Being a Naturalist
Robert Ruark once said, “The Old Man used to say that the best part of hunting and fishing was the thinking about going and the talking about it after you got back.” My Dad and I were talking about hunting and trapping and how we think about the old days and hope the next trip will be as good as those we remember. It never seems that way at the time, but there are many new days that will become “the good ole day” when we remember them in the future.
I’ve been feeling drained and tired for a good while now, and not the tiredness that comes from hard work or effort, the tiredness from not being one with yourself. I realized I have not spent time out in the woods and fields, hunting and trapping just for fun rather than for pay. While nuisance work is fun and profitable, it’s not nearly the same as just for fun.
Dad and I discussed it, and I told him “I feel disconnected from nature”, and he knew what I meant as well as knowing neither of us could explain it to anyone who didn’t just “know”. When we (hunters, fishermen, trappers, and outdoorsmen) are out in nature we are not just out lolly gagging around, when we are out of doors, in the woods, fields, cricks and stream, as well as the rivers, mountains, and tidewater, we are not visiting we are PART of nature. We see, hear, smell, feel, sometimes almost taste nature all around us, we FEEL nature as palpably as walking in your Grandmother’s kitchen, makes you feel safe, warm, loved and hungry, due to the sights, smells, sounds and those intangibles you can’t explain.
I realized I missed the sort of acidy smell ferns and fallen leaves make when you tread on them, the salty, sweet scent of tidewater at low tide, and the smell of red fox urine and skunk musk, and black mud. I missed the beauty of hoar frosted fields and trees, looking as if they were made of Venetian Crystal, the sight of mink track on the cricks shelf ice after the first snowfall, the sight of a dark circle in the frost or snow you see far across the field. I missed hearing the hawks and eagles cry as the fly overhead, the sound of coyotes barking in the predawn darkness, and the soft sizzling sounds that snow makes as it falls by your ears. I missed breathing deeply on a cold morning and feeling that cold air invade my lungs causing them to burn slightly as it burns away the impurities of being stagnant. I missed how clean the world feels on a bitter, cold, icy morning. I even miss walking across cut corn field or knee-deep snow to check sets, even though I’ll cuss doing it later.
I am hoping that by trapping sheerly for fun this year, I can find myself again, and shake off this tiredness and sloth I have exhibited since 2012 when I last ran a line. I am sure I’ll get wet feet, cold fingers, mud covered, snapped fingers, good days, and better days, but I don’t foresee and “bad” days. As Kipling once said, “The Red Gods call me out and I must go!”
