We are in the season where photographs of hunters proudly kneeling behind the carcasses of once-vital, even noble, beings begin to appear in various publications. And once again I ponder the mentality involved. What is celebratory in extinguishing the life of another living creature? What psychological juices are savored? (That's an interesting one to explore.) Is the ego stroked, as if something meaningful has been achieved? I do hear considerable bragging from hunters about both their skills and their kills. Or is the killing a chest-thumping statement about life belonging to the powerful? That hardly fits, because the battle is so lopsided. Does the hunter believe that something of the beauty and even grandeur (certainly not the innocence) of the creature transfers to its killer? That doesn't happen; there is nothing either grand or beautiful in the glassy-eyed creature that lies lifeless before the camera. I sometimes wonder if people ever thank God for their own gift of life, which enables them to almost casually erase other forms of life.
I know from experience that most hunters are not without compassion; they consistently are decent humans, but at what point does the excitement of killing trump their compassion? I'm curious because I do not know. Does one simply yield to indifference or veiled cruelty in the fall?
Two things for certain: First, my hunting friends will roll their eyes and say "there he goes again," suggesting I am once more prodding them with a familiar looking stick, and of course I am. I know I am an irritant to them, but I trust that our friendships can weather my meddling. And second, the general sporting community, armed with both arguments and rationalities, will rise up as one to tell me I do not understand — but that, of course, is my point. My preferences consistently tug me into my oneness with all living beings, and into avoiding inflicting unnecessary pain and terror and death on them. Each hunting season I look for something that makes the whole process spiritually meaningful.
Richard Gist, Princeton, Minn.
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In his Oct. 11 commentary "How high tech has killed real deer hunting," Ron Way is giving all of us old codgers a bad name. He scoffs at modern deer-hunting technology the way many of my ancient peers scoff at cellphones and iPads. He rhetorically wonders if hunting with a scoped rifle is really hunting. This is like asking if using a cellphone is really talking on the phone. My guess is that he doesn't use a rotary phone even if he thinks it would be more authentic.
Maybe more problematic is that he doesn't appear to know much more about deer hunting than his skeptical grandchildren. He scoffs at "ridiculously high-powered rifles" as if the .30-30 Marlin he uses is some kind of an innocent peashooter. He talks about 500-yard shots as if such a thing were really possible in Minnesota's North Woods. He scoffs at ladder stands as if we didn't build homemade tree stands in the good old days. (By the way, those stands were far more dangerous to use.)
I don't care if Way wants to stumble around the woods with his peashooter, but I hope he decides to wear some of that modern blaze-orange clothing rather than the good old red-plaid wool jacket that may provide him with a more authentic hunting experience.
Tim Mungavan, Minneapolis
GUN CONTROL
Little point in public measures? Evidence shows otherwise.
If you're looking for an illustration of what caving in to the gun lobby looks like, I refer you to D.J. Tice's column of Oct. 11 ("Thought experiment: Could gun prohibition work?").