Ian
Notorious member
But I'm not.
This afternoon I went out to shoot some more targets with my Henry carbine and see if I could do better than yesterday in the overcast conditions. After posting a target at 50 yards, loading the rifle, and settling in on the bags for the first shot, two small whitetail does casually walked behind my 25 yard backstop and stopped to look at me.
So there I was. Last time this happened some years ago I had an 1860 Army repro stuffed with round balls cocked and on the bags, and it was venison time with a remarkable bang-flop. But this afternoon it the thermometer was standing at 29 and falling, an hour of daylight left, cat to take to the vet first thing in the morning, sonogram to see with the wife a little later, and work the rest of the day. But more than that, perfect as the situation was, after a quick poll of the cosmos, it just didn't seem right this time. Something philosophical, hard to explain. As I get older the urge to hunt for meat has been winding down and my sense of conservation has grown. Not that I don't still hunt, but that I wasn't hunting today, and hadn't taken my usual moment of silence and contemplation before loading my rifle.
I went to shoot paper and enjoy the brisk, clean winter air, so I thumbed the hammer down, found a small rock, and tossed it at the does. They scampered off and I tipped my hat brim after them. Next time, maybe, but things seemed like they'd be better off today if I left then be and just shoot my targets. Sitting here writing this, I'm sure I made the right decision, it just still seems odd. Generations of woodsmen before me are probably shaking their heads somewhere, but maybe not.
This afternoon I went out to shoot some more targets with my Henry carbine and see if I could do better than yesterday in the overcast conditions. After posting a target at 50 yards, loading the rifle, and settling in on the bags for the first shot, two small whitetail does casually walked behind my 25 yard backstop and stopped to look at me.
So there I was. Last time this happened some years ago I had an 1860 Army repro stuffed with round balls cocked and on the bags, and it was venison time with a remarkable bang-flop. But this afternoon it the thermometer was standing at 29 and falling, an hour of daylight left, cat to take to the vet first thing in the morning, sonogram to see with the wife a little later, and work the rest of the day. But more than that, perfect as the situation was, after a quick poll of the cosmos, it just didn't seem right this time. Something philosophical, hard to explain. As I get older the urge to hunt for meat has been winding down and my sense of conservation has grown. Not that I don't still hunt, but that I wasn't hunting today, and hadn't taken my usual moment of silence and contemplation before loading my rifle.
I went to shoot paper and enjoy the brisk, clean winter air, so I thumbed the hammer down, found a small rock, and tossed it at the does. They scampered off and I tipped my hat brim after them. Next time, maybe, but things seemed like they'd be better off today if I left then be and just shoot my targets. Sitting here writing this, I'm sure I made the right decision, it just still seems odd. Generations of woodsmen before me are probably shaking their heads somewhere, but maybe not.