"It's A Pleasure"

Someone asked me recently, “Why do you write? I mean, who are you; what makes you think people want to read what you have to say?” Honestly, I had never thought that much about it before I was asked that question. I simply started writing because I love the subject matter and have something to say. Yet I have never stepped back from it far enough to think to myself what the reader might want to know about the author. Indisputably, however, the reader has every right to know something about the author, and the question that was posed to me is a legitimate one.

So who am I? Why do I write? And why do I hope and think you care what I have to say?

I am a father, a husband, a son, and a friend. I am also a sportsman. I am your every day average guy who loves the outdoors and lives to hunt. Truth be told, I am not even all that great a hunter. My obsession, however, runs as deep as any.

Every trip to the camp is something special. I cannot leave soon enough and cannot wait to get there, even though I will be the last to arrive because I drive so slowly. When I pull up, it will have been too long since I’ve seen you, even if we were there just the week before. I want to see your hunting photos and want to show you mine. I will tell you a lot of stupid jokes and laugh too loudly at yours. I will not let you drink alone. I am the romantic in camp, the guy who sees all the beauty and mystique in the hunting experience and talks too much about it. I don’t take myself too seriously, though, and will laugh harder at myself than you can.

I have made long, outstanding shots and missed close, easy ones. I cannot hit a crossing shot, especially from my right. Rarely do I keep my barrel moving when I pull the trigger, even though I know I should and remind myself to do so the same way I remind myself to keep my head down before teeing off and looking up just in time to watch my ball slice off into the woods. There is in all Creation no safer place for a wood duck or a mourning dove than under the bead of my shotgun on a crossing shot. I am a farce on the sporting clays course but a pro at hand thrown trap. That’s fortunate because I would prefer to stand down at the river with you and sling trap to each other all day than shoot 85 on a clays course anyway.

I shoot left-handed, so when we set up on a gobbler together, let me sit down on your right and cover 11 to 4. You take him if he approaches from our left. Of course, he probably won’t come into gun range in the first place. I am a well-known turkey repellant and quite effective, too.

I have fallen prey to ground shrinkage. Heavy, 4 ½ year old bruisers that must have begun regressing after growing mammoth 3x3s have shrunk right before my very eyes down to spindly 2 ½ year old 6 points that barely outweighed the does brought into camp.

Chances are I won’t know what kind of tree that is. But if it’s in a good spot near promising sign, I will want to climb it.

I am more anxious to hear a good story than to write one. I would skip a hunt to sit in front of the fire and listen to your children tell me about one of theirs. After they’ve gone to bed, I will stay up with you for another couple logs to smoke a cigar, polish off a bottle of wine, and hear your stories. Forgive me if I yawn a lot – I’ll hang in there as long as I can.

I will lobby for building a fire any time the temperature dips below sixty.

I believe there are three kinds of all-nighters: the ones you have when you stay up all night studying before an exam; the tall, stout whiskey you pour after dinner to sip until bed; and that huge log you put on the fire when you turn in to keep it going while everyone sleeps.

I believe there is nothing wrong with hunting. In fact, there is a lot more wrong with opposing hunting than engaging in it. I believe we as hunters have an obligation to set a positive example and carry ourselves with class and dignity in a world growing increasingly opposed to hunting and the shooting sports. I believe we need to introduce more kids and first-timers to hunting and all it has to offer.

I think folks who leave deer guts on the side of the road for John Q. Public and his family to drive past on their way to church don’t deserve to hunt and should have their licenses revoked – assuming they bothered to purchase them in the first place. I believe there are too many poachers and not enough punishment. Those folks who “hunt” from their computers hundreds of miles away and five states removed from the game (most of which is baited) via a digital camera and a computer mouse have done more to harm hunting than PeTA. The practice should be stopped and now. So should PeTA.

I have always dreamed of having children. Now that I do, I cannot wait for them to join me at the camp.

Your repeated invitations to your camp are as valuable to me as the countless memories we’ve made there, and mean more to me than you’ll ever know. I don’t know how I can ever repay you, but I’d like to stick around and try.

Come Monday, we will need two cups of coffee apiece to exchange the stories of our trips. Three if you killed something. I hope you did.



(c) Roger Guilian 2006