By Matt Lucas

It happens almost every year. I sit in a tree stand in South Alabama, and a flock of ducks fly high overhead in a V formation, headed south to their wintering grounds. The quacks and wing whistling is a sound that touches my very soul. However, my mood inexplicably changes as I fast-forward to an anticipated day in December when I’ll be standing in waist-high water among my decoys, trying my best to shoot a limit of ducks out of the sky.

That I can experience two such diametrically opposed emotions in practically the same moment is, I believe, the biggest enigma in hunting. How can I love and admire a wild animal one minute and look forward to taking its life the next? To be quite honest, I cannot completely answer that question. I’ve never heard or read a sufficient explanation, and I don’t believe it can be explained in simple terms. It’s far too complex an issue.

We hunt for many reasons. Early on I learned that outings with my dad, grandfather, uncles and cousins resulted in a delicious feast of deer, dove, or quail. Twenty years later, I still love the taste of the wild game I bring home—any kind of game. To be sure, the consumptive aspect of hunting, that of bringing food to the table, is one of the primary reasons I hunt. It’s something that provides a warm meal for my family several nights a week.

Since I’m intensely focused on the culinary aspect of the animals I hunt, I have no problem shooting a six-point buck or a gobbler with a six-inch beard, and I won’t apologize for it. That’s not to say I won’t hold out for a so-called trophy if I’m hunting in a trophy area and think I have a pretty good chance of getting one. I believe I speak for most hunters when I say that a ten-point buck is a lofty objective, but a lesser buck will do. And if that’s not possible, a doe may suffice. Not many of us are pure “trophy hunters.” I know a few.

Most of them go on high-dollar hunts where antler score means everything. Most of us are simply interested in bringing home any legal deer, turkey, or whatever species we’re hunting. My part-time job as a hunting gear salesman often pressures me to tag the biggest animal I can find. That’s really not me, though I do often feel it’s my duty. That’s why I’m most happy when I can take a short drive to the hunting club, climb into a tree stand, and shoot a legal deer—no obligations or expectations, just me and the woods and the deer.

THE CHALLENGE
I love the many challenges of the hunt. To me, the exploration of new country, walking ridges I’d never walked before, and working my way through thick briar patches that lead to a beautiful, open bottom was an adventure in itself. I remember standing in an open bottom after a grueling hike through what seemed like a never-ending briar patch and looking around at the most beautiful part of the woods imaginable. I sat for a long, long time and soaked up the view. I knew I could never explain my feelings about what I saw or felt.

The mental challenges and physical skills needed to hunt fire me up, too. Calling in a boss gobbler or rattling up a heavy-racked buck with no help from anyone is exhilarating. The whole process of setting up, making the correct sounds, interpreting the response from the animal, and reacting correctly to make a clean kill is what it’s all about.

I also love the competitive challenge. I like hunts where heavy pressure requires me to hunt smart, whether I’m after whitetail in Alabama or a load of ducks in Arkansas. The ability to beat dismal odds of 20 percent or less to fill your tag instills a heavy pride, one where you can pat yourself on the back and wear a big smile all the way home.

CONNECTING WITH PEOPLE
Those of us who love to shoot find hunting the perfect way to fulfill that desire while enjoying the bounty and tradition of hunting. I’ve hunted doves most of my life, but its especially memorable to look back on those classic Southern dove hunts. The first one I remember, we started with a group prayer, then tore into barbecue, potato salad, and sweet tea before heading to the fields. It was an incredible day, not just the shooting, but the camaraderie as well.

I’m fortunate to have spent most of my life in the woods—deer and quail hunts with my dad, turkey hunts with my grandfather and uncle, and dove shoots with the entire family. Yet despite a lifetime in the outdoors, I still yearn to hunt, more than ever, whether it’s new country or old country, where every ridge and bottom holds a special memory. As someone who hunts nearly every moment I have the chance, I’m often asked if it ever grows old. My answer is, “Absolutely not!” I still thrill at the prospect of annual trips with old buddies, an opening morning turkey hunt with my grandfather, or just a simple afternoon deer hunt with my dad. These are rituals, traditions that excite me to the point that I don’t sleep well the night before each hunt.

A TASTE OF TRUE FREEDOM
Another major reason I love to hunt is that hunting offers me total freedom to do exactly what I want to do and make my own decisions in a world untrammeled by the chaos of society. Think about that. Other than wildlife laws and regulations, there are no governing “rules” when we hunt except the ethical ones we impose on ourselves. In golf you must follow a set course; in baseball, tennis, or any other sport, you must adhere to strict criteria. When you drive, you must follow a road. In society you are expected to follow certain rules of behavior.

But in the woods, you’re out there by yourself, making your own decisions, perhaps contending with severe weather, insects, snakes, perilous obstacles, rugged and treacherous terrain, avoiding becoming lost and essentially taking care to keep yourself safe and comfortable. You carry a firearm or razor-sharp arrows, and a careless mistake can change your life in a heartbeat. You answer to no one—no bosses, spouses, parents, or siblings. You are free, finally!

Who among us doesn’t thrill at the birth of a new morning as the dark of night turns to a mjrky gray and finally, very slowly, to a glorious sunrise as the sun peeks over the eastern horizon? As we sit there witnessing that magical transformation, we hear the first bird chirp, perhaps the crowing of a distant barnyard rooster or the barking of a farmer’s dog. There is a special satisfaction in knowing that most of the world around us isn’t hearing those sounds. It’s all good, whether we squeeze the trigger, release the arrow, or simply go home with a new memory.

CAMERAS DON’T CUT IT
Some people have asked me why I must hunt with the objective of killing the animal. Why, they ask, can’t I just walk the woods with a camera and record my encounters with wildlife on film? The answer is simple: to do so is not hunting. A photographer is an observer; a hunter is a participant in the outdoor drama. I firmly believe that those of us who choose to hunt are predators. Let us make no excuses for that definition. Our ancestors hunted, and so we follow those traditions. In my view, “the chase” is an essential part of my very being, whether it’s tracking a buck in the deepest woods or shivering in a blind waiting on a flock of ducks to commit and drop into my decoys.

Nothing dies easily in the woods. Animals perish with or without our help. Most of them die violently and painfully, perhaps in the talons of a hawk, the jaws of a coyote, or as a victim of starvation or disease. My kill is quick and humane. And make no mistake, hunting by humans is natural. Man has always hunted. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.

I don’t rationalize my live for hunting by saying that I’m a “wildlife-management tool” essential to keep some animal population trimmed, nor do I hunt because my money funds wildlife agencies that ensure the propagation of all creatures, be they endangered or legal game. Yes, huntin g and the dollars generated by license fees are tremendously helpful to wildlife, but first and foremost I love every aspect of hunting with every cell of my body for all of the reasons I have just tried to explain. My attempts at explaining it are merely words that mean nothing to those who have never hunted.

If you are a hunter, however, you know. We are a fraternity, very definitely in the minority, a collection of people with a never-ending love of everything the outdoors offers. We are talked about, cursed at, and spat upon. Every day people try to outlaw our sport. Those souls have no clue what we feel.
I hunt because I exist.

And I am, above all, proud to be a hunter.