the dissident frogman

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Minutes after I shot that photo and switched back from the camera to the rifle, a doe and a buck crossed quietly in the open, right on the ridge line, carving through the turbulent sky like so many Chinese shadow play figures, and making for a dangerous shot that I obviously did not take.

Later on that day, an oblivious fawn trotted his way in my direction, before he stopped and froze just a few meters away from me. I was under the wind, not moving and not making a noise, and kiddo had not detected me — but looked nevertheless as if he could feel there was a potential problem nearby.

I kept silent and immobile, taking the time to observe it. I had already decided that I wouldn't fire.

You see, what the anti-hunting folk cannot understand is how modern hunting is inherently ethical: I can afford, and actually enjoy, not killing Bambi, as hunting is not a strict question of survival to me. Unlike our long past ancestors and the "Noble Savage" to whom the anti-hunting urban Sandalistas sometimes deign to concede a "right" to hunt because "they need that to eat, unlike us" I won't starve, indeed, if I don't bring meat back. Which means that unlike our long past ancestors and the Noble Savage, I don't kill indiscriminately, and I have a far more complex and deep relationship with Nature and the game than simply that of a predator looking for food.

Bambi made a big mistake, but I decided he shall live to grow older and sharpen his inbreed survival skills. I moved slightly. He caught the movement, and was gone in matters of seconds. I thought: "He'll learn, all right."

It was a good day.

I'm on my way out for three days of hunting, both big and small game. Wish me good luck and many encounters of that kind. In the meantime, those of you who want to keep the lights on here can consider this an open thread. Make yourself at home; I'll be back soon, possibly with some venison.