Too often we hear tell of a hunting-related fatality, of which in my opinion, is totally preventable. Now I know a lot of big city folk may at first feel offended, but please avoid going there, for offending is not of the order. Most of these hunting accidents, it seems, are related to hunters that only get to the woods on an infrequent basis – generally city boys who have only a week or two set aside each year for the camp venture. They’ve spent a lot of money buying the best of gear, have generally announced their intentions to co-workers, friends and family, and then when they do get out on the trails (and most often not really realizing it) find themselves under a pressure to come home with something in their game bag. Also, they are not that accustomed to seeing wildlife in such a setting, and far too often, so many weekend hunters will fire at the first flicker they see or sound they hear – convinced within, it could only be their sought after target.  As life dictates, every once in a while, that movement or that sound is another hunter.

Then came the day hunter’s orange clothing and vests became the mandatory. Being very experienced in the woods as both a hunter, trapper and at one-time a guide, I cannot over emphasize on the trust placed in each of us hunters by others of like mind, to make positive sure of exactly what it is you (feel) you see, before pulling that trigger. If you’re not sure, or can’t see that sector of your target which you wish to shoot, then wait it out, and if necessary, pass it by, rather than take a chance of killing some mother’s son or daughter.

In all my experience, I find it is the individual who only infrequently gets out into the woods with a gun, are the ones that suffer the buck-fever syndrome and virtually empties their firearm with no rhyme nor reason. Unless in Big bear country, as in hunting for deer or moose, I only take three shots to the woods with me. One for my target’s kill, and if somehow being off, one to finish the animal off to save its suffering, and though I’ve never been one to get lost in the woods no matter how deep I go nor the many direction changes that occurs, the third shot I save for a search party should I get injured. To me, even a full pack of shells is not at all needed, just the number required for each animal I intend to bring home, plus the two backup safety shots. Same for duck hunting, three shells, and I await until I get three or four ducks lined up to make the one shell count. Different than most folks, I realize, but that's just my way I do my hunting.

Even at age 16, I held true to this philosophy, and darned glad I did, as unbeknown to both my cousin and I, hearing each others soft foot steps, we both rounded separate draws to find eah other's rifle point at the other. Good practice surely paid off there. On another occasion, and I strongly question the hunter’s orange theory, I remained on a logging road while my son worked a side trail, about 150 yards down-road from me. The trail entered through a thin-sapling thicket, and by the time my boy worked his way back to the road, it was almost too dark to see, but yet enough light for me to see a “bright” object emerging through the thicket (my son's hunters orange vest), and of which very much looked like a deer. Again, I am thankful for my hunting practices, for I could have shot my own son dead.

I’ve downed many a critter in my day but have always held true to my philosophy of either being 2000% sure, or simply let it go. You can always go after the quarry another day, but if you kill someone, that’s a package that will stay with you and haunt you for a lifetime.

In message to all, be totally, totally, totally sure of what it is before pulling that trigger.

One Shot