I recall discussions with friends, sensitive people. Preservation logic is one thing that binds us. Wilderness teaches us. My friends have expectations of a naturalist:
"We look to a teacher of the woods for inspiration, for a spirit of integration with plants, animals, and Earth. His sensitivity must be manifest in a deep humanity toward animals. Knowledge of nature's nuances must lead him to respect and preserve life."
But I am a hunter and they are not.
"A hunting naturalist is a contradictory creature," they argue. "With his own hand, he takes the very life he respects. Can respect be shown in making a corpse?"
"The gossamer of life, so tenuous and fragile," the poet says, "can scarcely withstand this violent betrayal. How can anyone kill except in need?"
Hunter. Like it or not, I belong to a group.The arguments turn in my mind as I drive to the woods I know from childhood. I park and get out, slowly adjusting to the darkness ...
A sharp-shinned hawk flashes between the trunks. A twist, and he continues his erratic maneuvering-toward me! Perhaps he caught a blink of my eye. Expecting a close fly-by; I watch in admiration. He lands on my bow! My excitement sends slight tremors through the bow limbs, but he perches and scrutinizes the leaf litter. Mouse movement spins his head and he is off again in wild flight. A predator. A killing efficiency honed by the millennia.
An hour passes and I still wait.Humanity is a curious invention. The constraint of positive emotions, love and care, is placed upon human potential for carnage. The rest of nature is simply indifferent. Plants and other animals don't need moral control because they don't have our omnipotence. We feel we should be humane to other animals. Fairness is humane. The bow and arrow I hold are more fair than cannons. A wolf would use every means it has to make the kill and, if it could, would think me too generous. It doesn't understand my power. Maybe I don't either.