Murphy and His Law Win Again

A long weekend just came and went in Ontario this month, and I had visions of spending early mornings in the woods and afternoons trekking cross country looking to strike up a gobbler.  My hopes were set on eyeing a big bird down the rail of my 870 and sending a mess of lead screaming in the direction of his head and neck.
Instead I spent the majority of the weekend (and most of this week) vomiting and racing to the bathroom.  I don’t know if it’s the flu, food poisoning, an infection, or a parasite but things went very wrong for me this last week in big way.  Suffice it to say, I have had very little to blog about…my thanks to those who have hung in there as subscribers; this feed is not dead, it’s just had the trots for five or six days.
Which brings us to the here and now of today.  Four  days of the season remain, and of those only a few a presenting opportunities for me to actually get out and go after a gobbler.  If there is any positive to be taken in this late season scramble, it is that most people have given up by now…either because they can’t stand the mosquitoes or because they (unlike me) are not abject failures in the sport of turkey hunting.
So, weather permitting, I’ll be wrangling my gear up for one last push into the Halton forests (work and family commitments won’t allow one last epic road trip) and I hope that my luck there is good.
I’ll keep you all posted

Springtime Blues

So this weather is officially ruining me.  In my neck of the woods, there’s no forecast for a let up in this ungodly rain until at least next Tuesday.
I might consider building an ark…finding two of every animal would probably be easy, with the exception of any damn wild turkeys, because since my encounter just over a week ago it appears that they have all migrated to sunnier (and drier) climes.  I’m not even seeing hens, and I seem to be a hen-calling expert for God’s sake.
Yep, drizzle and thundershowers off an on all the way through the Victoria Day long weekend=hard slogging for those hunting wild turkeys.  Of course this may all change, but it probably won’t.
Everyone I know is telling me not to put too much stock in the forecasts because “no one can really predict the weather”…ohhhh, I beg to disagree.  When it comes to predicting the kind of weather that makes turkey hunting a baffling ordeal, these weathermen (or women, I’m an equal opportunist in the blame game) have my number.  Sure they’re wrong all the time when I need a warm sunny evening for a soccer match, or if I need rain to help my lawn grow, but as soon as I want calm, dry, semi-mild days for turkey hunting their meteorological instincts miraculously become bang-on and all they see in their crystal balls and Doppler radars is rain, and wind, and more rain, and maybe some lightning to really make it interesting for those of us carrying around 28 inch steel gun-barrels.
Bastards.
And this is the best damn time for turkey hunting!!  Arrrgh!  The leaves are on just enough to help with hiding a hunter, but not quite dense enough to conceal the movement of an approaching turkey.  The weather is mild enough to make hunting with just shirtsleeves and vest comfortable, but not so hot and sticky that the blackflies and mosquitoes reign hell on the unsuspecting turkey hunter reclined against a tree. Best of all, a lot of hens have been bred and toms are out trolling for available jennies…at least the gobblers not fully educated by this point are out trolling.
And I here I sit in my dimly lit basement, playing my harmonicas and tapping listlessly away at a keyboard amidst a pile of turkey-hunting gear, pining to hit the woods but imprisoned by precipitation.  I can hear you hard-core guys (or at least more hard-core than I) scoffing at me now…
“Suck it up princess, a little rain never hurt anyone” they’ll say.  Others will crack out this gem…”You can’t shoot a turkey if you’re sitting on your couch” or my favourite “Turkeys don’t mind the rain, they’ll move around anyways.”
All this may be true…in fact I’m sure it is, but it is the crippling combination of cold, wind, and precipitation that has made this last week (and by the looks of things, next week) into such a hellish experience. 
If a turkey could hear me calling to him over the howling wind and driving rain, I certainly could not hear him gobbling back.  If a bird were out wandering in this morass of unpleasantness, I’d be so dang soaked and wind-bitten by the time I stumbled across him (again, because hearing a bird gobbling is a near-impossibility right now) that I’d be hard pressed to hold my gun level, what with my uncontrollable shivering.  And worst of all, after every hunt I have to take my 870 apart (admittedly still a better prospect than disassembling an autoloader) and dry/clean/lubricate the whole darn thing and then put it all back together…as I’ve said before I’m not what anyone would dub “mechanically-inclined” so this is really a comedy of errors for me…except a comedy is funny; this just makes me borderline suicidal.  For this reason, this last one is not an experience I relish doing more than two or three times a year…I’ve already done it four times this turkey season.  Bah.
Okay, I’m done complaining.  The weather has been bad, but I can’t control that.  Unless I can find a suitable one off day, I’ve made peace with being holed up in my basement watching turkey hunting videos…fair enough Mother Nature, fair enough.
The darkest hour is just before dawn, so they say so here’s hoping that this uhh…fecal…weather is just a blip and that it moves on before expected.  Maybe I’m just building up good karma in my cosmic ledger and I’ll be repaid with being able to shoot some kind of mutant 25lb tom turkey with four beards and 2-inch spurs on the last minute of the 2011 season.
That’s pretty unlikely, but hope is all I’ve got…hope and the unfortunate mental illness that is being an addicted turkey hunter.

Taboo of the Day: Does Language Correlate to Behaviour?

Readers that have been with Get Out & Go Hunting since the beginning may well remember an earlier reference made in the course of my pointless and esoteric blogging to “academic jerks”.  This reference at the time was made partially in a tongue in cheek fashion, since I do have some friends in the academic realm that are exceedingly polite and normal.  But this post is not about them.

Others in the academic sphere draw a fair amount of ire from me; self-styled “philosophers” in particular.  Generally it is their aloof, dogmatic, detachment from objective reality that I find especially maddening.  So it is with the inaugural edition of the Journal of Animal Ethics.  In the foreword to this scholarly journal, and by scholarly I mean based in academia…not that it is necessarily scholastically sound; that argument is best left to other self-important philosophers, one Oxford academic posited the notion that we, that is to say humanity at large (because why make small, incremental suggestions when you can righteously propose a paradigm shift for global society?) ought to rethink and adjust our terminology, or to use the oh-so fashionable academic term, our “discourse” when it comes to referring to our relationships with animals.
How you ask?  Here are some REAL EXAMPLES gleaned from the media reports and my actual perusal of the article.  My thoughts are an accompaniment in italics.
  • The word “pets” denotes a master/slave relationship and should be replaced with the term “companion animal”.  Imagine, a world where the structure of the relationship does not change (I don’t imagine pets will start buying owners anytime soon) nor will this squelch the market on roadside giveaways of free kittens…or should I say free companion felines?  Think of the costs and effort associated with renaming PetsMart to CompanionAnimalsMart.  No longer will you buy fish food…you’ll purchase chum for your icthyo-chum.  And so on…
  • The term “wild animal” will change to “free-living animal”.  They’ll need to change the constitution of a number of countries globally as well since this redefinition of the word “free” will take some getting used to…get the Webster’s people on adjusting their definitions of “free” as well.
  • All anthropocentric terms designed to cast animals in a lesser stature than humanity should be discarded including “dumb animal”, “beast”, “vermin”, and even “animal” at large to name a few.  These are considered “insulting” to non-humans by the animal ethicists as a group.  Yes…they actual refer to animals as “non-humans”…talk about reverse arrogance, why should animals be re-defined in nomenclature via a relation to their divergence from humanity?!  Are we the “standard”?!  Humanist clap-trap I say.
Some of my own independent thoughts on the matter?  Why yes,, here you go.  I suppose the term “Kingdom”, that is in its use as say ‘animal kingdom’ or ‘wild kingdom’ is phallocentric and most certainly denotes imperialism and class division within the animal community at large so I guess it ought to be discarded as well….Mutual of Omaha is going to have to re-brand a lot of old television shows.  I imagine they’ll be getting right on that.
What about our biblical sins?  Will we have to re-name the sloth?  I suggest freaky-assed looking tree mammal that does nothing all day long aside from existing.
Can I still call the unpleasant, offal consuming types of people in my life (lawyers, bankers, televangelists) vultures?  Mildly insulting to vultures I do admit but still apt.
On the plus side, my wife will have to stop calling me a pig.
This is the of course me taking this to the ad absurdum realm to show how silly this could become.  Yet, this is the proposal designed (I’m quoting the journal now) to “discipline ourselves to use more impartial nouns in our exploration of animals and our moral relations with them”.  Read: unless you think and speak the way we suggest you think and speak, you’ll be an outcast in our culture of defined language and philosophical boundaries.  I love how free-thinking academics can be when dealing with their realm of self-anointed expertise.
Basically, to my mind…and I’m not an animal ethicist so I’m sure my argument will be attacked for the locus from which it springs as opposed to any attack on its potential (and likely numerous) flaws…this journal sets out to do three things with this inaugural issue.
First it is looking to lay down a ground work of jargon, industry-speak if you will, that is intended to identify those who belong and ascribe to a set of beliefs from the infidels who do not, in this way asserting the group’s individualism and demonstrating just how dang superior they are morally and intellectually to you and I, the unwashed and unenlightened layman.  For some it will certainly make them seek this group’s approval and endorsement.
Second, instead of laying down a mission statement for the journal’s approach to the scholarly, legal, and social issues surrounding animal ethics, as a foreword ought to do, this is what we get.  This leads this (again completely outside-the-fold) reader to believe that this paradigm shift in the language of animal relations is their primary mission…in which case, our society is clearly doomed to inaction at the expense of quibbling over semantics.
Lastly, and this is the most likely, this foreword and the surrounding attention it has gathered (and admittedly not only am I late to this party, I’m just validating the sheer lunacy of it all) is really just a mechanism that serves the actual (i.e. cynically intended) purpose of generating attention for this movement and its adherents.  Which is not a pejorative statement in any way, after all we all need to make the rent somehow and speech is (for the most part) free, a principle which as a writer I endorse.
For the hunter?  Animal ethics are an important issue, in fact in my mind from a hunter’s perspective they are arguably the most important issue (although I’d also rank habitat conservation as at least equally important…perhaps a debate for a future Taboo of the Day?).
How we relate to animal life as active, visible consumers is a topic that for many reasons (guilt, ignorance, lack of interest, and so on) is given short shrift by the hunting community.  That death and a modicum of suffering is part and parcel to the hunting experience is not up for debate.  It is, period.  Justification is a good start, but it is not reconciliation.  I can justify my hunting activities in a way that satisfies myself and a good lot of others but for the most radical animal ethicists, vegans, and naturalists.  No, I won’t go into it here, but if anyone ever wants to have this debate in a civil, respectful way over a cold post-hunt beer, I’m not opposed at all to that.
Still, I fear that the introspection necessary to actually reconcile any and all harm caused at the hand of humans at large (and that includes hunters) to wild animals…I’m taking back the term…is sorely lacking.  Occasionally it is just flat-out ignored at the behest of defining our own cultural identity, but it is usually covered up in some sort of neo-Darwinian, survival of the fittest, law of the jungle argument that inevitably falls into the anthropocentric patterns that the likes of the Journal of Animal Ethics seems to be opposing.  Most of these arguments require heavy revision if the definition of “fittest” and “evolved” and would take up far, far more space than I could give them in this forum (even if I wrote a lifetime of these types of posts) so I’ll just close with this panacea of advice.
Everyone, from animal ethicists to hunters to the policy makers that inevitably are drawn into these debates ought to consider action and tangible improvements on the microcosmic scale before making far-reaching goals to shift the way people think, talk, and relate.  After all a law is much easier to change than a mind, and actions (in both the positive and negative camps) will always speak louder than any words…no matter who thinks the words are apt or not.

Nope…Nothing…Nada…Not Even Bigfoot

With a few exceptions, it has become a common theme in life that the act never lives up to the anticipation.  Such it was with this morning’s turkey hunt.
Yesterday I told you all of my run in with the chattiest gobbler I’ve ever come up against.  My hope was to return to the same spot today and hope to pull him across the 6th line of Nassageweya in to the Finney Forest Tract.
Arriving even earlier than I did yesterday I was nonplussed to find another vehicle parked at the Finney Forest’s entrance.  Not wanting to tread on another turkey hunter’s boots (especially in a tract as small as 20 acres) I went to my back up spot…the Acton Tract five minutes up the road.
The Acton Tract is about the same size as the Finney Tract, give or take five acres, and semi-famously was once the location of a Bigfoot sighting.  Based on the tracks I saw in the trail, equestrian pursuits are much more common than hominid-hunting.  Finding no other hunters (or menacing sasquatches sneaking around) to greet me at the gate, I suited up in the dark and stalked my way eastward into a dry, open bottom where I set up against a wide pine tree with a blown down pine top sitting in front of me to serve as a natural blind.
Once again, I was greeted by a still, calm, clear morning.  Unfortunately, no gobbling rang out to rouse me this morning, which I guess is only fair given the concert of turkey noise that I was privy to yesterday morning.  I went through my typical morning calling routine, cranking the volume up slightly just to reach any dozy, far-off tom turkeys.
At about 6:15am I heard the brief chirp of a car horn.  I recognized it as the sound of someone locking a vehicle with a keyless fob to the west of me.  I was almost certain that it was another public land turkey hunter, which is fine…I don’t mind sharing with someone else.  Sure enough about 10 minutes later, I heard some snapping branches and footfalls in the trail.  I saw my fellow huntsman and just as I was about to call out my position, he pulled his mask down and waved at me (maybe I wasn’t as well hidden as I thought I was).  I waved back, and with this silent acknowledgement, he turned down a trail to my left and I could see him no longer.  I heard him fire up his calls a short while later (he sounded pretty proficient) and in the stillness of the morning woods it became apparent that we were so closely situated that we would be competing for the same birds.  I had another spot lined up in the Acton Tract in case of just such an emergency, so I got up and walked straight away from the other turkey hunter  to a spot that was a little thicker, but also a bit quieter.  It was just about 6:35am.
About two minutes after I got situated I heard something running on the trail.  While I was not expecting a sasquatch, I had heard no other vehicles so I was curious about what to expect to see…I anticipated a deer.  What I saw was a pale yellow Labrador retriever…followed by a sight hound of some sort (likely a greyhound) followed by another yellow Lab.  All three stopped and looked pointedly in my direction (odds are they could smell by backtrail) and then, maddeningly, started to bark and howl at me.  I stood up and put my sling over my right shoulder, giving up my hunt for lost, and was only slightly surprised that with this movement all three dogs began snarling and sprinting at me.
I do enjoy dogs, just not three dogs that materialize out of nowhere and begin to chase you down aggressively.  I stood still and shouted “Get Lost!” or something at them, and they ran around me in circles, barking and growling aggressively but not really doing anything to worry me about being bitten.  At this time I saw their nominal “owner” on the trail and he began shouting as well.  A vague transcript follows:
Owner: “Peggy!  Hey!  Get over here!  Come…Come NOW!  Bad dog…Peggy?!  Listen!  COME HERE!  Down!  Leave him alone!  Come HERE NOW!  Peggy!”
Me: (slightly quieter) “Go On!  Git!  Git goin’ Peggy!  Get outta here!”
I don’t know why I talk like a 19th Century Klondikeman when I shout at dogs…congenital defect I guess.
At one point the smaller of the two Labs jumped at my back and gave me slight shove.  This man never came within 25 yards of where his dogs were harassing me…I’m still at a loss for an explanation why he just stood there and shouted.  Finally giving up on his shouting I began to walk towards him.  The dogs barked and growled louder, but as I expected they ran to encircle their owner and stare and bark angrily at me.  Eventually he began to walk away down the trail and the three canines followed him along the trail.
This man never said “sorry” or “how are you?” or anything else.  I wasn’t looking too closely but I never saw a lead or leash in the man’s hands either.
I won’t relate the quiet curses I laid at the doorstep of this man and his dogs, but a part of me did feel bad for this other turkey hunter in the Acton Tract…my friend if you’re reading this I hope you weren’t bothered by these dogs as well and I hope those mutts didn’t ruin your day like they ruined mine.
I trudged back to the car and took a moment to let the ironic rage wash over me when I read the Halton Forest signage indicating something like (I’m paraphrasing)
“All pets must be on a leash at all times.”
I was struck for a brief moment of the overwhelming futility that is sometimes associated with being a hunter, especially one in the private land sphere.  I, in order to practice my passion of hunting, must pass numerous tests and courses to hunt and possess firearms, I must renew and purchase licenses constantly (and at no little expense), to hunt in some public forests I must purchase special Conservation Authority permits and retain public liability insurance in the unlikely event of something terrible happening, while in other public areas I must submit to inspection of gear and game.  All this is fine by me; it is the small price one pays for the opportunity to hunt on generally excellent public facilities.
But by definition, “public” means that everyone should have equal access rights and show courtesy to other users of the property.  This was troubling because the individual out walking their dogs at 6:30 in the morning, off-leash & in violation of the “rules” posted at the entry to the property showed obviously no regard for the owners of the two (two!) vehicles that he most certainly had to see when he came onto the property.  It is possible (even likely) that this man didn’t care who he disturbed, but it does beg the question “why?”  Why should hunters be held to any stricter standard than other users of public forests?  Why should I be a saint when other users (judging by the occasional pop cans and empty fast-food and cigarette packages I observed at both the Finney and Acton tract entrances) are clearly sinners?  Why was the hunter I saw quiet, courteous and safe while the local dog owner (I say local because in the absence of a third vehicle I could only assume that this individual walked to the forest access) was reckless and rude?  Why does one person with limitless and unfettered access to the public forests seem to have a diminished obligation to follow the rules, while the regulated that use the area for brief, specific periods must observe those rules and many more?
I guess, and I may be way off, the answer is because most hunters (at least the majority that I’ve met, talked to, and participated with) treat their access to hunting grounds (both private, and in this case, public) as a privilege.  Most are also understanding of the fact that hunting, despite the millions in Canada, the USA, and worldwide that participate in the timeless traditions, is a considered a “fringe” activity by the decision and policy making public.

For those of you that hunt that don’t treat the land and access with respect, and that feel hunting on public land at large is still a “right” I may need to take up a contrary position to you.  Part of using “public access” is being a member of the “public”, and if you’re just as discourteous or (dare I say) flat out ignorant of your role as a member of the “public” when you’re hunting as the dog owner I ran into today was, then you’re not doing anything to help perpetuate fair access to public lands for hunting purposes.
So now that I’m done being all ranty, I’ll wrap up how the rest of the morning for today went down
I drove to three other tracts of public forest in Halton that allow hunting (and at $1.41/ltr for gas, this was an unintelligent and somewhat expensive exercise) and was pleased, yes pleased, to find that all three had at least a car or two parked in the access lots.  Galvanized with courteousness by the poor example set for me earlier in the Acton Tract, I disturbed not a single one of the spots…they were already being sufficiently worked by others.
So overall after two days I’m batting .500 on the “pleasant experience” meter for the Halton Forests, which frankly is better than I had anticipated so in all I can’t really complain about having the opportunity to get out there and chase gobblers in well-maintained, reasonably-sized, and most importantly, available, hunting areas.
Saturday (if the weather holds) I’ll be off rambling around Simcoe County and the Barrie area for gobblers with my Dad (ahh…the pastoral pleasures of a father/son hunting tour).  I’ll keep everyone updated.

Hunting. Not Hype.