on the hunt.

Father/daughter time!
So occasionally, I hunt. I feel like I need to say this in a whisper though, as guns and killing animals isn’t always stuff people around here like to hear about. As much as I appreciate the liberal vibes of our dear city, I still feel like there is stigma attached with doing what I occasionally do. I tend to keep it on the DL even though I want to shout from the rooftops that I am a responsible gun owner and always eat what I catch/dig/shoot. So please don’t judge šŸ™‚
The 4am wake up call is probably my least favorite thing about hunting, but I admit there’s this pure sense of calm seeing the sun rise quietly over a corn field. It seems like these days we are out in nature less and less and trudging through the fields and getting knee deep in mud grounds me a bit. It’s an emotional, deep feeling being out there…waiting, watching. I find that I’m way more in tune with my surroundings after a hunt. For the next week, my senses are magnified x10 – it’s kind of a super natural feeling.
When you do take that animal’s life, it’s a powerful, powerful experience. Excitement and sadness hit you all at once. You are thrilled that your practice has paid off but mourn the loss of life. It’s something that I internally debate all of the time. I hate seeing an animal suffer right in front of me but know that deep down, that’s the right thing to do – to do it myself. If I choose to eat this way, I need to be part of the process as much as I can. So I do. I roll up my sleeves, get my hands dirty and field dress those ducks. All in a days work.
The VIP duck blind.
The wait.
I think I need to work on my accuracy.
Stormy putting in work! Good dog.
Dinner for days.


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