some of our best friends' lives depend upon it! 

Jeff Thompson

Mora, NM

P.O. Box 80663

Lincoln, NE  68501

402 476 - 4414

info@animalrescuesoc.org