The Evolving Ethics of a Young American Hunter

      There I sat, 20 yards from a gravel road along a wooded stream bed. To my left and right were men in blaze orange just like me. Each of us waiting for the ‘pushers’ to drive deer towards the ‘standers’. An owl perched in the tree above me, intently watching the rabbit-lined mad bomber hat that I was wearing. Before long the owl flew off with a start and I heard brush crashing as 4 does ran within 15 yards of me. 5 discharged slugs and one blood-trail later there was red-snow everywhere and three deer laying in the bed of a pickup.

What is the definition of an ethical hunter? As a kid I strived to be just that, but what does that look like? Ask one hundred sportsmen and you will probably receive one hundred different answers. And likely, not one of them is wrong.

At the time of this hunt I was stoked. I had just done what I had only heard my dad and his friends talk about, a triple! I was responsible for providing three deer for my family and the families of the hunters I spent that day with and a memory to share as well. This is the form of hunting I knew.

            I grew up chasing most species of game in Iowa but it was the whitetail that captured my attention throughout the year. I lived in the city and the closest property we hunted was at least 45 minutes away. Generally, my father and I were the classic weekend warriors. Getting up hours before dawn and getting home a couple hours after the sun had set on Saturdays. Opportunity for us was limited forcing us to take advantage of the time we did have in the field.

 In Iowa, the big season of the year for deer is shotgun. Now, imagine a 12-year-old hauling around a 20-gauge 870 with iron sights. Needless to say, my lethality was limited by both range and skillset. With my mentor, my father, being introduced to the sport with deer drives, I thought nothing of taking shots at running deer. As much as we appreciated the game, the habitat and the experience, deer were aplenty and generally were not regarded as a particularly scarce resource. To illustrate the deer’s population where I grew up hunting, I had heard from farmers whose land we hunted, “if you shoot one and it runs off, leave it and find another” or as one land owner half-jokingly put it, “you only have to pay to hunt on my property if you don’t shoot a deer”.

            Over the last several years, particularly while at college, I have been exposed to numerous techniques of harvesting animals, most in geographically distinct places from the Midwest. These have been personal experiences, talking with close friends, listening to passionate and popular outdoorsman on podcasts and watching shows and YouTube videos. The only consistency I have witnessed during this time is that each individual believes that they are an ethical hunter.

             This year, with only 3 days to bow hunt I harvested my first antlered deer with archery equipment which happened to be my second largest buck ever. And yet I felt a hint of guilt for pulling the trigger because he was a 2.5-year-old, an issue I never would have faced without the social pressures felt by an industry that promotes the idea of big mature whitetails and a feeling I would not have felt a few years prior.

Two months later, I drove the six-hours home to hunt shotgun with some of the same guys I had hunted with when I got my ‘triple’. Opening morning found myself watching a young-bedded buck 50 yards away when three deer sprinted by my stand. I took several shots with my now 12 gauge 870 and made a perfect shot when one stopped. A few minutes later, I saw a limping deer circle back around which I finished off. I had made a poor, non-fatal shot and miraculously it came back into range where I could resolve my mistake with a properly placed slug. I walked away from that day once again ecstatic to be able to share this day with friends as my dad had killed one of the biggest deer of his life. Yet, part of me was disgusted with how my part of the hunt unfolded. Then and there I never wanted to make a shot like that again on a big game animal. I have the entire hunt on video, it has been edited with music and voice-over and yet I cannot upload it to the internet due to the embarrassment I feel at the lack of respect I have shown the species I hold so highly.

Ethics is a funny subject really. We have the high-schooler who frowns upon 1,000 yard shots on elk but throws slugs at running deer. And the hunter who waits for the perfect kill shot on an antlered ungulate will not shoot a pheasant or grouse until it gets up to fly away so he can shoot it on the wing. The woman who sits in a blind over bait may frown at the man chasing deer with dogs. For each of us our hunting ethic is defined by our background, primarily where we began hunting, but in the end, it is shaped by an attempt to do right by the animals and the sport we all adore. 

An Unexpected Encounter

           This past weekend I headed home to be around Des Moines for Mother's Day as well as to be able to spend time in the turkey woods. Most of my hunting experiences seem to find me freezing my butt off in the cold in December and January and so a late season turkey hunt where everything is green and I do not have to wear 12 layers to stay warm is certainly appealing. The other part about turkey hunting that I love is the fact that the birds are responsive. I am actively communicating with these animals and trying to convince them to come to me, not simply sit somewhere and pray that one wanders by. Finally, there is just so much going on during spring. There is life everywhere! The diversity of birds this time of year is stunning in comparison to the winter months. Just being present in Creation is simply enough to satisfy my need to escape the cruel grip of a semester that is winding down with essays and tests. This spring I will be eating tag soup, I am going a second straight year without harvesting a turkey but feel like I have walked away with a much greater knowledge about these surprisingly wary birds. The part that I want to share, if for no other reason than to be able to remember the details years from now, was an encounter that I had with a coyote.

          Saturday morning, my second day of getting up at 3:30, had ended in seeing a couple turkeys but not a tom close enough to get a shot at. I had heard plenty of gobbles and knew that there were still birds in the area. I started making my way along the timber towards the car, sitting down every once in a while to make a series of yelps and clucks hoping to entice a longbeard into range. I decided right before heading to my vehicle to leave my bag, decoys and most of my calls and dip down towards the creek to try one last desperate attempt at locating a bird. Without luck after half an hour I decided I would make one last call. Right after I heard a couple leaves stir to my left. Standing 10 yards away was a coyote looking around curiously for the origin of the sounds. He did not appear to be set on killing rather he was using all of his senses to assess the scene. At this point my shotgun was laid across my lap and pointed right at him but I had no chance of moving without being seen After 30 seconds or so without much happening I slowly reached for my call. This movement got his attention and he watched my camouflaged hand as I slowly started making some turkey calls. Then we locked eyes.

           I have grown up thinking that coyotes should be killed whenever given the chance because of the harm they are capable of doing to game species particularly fawns, pheasants and turkeys. I have yet to shoot a coyote probably because I have such deep love for canines in general but I am certainly not against predator hunting. Since being at school I have learned about and done some review of published literature regarding the killing of predators to protect other species and have found evidence that sometimes contradicts the rumors that I have heard in the hunting community. It is not always the case that killing one predator will result in having more game on the landscape, it really comes down to location and the predator-prey relationships found in that area. Now, if a strict predator removal plan is in place, it will more than likely have a significant effect. This coyote did not appear threatening to me, probably because I know that coyotes innately fear humans. He reminded me of my dog looking around, tongue hanging out and I specifically remember he had the most beautiful coat. This animal was a created being that was put here to serve an ecological purpose, what reason did I have to interfere in that, just for the sake of killing. I would not have used the meat, maybe I would have done something with the pelt but not much else.

         After I made those soft calls, the dog still not knowing that I was indeed a human (thanks to my head-to-toe camo) started to work his way to me. When he was about 5 yards away from me, he dropped his haunches and began to stalk me. The way he got low to the ground, putting one foot carefully in front of the other reminded me of a lion ready to pounce on an antelope. If I did not do something soon I knew that this coyote would be on me in moments! I went from admiring this magnificent individual to playing out in my head what would happen next. Remember, the barrel of my gun was pointed directly in the coyote's direction and I pictured the exact motions it would take to get the gun from its current position to my shoulder, ready to fire. As this coyote continued to close the distance I slowly reached for the gun, I could not wait another second.

          The moment I did this it must have triggered a predatory instinct because it suddenly pounced and raced towards me. In one swift, fluid motion I grabbed the gun, slid the safety off as I shouldered it and was milliseconds from squeezing the trigger when the coyote realized something was not right. He wheeled around, ran back a little ways and stood broadside. I held the bead of the shotgun on him for a while until I was convinced he would not attack again. We stayed like this for at least a minute, two pairs of predatory eyes glued on one another, attempting to decipher what had just occurred,
what was still yet to happen. After a while, he took off and I was left sitting there with a gun and a turkey call. I did not have my camera, my phone, I could not share this experience with anyone, I had no proof of its occurrence.

          In hindsight I am convinced that this was a blessing. I have become so convinced that I must document these incredible moments to share with my family, with friends, with social media hoping to get some sort of reward out of it. Without the pressures of trying to document the moment I was able to fully immerse myself in the encounter with this creature and left with an incredible appreciation for what I had just witnessed. Moments like these will be what I remember years from now, not my sharing of pictures or stories but the actual experiences that define my view on the natural world. Many times I had the opportunity to shoot that coyote, and as I said before I take no issue with the killing of this species. They are certainly in no danger of extirpation or extinction. I would not have hesitated if the coyote had come even a foot closer while charging, and I would never apologize for self-defense in a situation such as that. I think the reason that I refrained from pulling that trigger was that I hesitate in playing along with this idea that man must dominate nature. I firmly believe that nature is here for us to use for our own benefit and my daily practices would most certainly show that, however I do not want to be someone who takes life for the simple sake of taking life. I hope this is a view that follows me in my future endeavors throughout my life in the outdoors.

Spring in the Ozarks

      This likely being my final spring semester I felt it necessary to go out and do something for spring break. My first thought was to try and go camping somewhere and when a couple of my roommates showed interest in joining me I got started researching all of our options. March in Minnesota is cold and I think we were all looking for a little bit more adventure. We considered going out West to places such as Yellowstone but the cost and time necessary to travel made it quite impossible. We looked at the Black Hills and the Badlands as possibilities but South Dakota's ban on campfires on public lands made it hard to imagine going there. We finally decided to head South to Missouri or Arkansas. Both states have millions of acres of National Forest land on which most forms of recreation are free of charge. After weighing our options we decided to head for a cheap campsite in the heart of the Ozark National Forest in Northern Arkansas.

        We drove down during the night and arrived at the campsite about an hour before sunrise. We slept in the car as we waited for the sun to appear. Once there was plenty of light and we assumed most of the other campers would be awake, we started to set up camp. There were three of us, each of us with our own tent. We arranged a tarp over the wooden table, set up our folding chairs and then attempted to find out what in the world we are going to do. This trip was a spur of the moment idea. We came down prepared with equipment but not with a plan of how we were going to spend our time. As we drove back from town picking up some firewood we drove by the Forest Service office and we stopped in to get some ideas. The woman at the desk in her khaki shirt and pants and thick, southern drawl told us of a hike with stunning views.

        After quite a long drive on winding paved roads that turned slick, dark red and muddy we reached a parking lot with dozens of cars. I was amazed to see so many vehicles seemingly so far away from any other towns. The three of us began our hike on the well-worn path, passing groups of college kids, couples and families. There was little sign of spring yet, some bushes had began to bud and some grasses were green but the trees were absent of leaves. The mix of overcast sky with the brown leaves on the ground and limbs of trees did not make the landscape appear particularly inviting. After continuing down the path for a mile or so we crossed a stream that babbled across boulders and then fell off a series of cliffs. With a camera in hand, a tripod strapped to my backpack and my friends knowledge of photography we began taking a number of pictures experimenting in order to change the look of the stream in each photo.

         As we began to climb back to the top to start hiking again, I decided to take a detour. I saw that their was another platform of rock with some grass and trees further down the face of the bluff. The problem was that the only way to reach it from my vantage point was to shuffle across the ledge as it narrowed from several feet wide to a mere four inches. I have always loved testing my ability to find firm rocks and footholds to trust at the risk of falling down, in this case at least 30 feet (and yet I have no desire to go rock climbing). And so, I started my way across to the other side but something happened halfway across. I was feeling comfortable, making sure I had sturdy places to set my feet  and other places to grab the cliff face with my hands. but at one point, I suddenly felt top-heavy. I could feel my body weight shifting backwards, I reached for the limestone in front of me, feeling flakes coming off of it. Somehow I was able to grasp some piece of rock and stabilize myself but now I had adrenaline flowing throughout my body. I was not out of the dark yet and I needed to be able to control myself until I found a place to rest. I quickly made my way to the other platform and regained my composure. I heard someone once propose the idea that because of the society we live in we encounter fewer risks within our lives, yet we still unknowingly desire to have the same overall risk as our forefathers. I can see how this could be true and how it manifests itself in a variety of ways. For me, I enjoy going hunting with deadly weapons, going camping in sub-zero temperatures without the comforts of my home, walking along cliffs without any railings or gear to prevent me from falling to the bottom. Risk is an interesting topic and I have come to believe that there is a healthy amount that each one of us needs in our lives.

         Continuing down the path that bordered the bluff's edge, we suddenly found what everyone was looking for. A large rock formation jutted out 20 or so feet beyond the cliff. We walked out, sat down and looked over the valley full of trees that appeared dead, but knowing that within a month or so the landscape would be changed completely, bursting in color and new life. We spent the next couple of days cooking this winter's deer steaks and other foods over an open fire, exploring new areas and enjoying the warmer, if not warm, weather of the South, content simply with His Creation and each other's company in a new and exciting place.

A Place

            Today, I want to step back and reflect on not solely a single experience but a rather a place. One that left a feeling of wildness in my soul. The area is in Northeastern Iowa where my mother was born and raised. I have visited there with my dad on several occasions, typically to hunt and fish for trout. With bluffs that rise from the ground as well as winding streams and rivers that flow beneath them, it is certainly one of the most scenic parts of the state. Over the last year I have returned by myself to this area a couple times as I traveled to and from Iowa. Each time, I spent one night camping in the Yellow River State Forest which is an 8500 acre piece of land that is full of places to camp and hike. The second time I went was July of 2016.

When I arrived at the campground I was happy to see that there were plenty of open sites and that I would be able to have some solitude for the evening. The following day I was going to be continuing my drive down to a Christian youth camp to be a counselor where I would most certainly not have much time to myself during that week. After parking my car I began setting up my tent, hammock and whatever else I would need for the night. After a restful evening of walking along the trout stream, reading in my hammock and siting by the campfire I went to bed for the night listening to the crisp, high-pitched howls of the coyotes as they as they sang their goodnights to one another. I doubt this was because they were going to bed but rather their night had only just begun.

When I woke up the following morning there was not a stir in the air. As I was deep down in the valley, surrounded by rising hills covered with the thick foliage of a hardwood forest the wind was very seldom felt from where I was staying. Before the sun had made its presence fully known I began to pack up camp. There was not a peep that came from any of the other campsites as I finished loading the car. The only noises came from the music of the song birds and the gurgling of the stream as it rushed over rocks polished by this constant flow of water. I was not in a hurry to leave this place, I just wanted to experience this state forest in its true beauty.

I slowly drove over the gravel road past the tents and campers that housed the still sleeping families. I drove down the road about half a mile and started my ascent up to one of the highest points in the area. Half way up the hill a white-tailed doe stopped in the middle of the road in front of me. Her red summer coat perfect in the low-light of dawn. I drove closer and she walked into the woods a few yards, turned around and looked at me as I rolled down the window to take some photos. Eventually we were force to part ways and I continued my slow drive up the steep, washed-out road. When I reached the end of the road I was relieved to see that no one else had beat me, I had the spot and all its beauty to myself. The site was simply a lookout point that was situated on a bluff that overlooked the main valley of the state forest. I opened my trunk, got out my mini stove, some water and a freeze dried package of biscuits and gravy. Thanks to my early start I was in no hurry, I had the next 10 hours to make a two hour drive, so here in Creation I took my sweet time. As I sat with my legs dangling over the bluff, looking out across the valley into a stream certainly full of rainbow and brook trout, I made breakfast.

That morning, I could have ground up dead sticks to eat and that meal would still have been one my favorites. As I prepared breakfast I could hear the soft yelps of a hen turkey as her and her flock moved through the woods foraging for food. On the edge of the field below me I saw a doe and her two newborn fawns headed to the creek for a cool drink of water. The birds continued to praise the new morning, singing to everything that it represents. In this moment of solitude, filling my stomach with the warm, salty mush that is freeze dried foods, I am convinced that close to nothing could have made it better. There was no sense of time, nor was my head full of tasks and items that I needed to accomplish. I had the luxury of being able to sit back and enjoy what God has provided for us and what the public lands of this country are able to preserve.

As I picked up my trash, began to put away my camera and stove the sun continued to rise. The magic of dawn was gone, it was time to start the day. The birds stopped singing but were now off foraging for food. The doe and her fawns would certainly be looking for a place to lie by now. For me it was time to leave this place. I drove awfully slow as I left that state forest. Taking in all that it had to offer. Believe me when I say that this is no national park or wilderness area, one must long to see just what this landscape has to offer. But, when you find it, that something resonates deep within your soul, there is no other place that you would rather be.

Driving out of the valley I realized why this place means so much to me and hopefully others as well. Everywhere around that forest is agricultural land. Corn and soybeans dominate the Iowan landscape in just about every part of the start including Northeastern Iowa. When one drives down into the Yellow River State Forest it is like taking a step back in time away from the row crops and farmhouses. The preservation of this landscape provides people the opportunity to experience a little piece of the wild that is simply absent from much of our daily lives and also from much of my home state of Iowa. We have no Yellowstone or Boundary Waters Canoe Area or Everglades. All it takes is a little 8500 acre piece of multiple use land to satisfy the desire to find God simply by being in Creation. Having experiences in places like this gives a person the ability not only to reflect back on something beautiful but also something to look forward to again in the future.