"How Not To Get Invited Back"

Recently while thumbing through a Stafford’s upland bird hunting catalog, I came across an ad for a book written by a Sir Joseph Nickerson titled Shooting Man’s Creed. The catalog’s write-up of the book described it as a must-have for those who hope to be invited to shoots – and to be invited back. I have ordered a copy of the book. After all, any book written by a shotgunning knight must be a worthy read, not to mention the much-needed air of sophistication it will lend me when guests see it on my bookshelf.

Not long after ordering Shooting Man’s Creed, I got to thinking about the converse of the book and how it might read. What if there was a treatise on not getting invited back? What would it take to assure that your first trip someplace new would be your last, south of putting laundry detergent in the camp’s dishwasher? In compiling the following tidbits of advice on how to make sure you’re a one-timer on any hunting trip, I called on numerous trusty references, not all of which were necessarily third parties.

Here’s a sure-fire way to get invited only once, if at all. Call your friend who owns a duck camp in east Arkansas and advise him matter-of-factly, “Look, my wife asked me recently what she could get me for our anniversary, and I told her I could use a high-end semi-automatic .12 gauge. However, there’s no sense in making the investment if I’m not going to have any ducks to shoot at. So, when does y’all’s season open and how soon after that can I come out?”

Or try this on for size. Tell your deer hunting buddy, “Could you replace the bed in the back bedroom at your camp? I didn’t sleep real well up at your place last time. Speaking of sleep, is there any way to soundproof your room? Your snoring sounds like air brakes on a tractor-trailer.”

Worse yet, run this up the flag pole and see how often your phone rings afterward. “I haven’t seen many deer at your place this season. You need to fill your feeders a lot more often in the off-season to keep your neighbors from luring them off your property. And would it kill you to keep the roads bush-hogged and the fields trimmed back?”

Insisting that your host replace his gas utility vehicle with a silent, all-electric one in order that you might sneak up on food plots while hunting at his place ought to keep you out of good stead as well.

So, too, should criticizing the quality of his turkey yelping, the cleanliness of his accommodations, the sophistication of his amenities or the sufficiency of his acreage.

There is perhaps no more unforgivable peccadillo than that of calling into question the retriever work of your host’s dogs. In fact, if you’re going to find fault with his dogs you might as well publicly doubt the paternity of his children. Pronouncing things like, “Wow, does Bo always mind so well?” or “Flash knows he’s supposed to wait until we shoot before he breaks point, right?” or “Yeah, tear up that quail, Bramble – we didn’t plan to eat that tonight or anything” will guarantee that you won’t hunt behind those particular dogs ever again.

Deriding your host for his shooting acumen will do the trick, too. Like all competitive endeavors, sport shooting entails a certain measure of trash-talking and ribbing among the participants. It is silently understood; implied to all who zip up a trap vest or strap on a shell bag. But one can go overboard with it, too, the amount it takes to overdo it decreasing rapidly with the seriousness with which the subject of ridicule approaches the competition. Stated another way, the more Bob Allen gear a trap shooter wears, the less threshold he has for ribbing – good-natured or otherwise. So, if you’ve been invited to shoot trap or sporting clays at a friend’s gun club and you don’t want to be invited back, simply ride him unmercifully for his shooting skills from station to station. Employ phrases like, “Whoa, you scared the hell out of that one!” and “Good thing real rabbits don’t bounce like that, huh, Dave?”.

Should you become desperate for ways to sabotage any forthcoming invitations, nothing will solidify your status as a one-hit wonder more assuredly than arriving in camp with your kids in tow without clearing it with your host ahead of time. The younger and less potty-trained they are, the more effective this will be.

Or you could resort to the nuclear option: Criticizing your host’s fire-making abilities. Temper your alcohol intake before unleashing this one, however, as you will undoubtedly find yourself driving home moments later.

I'm not presumptuous enough to think that my disquisition on how not to get invited back will ever elbow its way next to Sir Nickerson's book on shooting etiquette in future iterations of Stafford's Catalog. But if it does, I'm willing to bet it would show up there only once.

(c) Roger Guilian 2010