By Hannah J. Ryan
The morning sunlight seeps across Wyoming’s sky and into a corn stubble field near the river. Friends and family are tucked to either side of me in layout blinds. My feet are reaching that freezing point that would soon drive me from my hiding place, but a dark cloud lifts off the river as a few hundred Canada geese leave their night’s resting place.
As their ruckus reaches us, our adrenaline-levels spike and my numb feet are eitherwarmed or forgotten. Our decoy spread forms an open-ended triangle and we are stationed in the V’s crook. Four geese break from the flock and head for the open ground we left in the spread directly before our blinds.
When the birds come in range, someone calls out, “Take ‘em!” and we pop up from our prone positions, shotguns singing. Two birds drop before us, and this was just the beginning to a very successful day of late-season goose hunting.
When the end of the day’s hunt arrived, we disassembled our spread and I hiked off to collect a bird that went down in behind us. As I approached, I could see the last few moves it made in life; they were drawn in the fresh dusting of snow. There was a spray of soil and an indentation where it crash-landed. The bird’s head was tucked beneath a wing.
It appeared to be sleeping and I regretted leaving my gun at the truck, thinking that any moment the bird would leap into the air, very much alive. I reached out to touch its grey-brown back. It remained still.
Such moments remind me of how primal and natural hunting can be. It’s an activity where we try ourselves against another species and our victories put food on the table: A practice that is nearly lost in the modern world. Though I will not claim I hunt at an equal level to these animals; my shotgun with waterfowl loads and my rifle’s scope and my bird dog’s nose gives me the highest hand. But because I hunt I cannot suppose my food comes from the grocer. Because I hunt, I can experience the intricacy of a feather’s coloration, the design of a bird’s wing, and the musculature of its flesh. Because I hunt I value the incredible efforts of our forefathers and today’s conservation practitioners to protect these wild critters and their habitats.
This feeling of awe when face-to-face with nature is one of the many reasons we hunt. It is a major reason why I hunt.
As the Communications Specialist for a migratory bird habitat conservation organization, the Intermountain West Joint Venture, Hannah gets to talk about birds all day. She currently resides in Missoula, Montana.
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