Consider Thoreau’s stirring words:

‘think of our life in nature, — daily to be shown matter, to come in contact with it, —- rocks, trees, wind in our cheeks! the solid earth! the actual world! the common sense! Contact! Contact! Who are we? where are we?’

A powerful phrase, powerfully delivered. Thoreau’s writings are full of such rousing appeals. Exclamations of one sort or another trying to galvanize action or thought, sometimes to excoriate and admonish. His writing belies an emotional appeal to relate to nature in as concrete a way as possible. And I think I finally get where I experience the words and ideas of this particular phrase most directly, and most keenly. It is when I am hunting.

‘Contact’. Hunting is a contact sport in a literal sense. It involves being immersed in the natural world, patiently observing ambient conditions both abiotic and biotic, looking for the signs of life in the landscape, and then using that information to affect a hunt. It involves deep contact with the land and the creatures that inhabit it, a minority of which are actually hunted. It demands an understanding of the rhythms of the natural world, the literal lay of the land, its underlying geology, the pulse and progress of the seasons, climatic and momentary weather conditions, knowledge of the trees and plants that form much of the the physical framework, the daily movement of animals, both nocturnal and diurnal, and the overall lives of the creatures in the environment. Indeed, it is on the hunt where I touch and contact the land and it’s component parts more than at any other time during the year.

Where am I the question Thoreau asks? One way to take question is in the very literal sense. I was for over two days immersed within the natural environment from earliest morning to after sundown. On day 1 in the early morning I was in a ground blind adjacent to a large field of soy and a smaller field of mature corn. I was positioned on the edge of both fields backing onto a forest stand of maple, ash, hemlock, birch, and oak. Orion the Hunter was westering in the sky when I was setting out. A more fitting constellation I could not imagine for the beginning of the hunt. Before the sun rose, when in the blind I heard owls hooting. Later numbers of crows, blue jays and chickadees chittered and called, up early as the sun rose, and then as the morning began to mature, I saw six different deer, 3 does in a group running across the soy, a solitary buck (6-8 pointer), probing along the wooded margin, and two additional does venturing from the forest stands. All seemed wary of my blind and while they did not get spooked and run, they did not stick around either, nor did they come close enough for hunting success.

On day 1 in the afternoon I was literally in a tree, 3-4 metres or so off the ground in a secure tree blind. I was hidden up there well camouflaged. I was facing towards the west looking into a field of soy. It was surrounded by thin fingers of forest on several sides, Including the side I was on. It was adjacent to a larger treed ravine and a forking watercourse in the valley. The linked ravines were where the deer were thought to be at this time of the day. Their movement is more or less consistent but one never knows exactly where they are to be found. Of course that is part of the uncertainty and allure of hunting, in some ways it’s point.

When I am hunting, there is a loss of the sense of passage of time, a blending into the external environment. It is no longer external. I have only ever experienced this twice before when not hunting. Once was in the Cook Islands where I sat in shallow water watching small clown fish go about their activities in their anemones. I sat observing them for a long time, just watching and waiting, observing them. No other objective. Just watching. Time had no meaning. It wasn’t until others came to get me that I realized how long I had spent watching them. Time had become meaningless.

The other occasion was when I was along a wide creek on Manitoulin island. As I sat beside the creek watching the sunlight rippling on the water’s surface and felt the wind moving the Joe Pyeweed plants nearby I lost myself in this moment. In a sense I lost my consciousness and blended into the wider world, Becoming the world itself. It wasn’t until I thought about what I was doing having a self reflective thought that I came back into myself and realized that time had passed. This is the experience I have every time I hunt. I think it has a lot to do with being rooted in place, experiencing the world as it is.

Where am I? The question can be posed in a more figurative way too. Where am I in my life? As I reach 50 it is somewhat cliche but I take some stock of what my life is and in what direction it is going. While not exactly the focus of the discussion for this post, I think it is pertinent to point out that I am entering into the final third of my teaching career still quite keen on that task but beginning to look ahead as to what I will do. Part of that has been the courses in writing, birds, texts on insects and dragonflies. Dabbling in areas I would like to explore. And once again what seems to tie it all together is the hunt.

Who am I? To go completely metaphysical, I am the same as that which we hunt. We, prey and predators, are born of same processes that are at once both ancient and new, inheritors of place, contributing to place, beings of place. Carl Sagan said we are starstuff contemplating the stars; a more powerful concept I cannot imagine. I am the universe brought to consciousness and sentience.

Hunters are in Contact with the pulse of the natural world. Hunters are in Contact with things living in this world at a level most don’t ever experience.

With the Sun setting, shadows Lengthening, wind blowing, we experience the world in its raw beauty and splendour.

The question can be posed Can’t I get this from other ways of experiencing in nature? Yes and no. I do a lot of hiking and kayaking during the short summer months when conditions allow. But the pace of both precludes a more intimate contact with the very thing we are immersed in. It is always seems to be about getting to the destination rather than feeling the joy in the moment and the journey along the way.

Categories: Natural History