Unread postby Kodiakman » Fri Sep 30, 2011 3:37 am
Glad to hear that I am not the only one thinking like this. For me it's kind of goofy, it seems the larger the critter, the more dificult it is becoming killing them. I know that may sound odd but I have no qaulms about mice, or ducks. Yeah, I am turning into a big fricking softy. I do get so over the top disgusted and sick to my stomach when I hear tales of wounding or gut shot deer, i just want to puke. I have no issue killing anything, just do it fast. Torture of anything is such a anger point for me, I just can't tolerate it. i hate it. I feel horrible for the animal and pissed off at the hunter.
I remember my first kill of anything when I was first able to hunt alone. I could not believe how crappy it felt and the wave of emotion that I felt when it sank in that my actions are what killed that critter, and it was done on purpose! And it was just a squirrel... The next time it got easier and easier the time after that till it wasn't a issue. It's what you were supose to do, be a man, suck it up. I had seen other animals dead that other people had taken and it never once bothered me till I did it myself. I still remember that.
Another hunting venture that is burned in my head is whenI was about 14 we did the 2nd weekend drives with rag tag group of different hunting parties. One of the drivers shot a last year's fawn right up the bunghole. my Dad and I got over to them probably 15 mins after he shot it and they were all gathered around it, laughing and BS'n, while this poor fricking deer layed there, struggling, trying get away but couldn't do anything except kick it's legs and let out the most bone chilling bawl over, and over, and over again. I wanted to throw up. Infront of everyone I asked my dad if I could shoot it again. I am gritting my teeth in anger right now just typing this. I made the 8 grown men feel half as small as they should have and all the joking stopped and they weren't smiling anymore. One of the guys jammed a knife into it behind it's ear and that was the end of that. When we got back to the vehicles Dad layed into those guys bigger that all when he thought I was far enough away that I couldn't hear. Haven't hunted with them since.
Last one, It was a windless, super quiet, balls cold night in Northern Wisconsin when I shot the biggest doe I have ever taken. Smoked it, perfect shot, it ran back down into the swamp and I knew it couldn't have gone far. I don't remember how long it was, but it seemed like a long time when I started to hear it, plain as day, snorting blood out it's nose, gasping, breathing so loud and heavy, then faster, more gasping, gurgley, labored, then slower, till it just... went away. It didn't kick at all though, I would have heard it. Those that have spent nights up there know how quiet it gets, and how a bird can sound like a pickup truck. This sounded like it was in the stand right next to me. The sounds were so distinct they were discriptive. Listening to it die was harder to stomach than watching any deer drop and kick around a bit. Breath after breath i kept hoping I heard the last one till finally it happened.
But it's part of the course. I just do my job to make sure it gets done fast, and as best as I am capable of doing it and hope that shock and adrenaline does it's job and it passes with as little pain possible.
As far as the drinking thing... I do not have a drinking problem. As a matter of fact I am quite good at it. You should talk to my neighbor, he has a terrible drinking problem. He is such a lightweight. Like 4 beers and he's done. This is a problem. He needs practice.
It's not a problem, it's a opportunity for a solution.