"The Application"
Every year when hunting season rolls around, I have to leave myself little reminders to purchase my hunting license. These usually consist of yellow sticky notes affixed to the coffee maker, the refrigerator, the telephone, a kitchen cupboard door or two, and the dashboard in my truck. Inevitably, however, I always seem to put it off until the last minute. October always seems so far off when the heat index hovers around a-hundred-ten; it’s easy to be lulled into a sense of having plenty of time to renew my license.
If you hunt doves or ducks or any other migratory bird that falls under the auspices of the federal Migratory Bird Act, you are no doubt familiar with the Harvest Information Program stamp that is required on all hunting licenses in order to lawfully hunt migratory birds. This HIP designation is free-of-charge, but is nonetheless extremely important to the government. They want to collect data, you see, about every hunter’s harvest of migratory birds, so they can set bag limits and season dates.
At the time one acquires the HIP stamp, a series of questions is asked about the hunter’s prior year’s success in the field, which must be answered before the stamp will issue. I have never heard of anyone being sworn-in prior to answering these questions. Nor am I aware of any mechanism by which respondents are hooked up to lie detectors or injected with truth serum before answering, to ensure the veracity of their responses and thereby guarantee the accuracy of the data collected. Hence, I suspect that the process of collecting harvest information from hunters who are completely unfettered in their self-described exploits is incurably flawed, and no doubt creates the potential for some truly obscene boasting and embellishment.
Some of us, on the other hand, dare not embellish. We know all too well that we can’t pull it off. I’ve read that when a man lies, his face betrays him. The eyes twitch or the lip curls up or the temples pulsate or something like that. You can rest assured that if I were to spin a yarn about my exploits in the duck blind or dove stand, the man behind the counter at the sporting goods store would sniff out my fib in a heartbeat. And since we’re talking about federal legislation here, I don’t want to find out what the punishment might be for skewing the data with a trumped-up tale of triumph in the field. For me and others who lie as poorly as we shoot, it’s best to keep it honest.
True to form, one year I renewed my hunting license just as the first dove split was opening in the South Zone. I’m not necessarily saying that I was standing at the counter in full camouflage while my truck idled outside, but if you were to write in to this magazine and say you had video evidence of such, no one would write you an open letter in response calling you a bloody liar. As the license renewal process reached the point where I indicated I would need to participate in the Harvest Information Program, the conversation between the man behind the counter and me went like this:
“Will you hunt migratory birds this season?”
“Yes. In about half-an-hour.”
“Did you hunt migratory birds last season?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Alright. Let’s go over the birds you hunted. Did you hunt ducks last year?”
“I did.”
“How many ducks did you kill?”
“I’m not really sure. I only hunted two days. It couldn’t have been that many because on the second day, the guide let his retriever sleep in after watching me shoot the first day.”
“We’ll say between one and ten. Okay, did you hunt geese last year?”
“No, but I’m thinking of taking it up. I could have one whale of a goose hunt out behind my house. They’re everywhere.”
“No geese. How about doves? Did you hunt doves last year?”
“Yes. Yes, I did. Did pretty well, too, actually.”
“How well? Did you kill more than thirty?”
“Oh. No. Is that really the cut-off?”
“One-to-thirty on the doves, then. Alright, woodcock.”
“Do we have any woodcock around here?”
“No woodcock. How about coot and snipe?”
“You mean pouldeau? No. And everybody knows snipe don’t exist. They’re like unicorns.”
“Right. Okay, last one. Did you hunt either rails or gallinules last season?”
“What the heck are rails and gallinules?”
“Did. Not. Hunt. Okay, you’re all set.”
“Wait a minute. That’s it? You didn’t ask me about quail.”
“Sir?”
“Quail. Aren’t you going to ask me about quail? I hunted quail last year. I’m actually a pretty good shot on quail – as long as they’re flying straight away from me. Go ahead: ask me how many quail I killed.”
“Quail are not a migratory bird, sir. They’re not part of the Program. Will you be needing anything else?”
Needless to say, the migratory bird population is in no danger of dipping below sustainable numbers because of me.
(c) Roger Guilian 2010
If you hunt doves or ducks or any other migratory bird that falls under the auspices of the federal Migratory Bird Act, you are no doubt familiar with the Harvest Information Program stamp that is required on all hunting licenses in order to lawfully hunt migratory birds. This HIP designation is free-of-charge, but is nonetheless extremely important to the government. They want to collect data, you see, about every hunter’s harvest of migratory birds, so they can set bag limits and season dates.
At the time one acquires the HIP stamp, a series of questions is asked about the hunter’s prior year’s success in the field, which must be answered before the stamp will issue. I have never heard of anyone being sworn-in prior to answering these questions. Nor am I aware of any mechanism by which respondents are hooked up to lie detectors or injected with truth serum before answering, to ensure the veracity of their responses and thereby guarantee the accuracy of the data collected. Hence, I suspect that the process of collecting harvest information from hunters who are completely unfettered in their self-described exploits is incurably flawed, and no doubt creates the potential for some truly obscene boasting and embellishment.
Some of us, on the other hand, dare not embellish. We know all too well that we can’t pull it off. I’ve read that when a man lies, his face betrays him. The eyes twitch or the lip curls up or the temples pulsate or something like that. You can rest assured that if I were to spin a yarn about my exploits in the duck blind or dove stand, the man behind the counter at the sporting goods store would sniff out my fib in a heartbeat. And since we’re talking about federal legislation here, I don’t want to find out what the punishment might be for skewing the data with a trumped-up tale of triumph in the field. For me and others who lie as poorly as we shoot, it’s best to keep it honest.
True to form, one year I renewed my hunting license just as the first dove split was opening in the South Zone. I’m not necessarily saying that I was standing at the counter in full camouflage while my truck idled outside, but if you were to write in to this magazine and say you had video evidence of such, no one would write you an open letter in response calling you a bloody liar. As the license renewal process reached the point where I indicated I would need to participate in the Harvest Information Program, the conversation between the man behind the counter and me went like this:
“Will you hunt migratory birds this season?”
“Yes. In about half-an-hour.”
“Did you hunt migratory birds last season?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Alright. Let’s go over the birds you hunted. Did you hunt ducks last year?”
“I did.”
“How many ducks did you kill?”
“I’m not really sure. I only hunted two days. It couldn’t have been that many because on the second day, the guide let his retriever sleep in after watching me shoot the first day.”
“We’ll say between one and ten. Okay, did you hunt geese last year?”
“No, but I’m thinking of taking it up. I could have one whale of a goose hunt out behind my house. They’re everywhere.”
“No geese. How about doves? Did you hunt doves last year?”
“Yes. Yes, I did. Did pretty well, too, actually.”
“How well? Did you kill more than thirty?”
“Oh. No. Is that really the cut-off?”
“One-to-thirty on the doves, then. Alright, woodcock.”
“Do we have any woodcock around here?”
“No woodcock. How about coot and snipe?”
“You mean pouldeau? No. And everybody knows snipe don’t exist. They’re like unicorns.”
“Right. Okay, last one. Did you hunt either rails or gallinules last season?”
“What the heck are rails and gallinules?”
“Did. Not. Hunt. Okay, you’re all set.”
“Wait a minute. That’s it? You didn’t ask me about quail.”
“Sir?”
“Quail. Aren’t you going to ask me about quail? I hunted quail last year. I’m actually a pretty good shot on quail – as long as they’re flying straight away from me. Go ahead: ask me how many quail I killed.”
“Quail are not a migratory bird, sir. They’re not part of the Program. Will you be needing anything else?”
Needless to say, the migratory bird population is in no danger of dipping below sustainable numbers because of me.
(c) Roger Guilian 2010
posted by Days Afield Host | 3:08 PM
<< Home