Why I Hunt by Madison Mlinar

 My daughter wrote a paper for her creative writing class.  I am VERY proud of her enthusiasm for the sport of hunting and for submitting her paper about her passion.  Enjoy.

            Hunting.  It is a topic that can make people mad, or create story time filled with amazing memories.   When I tell people I hunt, there is always a stigmatic question of, “Why do you hunt?  Does it make you feel good to kill a living thing?”  Most of the time I will reply with a sardonic comment with hopes of making that person feel awkward because I know that they are eager to argue with me.  Hunting for me is a way of life.  It is who I am and it allows me quality family time outside in Mother Nature’s home.

            Since, I was a little girl, I’ve known I’d participate in the sport of hunting until I can no longer hunt because of old age.   As a 13-year-old hunter, hunting has shown me that hard work can result in providing food for my family.   At 5 in the morning, hunting at least with my family is climbing a mountain to get to the top.  This early morning hike can consist of hiking up and down hills, through rocks, cactus, and dead trees while tracking, stalking, watching, and patiently waiting.  I develop this amazing feeling as though I am acting as one with nature and I gain a respect for the outdoors.  A successful hunt will give me and my family meals for months.  Through hunting I have begun to find my original roots.  

To be able to hunt successfully, a hunter must learn their area and engrave it into their soul.  As the hunter learns their land over the years, they will start to see the changes with every season they hunt there.  After a while as a hunter, I know that I always have a pull to be outside as this natural pull is trying to show me how to understand the way of the world through the sport of hunting.  I first felt this pull prior to becoming the legal age to hunt at the young age of 7.  It was my first hunting trip that I was ever allowed to go on with my Dad. 

                      

As the sun was coming up, my Dad, sister, and I started walking through a draw to sit at a spot where we would then wait for the sun to fully rise.  As we waited, we watched for a moment in the meadows​ ​to ​​see if ​anything walked out.  As we sat, I began to feel my adrenaline develop into my body.  I began to turn into the energizer bunny.  I couldn’t sit still!  All I wanted to do was to get a whitetail deer.  My Dad murmurs, “Girl.  Sit still or they won’t come ​out​ ​if​ ​they​ ​feel​ ​threatened.”​  ​That​ ​stopped​ ​me​ ​real​ ​quick, ​ I​ ​ sat​ ​stiffer than a board and my movement was very limited after that.  We sat there for what felt like an hour but realistically was only a few minutes.  My sister mutters, “There is something walking.  See it?” 

            My Dad looked through his binoculars and said, “Bay, Madison, it’s a racoon.  Look!”  This was the first time I was up close and watching this animal interact in its natural habitat.  Shortly after we watched the racoon leave where we were, we concluded that the deer weren’t in the area we were.  Most of the time, deer will lay down to sleep during the heat of the day. My family and I drove around the area for another 2 hours but we didn’t see a whole lot of white tail.  We did see more mule deer than anything.  So, my Dad decided to call it the end of our morning hunt.  We decided to get home, eat lunch, and rest before returning for our afternoon adventure.  My Dad always tells me and my sister that we’ll have a better late afternoon hunt when they are feeding well into the darker hours of the day.  My sister and I were perfectly fine with returning in the afternoon.  As we were headed out my Dad saw a herd of about 8 deer.  In the herd, there were 2 bucks (one small and one bigger) 4 does and 2 fawns.  My Dad went for the larger buck.  He chose the larger one because his body was bigger which meant more meat.  Instantly, my Dad parked the truck.  He said, “Get out, girls.  I’m going for him.” 

Not a minute to waste, we took off as fast as we could, heading downwind from them.  We arrived at a gate leading into the meadow.  My Dad positioned himself and the gun to get ready to shoot.  He took a few breaths; then shot.  The bullet hit the buck directly in the heart.  The force of the bullet hitting his heart caused the buck to jump and take off running.  He only ran a few feet before he fell and died.  This was a quick and efficient kill.  We harvested the buck, and took him home.  With my Dad’s harvest, we fed our family for the next 3-4 months not counting the other game we harvested that season.

 Hunters love animals.  It might sound ironic but hunters truly respect animals.  As a hunter, I can say we enjoy observing animals in their natural habitat as they chase one another around either during mating season or not when it is mating season.  For a hunter, we hunt because it is our way of assisting Mother Nature with managing her herds and keeping them healthy.  Don’t think that hunters don’t cry after their first hunt because we do.  Our tears are not out of remorse but rather out of respect.  It’s a blessing to learn not only the physical strength it takes to hunt but also the emotional strength.  Actually having the responsibility to pull the trigger is a crazy experience that comes with a flood of emotions, including horrendous buck fever or any fever.  After you knock down your first animal you realize that this is the beginning of being able to provide for yourself.  Every time I am behind the gun my heart pounds.  I’m walking through everything I know and have ever been taught.  I’m listening to the sounds of a peaceful world and listening to my Dad tell me to stay calm.  I know what I am doing before I take my shot.  I hear by Dad repeatedly say, “You can do this.  Squeeze the trigger; pull softly.  Watch him.  Take a deep, steady breaths.” 

 

           I am a hunter.  When I’m in the woods, I feel alive in my heart, mind, and soul.  I’m free and I know that I’m a new generation of developing into a conservationist.  It is my one calling to something so much bigger than me.  Hunting is my greatest life passion.  I know that with anything in my life there will always be a moment of resistance especially when it comes to this.  I am thankful that I can have the opportunity to become the hunter that I am.   I know I will forever be one no matter how old I grow.  Some of the best memories I have ever made don’t even involve me pulling a trigger.  These memories are some of the best and the funniest ones.  If I share them with another person, it is one of my dearest treasures to share with them. 

                              

                                 

                                                   

       

            Remember for some people, hunting is way more than hunting.  It’s one of the best things in life and no matter what, we as hunters, are proud to be a part of it.  Thus, when you ask a hunter why they hunt just know it is our way of life.  Hunting doesn’t have to be yours.  But, if you take the time to sit and listen to a hunter talk, they will demonstrate to you not through their actions but through the passionate way they speak of the animals they hunt in the vast amount of land the animals live in.  A hunter’s morals and respect are evident especially when another individual doesn’t display similar respect towards either.   Hunters always back one another up even when they don’t agree.  Hunters do this because they each feel the same passion and understanding that hunting and the world of it is greater than other’s who don’t hunt would comprehend.  

          When I respond to the question of why I hunt, it’s because I will never change who I am for anyone.  I was born and raised into this world of hunting.  I know I’ll have bad times.  I also know that every year, I will wake up with a motivation stronger than the previous year’s hunt.  I will push myself to become stronger and better with the sport of hunting because I am aware that hunting is not a phase for me.  It is not a hobby.  Hunting is my passion.  I will always remember the memories I have made because as a hunter, the bad days are also the good days.  That is why I hunt.   

  

Good-night to Our Beloved Warden

Returning home from our morning hunt, I was saddened by a memory I had as we entered our home.  For well over thirteen years, our entryway was an inspection location where a thorough examination would occur.  Our four-legged Warden would investigate each of our boots, pants, gloves, and hats as each was removed.  He did not hesitate to also check-out our socks and our long john’s.  One would only hope to pass the intense investigation.  Otherwise, there would be tremendous amounts of whimpers, licking of our garments, and an enthusiastically combined with excessive tail-wagging.  Sadly, returning after this morning’s excursion, we were not greeted in this manner.

As much as my memory has saddened me, I am also over-joyed to have had our family blessed by one incredible animal’s love.  Reminiscing Jim’s phone call while out hunting some thirteen years ago, I had not anticipated his hunting day’s adventure to result in him finding a dog.  Perhaps, it is the dog who chose Jim.

During our conversation, Jim had informed me that he and his little brother also known to our girls as Unkie Matt had begun their hunting day like the previous one.  He stated that they decide to proceed to the previous day’s area they were hunting at because they received a lot of return bugles.  He stated he briefly left Unkie Matt in the cab of the truck and returned seconds later.  After jumping back into the truck and closing the door behind him, he looked at Unkie Matt, dubiously. 

He informed me that he began to giggle some because he thought he had heard Unkie Matt whimper.  Jim stated that he asked Unkie Matt what was up with him crying to which Unkie Matt offensively retorted, “I am not whimpering.”  Despite the morning not yet fully awake and curious as to what Jim knew he had heard, he and Unkie Matt peered through the truck windows for signs of other hunters in the area. 

Neither one of them noticed anyone walking close by nor was there evidence that any one was near Jim’s truck.  Jim asked Unkie Matt if he heard that.   Unkie Matt agreed that he had also heard the whimpers Jim spoke of.  Again, they both looked around.  Unkie Matt verified to Jim that he still couldn’t see anyone and Jim nod his head in agreement.  Jim then tells me that he opens his door and.. 

To their surprise, a beautiful yellow pup jumped in the truck cab between him and Unkie Matt.  Jim reported that the yellow dog still sitting between them, licked his puppy lips while dancing on his front paws, staring contently forward ready to join them to their next destination. Jim stated that he noticed the yellow pup was wearing a collar.  The collar had no tags.  Jim informed me that he began to talk to the pup, who refused to make any eye contact with him or with Unkie Matt.  Jim further conveyed that he noticed the dog’s collar had somewhat intertwined itself in the dog’s fur as it had grown over time.  It was obvious to them that the yellow pup had been living in the wild for some time.  Instead of continuing to hunt, they searched around town for notifications with contact information for an owner missing their dog.   Though, their search was unsuccessful. 

I interrupted Jim’s adventurous story to request him to not leave the dog out there and wished for him to bring the dog home.  I stated that once he returns home from hunting, we would take the dog to the vet to have him looked over.  Plus, we needed to observe the interaction between our current fur-babies with Jim’s found one, hoping they would all get along.

The next day Jim had returned to his Mom and Dad’s house to drop Unkie Matt and his hunting gear off.  Jim had placed a phone call to me to let me know that he was heading home.  Before ending the conversation, he shared his and Unkie Matt’s unintentional discovery for what it was like to be a dog traveling down the road at 65 mph with its head hanging out the window.  Dumb-founded, I had to hear more of THIS story.  He stated that on the way back to Rock Springs from Pinedale, he and Unkie Matt had encountered toxic air that succumbed the cab of his truck.  Jim did try to blame the toxic odors on Unkie Matt!  They concluded by the unbearable odor created by the yellow dog that he had lived on rodents, gut piles left over in the hills from that time of year, and any other means to survive. 

When Jim returned home, the yellow dog fit into our family without any doubts.  We all agreed to call him Soda Bear based on the location he was found near Soda Lake.  When Soda first arrived, we could literally count his ribs, but it wasn’t too long until we Mlinarized his figure.  During the early years of having Soda in our family, we observed daily the survival skills he had learned while living by himself in the woods.  Some of those skills consisted of packing leaves together in the yard to create himself a bed; or pouncing quietly while hunting mice in the park; or instinctively curling up in a tight ball covering his nose with his tail to stay hidden as well as warm.

Jim discovered quickly that Soda would not be a good hunting buddy. Despite being quiet like a cat stalking its prey, Soda would yip incessantly while running after rabbits.  Sadly, rabbits were not what Jim would be hunting!  Therefore, Soda had to stay behind at the house with me and the girls to hunt rabbits and squirrels in our back yard.  Soda was an excellent squirrel hunter and had incredible patience.  Patiently waiting for his prey to get within his reach, we watched Soda in one motion:   leap into the air towards his prey, grasp the squirrel in his jaws, and whip it around to break its neck.  We were astounded by this observation.

Squirrel and rabbit hunting were just a few of Soda’s favorite past times.  He also possessed Houdini skills.  Soda could stay dry in any rain or snow storm by utilizing the trampoline in various ways as cover.  It was evident during our numerous camping, hiking, or when setting up trail cameras that Soda never came back to the truck dirty or wet. 

  

While camping I enjoy venturing off to photograph animals I stumbled upon, plants and other shrubbery, or beautiful scenery.  Soda was my companion during these excursions.  His attention span was very short, child-like, like mine.  Yet, I could ask him to return us to camp and he would lead the way back for us.

Soda loved, LOVED,4-wheeling.  He did not hesitate to push whomever (big, small, human, or non-human) he needed to from his co-pilot seat. 

  

Soda thoroughly enjoyed being our running trainer whether we were running at the cemetery or on the Greenway.  As he began to age, Soda refused to admit his hips hurt him after those runs.  We eventually had to leave him at the house.  He would whine from the time we left him until the time of our return.  This was absolute torture for those who stayed behind to keep him company.

Despite Soda aging, he was one heck of a protector.  We trusted his instincts particularly when it came to those we allowed to enter into our home.  In one case, we had to request an individual to leave.  Soda did not like this individual and this person’s presence made Soda’s hackles raise.  

Additionally, Soda was good at detecting when one of us was having a bad day.  He would comfort us by giving us his unconditional love by sitting next to us.  Then, he would place his head on our laps.  He would look up at us.  Nudging his nose to our hands, we knew that he was wanted us to caress his unbelievable soft fur.  His request definitely made our crappy day much brighter.

     

One afternoon, we discovered Soda was deaf.  I had stated to Jim and the girls that I had called out to Soda a couple of times on various days after returning home from work.   Usually, he greeted me by sticking his nose through the knothole of the fence.  I would gently tap his nose signaling for him to meet me by the back door of the house so I could let him in.  Over time, he didn’t seem to hear me arrive home at the days end.  One day, upon returning home from work, Soda did not greet me by the knothole.  I proceed to the back door of the house and called for him many times.  He was lying down on the trampoline but he did not move.  I walked to him.  Placing my hand on his head, I began to pet him.  Startled, Soda jumped.  Then, he began to wag his tail, excited to see me.  Jim joked many times that instead of calling out to Soda when he arrived home, he begin to make sign language motions towards him. With his tail wagging, Soda would jump off the trampoline and trot towards the backdoor of the house.

I am sure many of my readers are thinking; he is just a dog and that is what happens when an individual owns an animal…the circle of life.  Yea, we get that.  Soda Bear was much more than a dog.  He was beyond an intricate part of our lives and the demeanor he possessed was one which we have never encountered in just a dog before.  We miss our incredible Warden, tremendously, especially on days when we return home from our hunts.  The Mlinar Clan are a lucky bunch to have had Soda choose Jim that early morning, refusing to leave the truck until he and Unkie Matt reached their next destination.  

  

Dancing with a Butterfly

My poor Jimmy; he is truly out-numbered in our Mlinar Gang.  It is probably the one reason his hair line is receding and there is more gray in his mustache than he’d like.  The past few years, he has added a few extra forces to his team with hopes that any battles at the playground will be better matched.  One major problem with his recruiting tactic is that I also have gained new team members.  Some of the team members are much younger than our girls.  One has even claimed me to be her BFF and effortlessly marked me by writing her announcement to her entire second grade class.  

The Proof

Who WOULDN’T be smitten by this tremendous act of admirable acceptance!?  My new BFF reminds me how cool I was to my girls when they were her age.  She also reminds me of the simplistic enjoyment of life especially when we all gather for one of many of our weekend day trips to various undisclosed locations.

In the fall of 2016, right before the school year began, we all gathered for a shed hunt.  Arriving at the sacred meeting grounds, the Mlinar Gang was surprisingly treated to a homemade breakfast that my BFF’s Momma made.  I was won over the instant I smelled the bacon cooking.  My dream, now, is that my youngest will be able to mesmerize my BFF’s Momma into a copy of the delicious recipe by batting her big, doll-like-baby-blues (hint hint wink wink).   Hmmmm-those homemade goodies would make The Pioneer Woman salivate with jealousy!    

Off we went to our undisclosed location to shed hunt.  The supposed “brief” travel to our destination is surrounded by gorgeous mountains, amazing flora, and fauna. 

As you’ve probably guessed my child-like attention span doubled the time it took to reach our destination!  On the positive side for possessing the child-like-attention span, it allows me to capture these amazing photos.

  

  

A few hours later, we reach our undisclosed shed hunting location.  The weather was extremely beautiful.  Usually I wonder off to search for sheds, to investigate the abundance of geology in the area, and to capture more of God and Mother Nature’s amazing wonders.  Sometimes, I can accomplish all these acts and not have my ADD-child-like-attention span take over.  Sometimes.  Though, this trip, my BFF eagerly took the responsibility of babysitting me.  I believe this relieved Jimmy as he is the one who is usually tasked with this responsibility!  Our girls venture off with my BFF’s parents along with her two younger siblings and Jimmy. 

As my BFF and I begin our shed hunting adventure, we share stories along the way.  The more she educates me; I begin to imagine her in the movie, Matilda, as little Matilda herself.  My BFF (Matilda) is a sponge of facts, specifically, regarding animals.  She enlightens me for what type of whale is the biggest in the ocean, how long an alligator lives, and a variety of other details that I would have to google if I didn’t have her inquisitive mind around.  It was during our shed hunt that I got the pleasure of introducing Matilda to the aspects of geological minerals.  We found a remarkable deposit of mica. 

When we weren’t spotting the geology, I believe I reached the cool status when I whipped out my flora book for identifying the Rocky Mountain Region flora. Enthusiastically, little Matilda identified each plant and flower that we discovered as we searched for shed.  Though, I bet it was the flower press that threw me beyond the cool status and into the BFF status, particularly, when I presented her with her very own.  I only say this because I received the biggest bear hugs which made my heart melt.

As we waited by the trucks for the rest of the clan to join us, I captured my absolute favorite photos of the day…the ones which are a reminder that the simplicity of life as an impressionable youngster does not cost anything except being in the presence of family and friends, the warmth of the sun, Mother Nature’s attentiveness to her treasures, and God’s magnificent outdoors. 

 

  

Little Matilda dancing with a butterfly.