by Margery Frisch
MANITOULIN—It’s that time of the year, when women all over North America become widows… of sorts. Their husbands abandon them for a week here, possibly a week there, and then longer if bow hunting and black powder are part of their repertoire. It’s deer hunting season.
When given this assignment, my subject, or interviewee, was an obvious choice—I live with an avid hunter. I sit him down, which is itself a difficult feat. The avid hunter is a rather large Boy Scout and the packing and sorting, and re-packing starts early and continues ’till he’s heading out the door.
Interviewer (I): So, when did you first begin to hunt?
Avid Hunter (AH): Sixty-nine years ago.
I: Wait, what? That’s crazy. You’re 75! Do you mean to say you began hunting at the age of six?
AH: Yes.
(He’s a man of few words. His eyes roam the room, he makes notes of objects he still needs to pack.)
I: What were you hunting when you were six, and where were your parents?
AH: I hunted squirrels and rabbits with a BB gun. I didn’t hunt with a rifle til I was older. I got my hunting licence when I was 12 and I hunted with a bow.
I: What did you hunt when you got your licence?
AH: Deer and pheasant. Pheasant in the Columbia Valley, in Washington State and deer on the Kettle River Range, with my dad and my brothers (he has four brothers, three older). I hunted elk with my brother, Al, when I was in my first year of university, on the east side of the Rockies near Cle Elum, Washington, but just the one time.
(The Avid Hunter is originally from the State of Washington and has continued to join his brothers, but lately his nephews, to hunt there.)
I: What are the differences between hunting out in Washington State and hunting here in Ontario?
AH: Well, fortunately, the dates don’t conflict. Washington’s hunt is in October. And there are significantly higher altitudes in Washington. You’re going 3,000 to 7,000 feet above sea level in a day of hunting. It’s so quiet, meditative; you’re looking for signs, stalking, watching the hillsides. Here in Ontario, you’re either sitting in a blind or tree stand, waiting for the animals to come by, or you’re dogging the bush, pushing the deer out, while your partner sits (freezing to death) in the tree stand. Both Washington and Ontario have their appeal. The fun in hunting is being with people who like to hunt, sitting around the campfire and sharing experiences. For a lot of guys, of course, drinking is a big part of it too, but for me, now, it’s the camaraderie.
I: When did you ‘bag’ your first deer? Is that how you say it? (I get a look.)
AH: When did I shoot my first deer? Not until I was hunting in Ontario, in South River, 1989.
(This is something I probably should have remembered. It must have been a huge deal at the time. We had been married 11 years by then. When I first met this wandering hippie, hunting was not a subject that had ever come up in conversation.)
I: What brings you back to the sport year after year?
AH: The joy of seeing and being able to observe deer up close, in their natural habitat.
I: What would you say makes a successful hunter?
AH: Years of experience passed down from the old to the young. I hunted with my father and brothers when I was old enough to carry a gun. Then our sons followed and took up hunting with me. Now our 12-year-old granddaughter is eager to take up the sport. The cycle continues.
(When he’s released from the chair, he’s off and running, packing, repacking and reorganizing. And I sit down to plan my week of widowhood…which, as most women know, is not as bad as it sounds. Happy Hunting Week, everyone!)
