While hunting in the remote Tatshenshini Provincial Park along the
British Columbia–Yukon border, my friend Bill discovered the headless but
mostly well-preserved remains of a fellow hunter, frozen for more than 550
years, who had been exposed at the foot of a melting glacier. “Kwaday Dan
Sinchi,” he is called by First Nations people, “Long Ago Person Found.” His
clothes were made from the skins of 100 ground squirrels. He carried dried
salmon, a medicine bag and hunting tools. He likely fell into an ice crevice
and froze to death. Fortunately Bill didn’t suffer the same fate, but if he
did, would another hunter find him 550 years or more from now? Unfortunately
few places remain as wild as the Tatshenshini, where humans can hunt as Bill
and Kwaday have.
The “hunting
hypothesis” of evolution suggests that hunting literally made us human in the
sense that the development of tools and capabilities to kill for meat and
defend against predators allowed our early ancestors to wander from the safety
of trees, expand far and wide, and eventually start walking upright. Scholars
debate the details, but I feel no need for evidence. I know I am a hunter and
always will be. As Chief Sitting Bull of the Hunkpapa Lakota Sioux said, “When
the buffalo are gone, we will hunt mice, for we are hunters.”
Scholars
debate the details, but I feel no need for evidence. I know I am a hunter and
always will be. I was born a
hunter, just as I was born gay. The two elements of my life are intricately
woven together through nature and nurture and anchor me to my wild roots.
I
particularly love elk. I spend all the time I can in elk country around my home
in Montana, year-round, hiking, backpacking, and snowshoeing, observing and
admiring elk. And each fall, I head into elk country with the intent to kill
one. I like to think I’m a vegetarian of sorts, living off the wild grasses,
sedges, and forbs that grow near my home. Most these plants are not palatable
to humans, so I let elk convert them to protein for me. Perhaps someday I shall
travel through the digestive system of a grizzly and fertilize the vegetation
elk eat: Seems only fair considering all the elk I’ve killed and eaten.
In his
essay, “A Hunter’s Heart,” Colorado naturalist and writer David
Petersen summarizes it nicely:
Why do I
hunt? It’s a lot to think about, and I think about it a lot. I hunt to
acknowledge my evolutionary roots, millennia deep, as a predatory omnivore. To
participate actively in the bedrock workings of nature. For the atavistic challenge
of doing it well with an absolute minimum of technological assistance. To learn
the lessons, about nature and myself, that only hunting can teach. To accept
personal responsibilities for at least some of the deaths that nourish my life.
For the glimpse it offers into a wildness we can hardly imagine. Because it
provides the closet thing I've known to a spiritual experience. I hunt because
it enriches my life and because I can't help myself … because I was born with a
hunter’s heart.
From a young
age, I found comfort being alone in wild places. Once, during a ten-week solo
backpack trip, I watched a sow grizzly and her two cubs 100-yards or so upwind
of me. She was lying down, resting, keeping watch of her young ones as they
wrestled, rolled, and chased each other in the grass. The cubs ran and pounced
on their mom a few times, and she nudged them away with her snout. When one cub
tried to suckle her, she swatted the youngster with her powerful paw and sent
the startled cub rolling. Then she got up, walked over, and reassuringly licked
the cub until all seemed well in the world.
Then it
struck me: I had spent so much time alone in the wilds because in the wilds I
could truly be myself. In nature there are no societal-created norms,
judgments, and expectations. Everything is what it is. A grizzly might judge me
as a threat or feast but doesn’t care who I fall in love with and sleep with. I
was drawn to the wildness and freedom of wild grizzlies while denying and
suppressing my own wildness and freedom. Like the grizzlies, I am what I am. I
accepted myself that day while watching those magnificent and tenacious
animals. In a real way, those bears helped save my life. I am truest
to my own nature in wild places among wild animals. And the more time I spend
in the wilds, the less I want to be just a visitor and the more I want to be
intimately connected to the wilds. So I pick and eat wild huckleberries. I
catch and eat wild trout. I kill and eat wild elk.
Henry David
Thoreau wrote, “In wildness is the preservation of the world.” Wildlife and
wild places preserve truth of reality, of life and death, and of our primeval
connection to this Earth. To deny that is to deny ourselves; to destroy it is
self-destruction. To embrace, understand, and accept it is to embrace,
understand, and accept our own innate nature and wildness.
But to think
that hunting from an all-terrain vehicle (ATV) armed with high-power rifles,
scopes, and other technology resembles our hunting ancestors is akin to
thinking that an arsenal of modern semi-automatic weapons resembles our
colonial Patriots armed with muskets—and somehow equivalently needed to launch
a Tea-Party-like rebellion against the improbable event that our government
(armed with aircraft carriers, fighter jets, tanks, drones and nuclear
warheads) turns against us. We hang onto the past without grasping today’s
differences. As Aldo Leopold once put it, “Our tools are better than we are,
and grow better faster than we do. They suffice to crack the atom, to command
the tides, but they do not suffice for the oldest task in human history, to
live on a piece of land without spoiling it.”
We apply
space-age technology to a stone-aged pursuit.
We hunters
raise money to fund state fish and game departments overseen by politically
appointed commissions (made of mostly of ranchers and hunters) who too often
pressure agencies to lead us away from wildlife management to something more
resembling animal husbandry, with a focus on producing more elk and deer for
hunters to shoot. The good news is that many hunters rally around efforts to
protect what little remains of our wild places, which benefits all
species—including non-hunted species and fellow predators such as mountain
lions, grizzlies, and wolves. But it seems a lot more hunters want roads and
ATV trails punched into our wilds; want wolves killed off because they think
they’re killing all “their” deer and elk; fight against efforts to protect the
wild places that sustain the wildlife we hunt; and deny the human-caused
changes in climate that melts glaciers and exposes ancient hunters. Most
modern-day hunters are as detached from nature as the rest of society, and so
we naively, ignorantly, and sometimes maliciously kill what sustains us.
And that,
too, is part of being human.
Hunting is a
significant ingredient to what made and makes us human. It is also, in large
part, why hunting exposes all aspects of human nature—the good, the bad, and
the ugly.
Note: This essay was originally published by the Center for Humans and Nature as part of their series, "Does Hunting Make Us Human?" Here is the link: Long Ago Hunter Today
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