Red Dawn

One steely eye opens to the sight of Venus making her sentinel voyage across a 6am sky, tawny owl announces the dawn of an epiphany.
Cover thrown back, cloaked in camo coat, binoculars slung over shoulders and a hit to the hip confirms a hunting knife.

A touch to the temple of a mighty fallen fallow buck skull, a muttered prayer in honour and request to Cernunnos the wild forest God and the animal spirits to bring us luck and grant permission to take a life.
Into the outside. Snow thinly spread across the field that I call home, it's very much still dark and the moon illuminates the scintillating snowfall path I take to catch my ride.
We head in the direction of a plantation forest and a smallholding that guards it's outskirts, giggling with bleary anticipation, a plan is hatched:
Find a deer, kill a deer.

The car door is closed with gritted teeth as I have a habit of accidentally slamming it, the rifle is loaded, sticks in hand.
We are away. Single file on a dim track leading to a slumbering hamlet, into the champaign.

Trying desperately to drop in, breathe deep and still the white noise that so often wraps itself around my brain.
It's another world out here, somehow a portal into the dark ages, a primal quest and participation in an age old ritual.
The light filters in as we skirt the hedgerow, held in the arms of the high moor, glassing the fields with raised binoculars, stop-starting to check around the edges.
The wind direction is sensed almost constantly, as this is the deer's greatest defence. Reds are known to be able to smell a threat over a mile off.

Eyes graze the ground for tracks (also known as 'slots') and we pick up those of some form of even toed ungulates... they are here, they are here! Are they here?
Gnarled tree root is scrambled over, and we are drawn into a dormant sheep grazing block by a gut wrenching intuition, scanning... scanning.
Still following in tow I am given the signal that there are two in the field with upheld fingers, my movements slow as my heart begins to race and the scene is investigated.
There are indeed two, like none that I have seen on our previous excursions. Faces kindred to a camel's, stature grander than that of a Roe or Fallow.


'What are they?'
'I think they're reds'



Sticks set into the ground, rifle slung over, glove pulled by teeth into mouth and spat onto the frozen ground, finger poised.

Voyeurs with magnified eyes, beholding them feed, waiting in ambuscade. They look to be two hinds (the correct term for female red deer) grazing side by side.
Suddenly they spook and tantivy away to our right out of sight. Curses are hissed and hearts drop out of our throats.
'The first reds I've seen and I mess it up'.
But now more move into the field, we count around a dozen venery.

Then an omnipotent bellow erupts from behind us; yet more at our backs, in attempt of idle threat and warning call to those below.

Tactically targeting the smallest in the rangale (collective for deer), side on it faces, heart exposed as ours beat like war drums, he takes a deep breath and pulls the trigger.

.
The sound rips through the three of us in a trigon. I watch it drop and sorrow floods into me and pours from my eyes. Death lets me know I am still human.

An injection of emotions follows suit. Ecstasy, remorse, awe, relief, grief.
We embrace with the shakes and turn to check the stakes.
A flock of grim reaper-like sheep inspect the fallen beast, it doesn't seem edible to them and they collectively decide grass is far more fascinating.

Step by petrified step we tentatively creep towards the beautiful creature, gently touch the unseeing eye with a stick to check for a blink reaction. It gazes blindly on, lids veiled in vale.
We drop down in the snow and stroke the fell to sleep. Deep in gratitude, holding its hoof.
In this moment it feels like we are witnessing the soul transcending the body and we pause everything to say goodbye.

The gralloch then commences. Stomach opened, weasand tied, organs removed and checked over for cysts, signs of tuberculosis, and lung worm.
All is healthy, but the lungs have been shot through. Numbles gathered (numble is an old word for deer entrails to be eaten in a pie, hence 'numble or humble pie') and I sit with the carcass as the rest of the gralloch is laid in offering to the foxes.

I feel lonely sitting there, but stroke its head and take the time to say my own goodbyes.

We then bleed it out and turn to seek help of the landowner to move the mighty creature when the sky catches our breath. Crimson electric horizon outlines majestic clouds and the rabbit in the full moon runs off into the ether.
Wassail to a glorious morning.



I long to be involved in the skinning and butchering, but Running Deer beckons and I am excited to relay the story to one of the students that has a keen interest in game keeping.
Knowing that all of the animal will be used- meat for food, hide for tanning and leather, the skull for decoration and soul for storytelling brings me comfort and joy in retaliation to the cruel face of large scale farming.



As I was not involved in the entirety of the ceremony, my grief is yet settle and my heart weighs heavy, but as many wise men have told me:

'the day your soul ceases to mourn and experience remorse for the life you have taken, sell your weapon and take up photography'.



I take the time to sit in solitude with my face to the sun and bask in revelry of the endless life that surrounds me.
Finding words to suitably express my gratitude for this wondrous world still evades me, but I truly believe that this communication between human and other than is what keeps me alive and wondering.

Nika Moss
 
Welcome Alphaandomega!

Thanks for that, I like to see attempts at elevating what we do and placing it in a more personal, in your case spiritual context. The experiential angle is really important in conveying why we hunt to those that do not, so more in that vein please! I'm more of an Artemis kind of guy than Cernunnos though....

That said, I can only assume that the fact that your article's title is shared with the awful 1984 film with Patrick Swayze is just a coincidence:

 
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Welcome Alphaandomega!

Thanks for that, I like to see attempts at elevating what we do and placing it in a more personal, in your case spiritual context. The experiential angle is really important in conveying why we hunt to those that do not, so more in that vein please! I'm more of an Artemis kind of guy than Cernunnos though....

That said, I can only assume that the fact that your article's title is shared with the awful 1984 film with Patrick Swayze is just a coincidence:



Ah yes, however she is of Greek mythology and I wanted something a little more relevant for this land. She is however a fiery looking goddess indeed. How can she not be? Her dad shoots out lightening bolts when he’s ****ed off.

I get that this angle isn’t a lot of hunter’s cups of tea, but I’m looking to approach it from a different angle.
For me it goes deeper than just bang and bag.
It it didn’t then I wouldn’t do it. And for me it’s a lot more interesting this way.

I’m about to sit down with a cup of tea and watch that trailer.
It looks amazingly awful and I can’t wait.
Thanks for your comment.
 
Beautifully written. I guess your challenge will be to maintain that level of soulfulness after you have shot ten, a hundred, a thousand deer. Night-shooting them in numbers from a truck killed a good deal of the poetry for me. Try not to lose it.

Kind regards,

Carl
 
Beautifully written. I guess your challenge will be to maintain that level of soulfulness after you have shot ten, a hundred, a thousand deer. Night-shooting them in numbers from a truck killed a good deal of the poetry for me. Try not to lose it.

Kind regards,

Carl
The cure is to ensure an annual Fall squirrel hunt with rifle.

K
 
Beautifully written. I guess your challenge will be to maintain that level of soulfulness after you have shot ten, a hundred, a thousand deer. Night-shooting them in numbers from a truck killed a good deal of the poetry for me. Try not to lose it.

Kind regards,

Carl

Hi Carl, thanks for the comment. I don’t think I’m going to partake in that kind of hunting. I’ll take what I need, mass slaughter does not serve me.
And as we all know, each hunt is different with its own experiences.
But again, the day I take a life for granted is the day I will stop hunting.
 
Hi Carl, thanks for the comment. I don’t think I’m going to partake in that kind of hunting. I’ll take what I need, mass slaughter does not serve me.
And as we all know, each hunt is different with its own experiences.
But again, the day I take a life for granted is the day I will stop hunting.

I think that is a good philosophy. However, I find that one becomes less certain about things the more experience one gathers.

'Mass slaughter', as you put it, is sometimes an environmental or economic reality of what we do. Maintaining a one-for-the-pot approach to stalking is what I think many of us would prefer, but it is a luxury afforded to very few, simply because the right to shoot deer is often accompanied by a corresponding duty to control their numbers. In some contexts (Aussie goats, Scottish forestry, American hogs), that control can be unconfortably aggressive.

So, keep hold of the soulfulness for as long as you can, and please continue to cause the rest of us to question ourselves as to whether we still have any left.

And, yes, I agree: when you stop feeling anything at all, perhaps it is time to consider doing something else (again, if one has the luxury of making that choice).

Thanks for a great thread.

Kind regards,
Carl
 
Ah yes, however she is of Greek mythology and I wanted something a little more relevant for this land. She is however a fiery looking goddess indeed. How can she not be? Her dad shoots out lightening bolts when he’s ****ed off.

I get that this angle isn’t a lot of hunter’s cups of tea, but I’m looking to approach it from a different angle.
For me it goes deeper than just bang and bag.
It it didn’t then I wouldn’t do it. And for me it’s a lot more interesting this way.

Hello Alphaandomega. It occurred to me that given what you're trying to convey about hunting in your own style, these two threads from my SD Archives may be interesting to you. No Cernunnos, but some Korrigans and a nod to the Cosmos!

In which the Cosmos fulfils a narrative imperative.

Pine Marten, Bilbo and his family hunt the Boar of the Korrigans

There are others apart from you on here who just hunt for the pot (and because they want to!), and that's fine. It's not realistic to expect that every stalker undertakes a full herd management programme, most people don't have the time, commitment, money, or simply inclination to make it into a job. There are many paths to this according to everyone's circumstances and preferences.
 
I quite enjoyed the read. I pride myself for having an above average vocabulary, but your writing left me scrambling. I always love when new vocabulary, properly applied, comes out in an article - it serves to stretch my own.
 
.........That said, I can only assume that the fact that your article's title is shared with the awful 1984 film with Patrick Swayze is just a coincidence:

What do you mean "AWFUL"??? 1984 was a year of great great movies - Ghostbusters, Terminator, and of course RED DAWN. There wasn't another year of this caliber until 1986 when Aliens, Top Gun, and Highlander were released........
 
What do you mean "AWFUL"??? 1984 was a year of great great movies - Ghostbusters, Terminator, and of course RED DAWN. There wasn't another year of this caliber until 1986 when Aliens, Top Gun, and Highlander were released........
RED DAWN is pretty much the worst video ever made!
 
Talking about squirrels, not only are they pests/vermin they also taste very good. So I have no problems shooting them,also give the tails to fishermen for fly tying.
 
Welcome Alphaandomega!

Thanks for that, I like to see attempts at elevating what we do and placing it in a more personal, in your case spiritual context. The experiential angle is really important in conveying why we hunt to those that do not, so more in that vein please! I'm more of an Artemis kind of guy than Cernunnos though....

That said, I can only assume that the fact that your article's title is shared with the awful 1984 film with Patrick Swayze is just a coincidence:




WOLVERINES !!!!
 
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