Facing the Hunter by David Adams Richards

Facing the Hunter by David Adams Richards

Author:David Adams Richards [Richards, David Adams]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Literary Criticism, Sports & Recreation, Hunting, Canadian
ISBN: 9780385676137
Publisher: Doubleday Canada
Published: 2011-01-01T05:00:00+00:00


7

In the cold fall we see ducks overhead, or way above us geese. They answer the calls of the hunters, who hide in blinds on the marshy shore. Most of the duck hunters I know will not have dogs; they fetch the geese themselves, sometimes with a spincast rod. In the little blinds it is very cramped, and usually the hunters use larger gauges—twelve or sixteen. They call and wait for the birds to come into range, with their duck calls that sound to me completely artificial, but to the ducks and geese must sound convincing. When the weather is nasty the birds mightn’t be too hard to convince; ducks and geese will come off the open water in a storm just like any other animal and find respite in the shallow back waters.

Hunting ducks and geese is more like hunting woodcock than partridge. It is not so easy to hunt a bird on the fly, or to be patient enough sitting in that cramped blind that looked so good in the store window. Some of these store-bought, manufactured blinds are so tight that once you have your hunting vest on they are hard to get down over your shoulder. Of course many people still build their blinds in the same spots for years.

There is more waterfowl hunting along the coast than inland, but inland here is always watery with rivers and islands, so there are waterfowl to hunt. Some days are perfect, with clear, cool weather and a flock of birds coming in on a call. Friends of mine have experienced these days, on occasion. But more often than not, it is wet and cold, and a long time waiting between birds.

The store windows of the outdoor suppliers, like the Bass Pro Shops, which have a huge Outdoor World store off Highway 400 near Toronto, show an idyllic scene. Hunter mannequins are always clean, the faces jovial and clean-shaven, to look virtuous, and the air is filled with ducks. Or the bear is easily spotted up a tree, and the mannequin up a stand is not cold or frostbitten or so tired he is frightened of falling. The deer beneath him is always a buck with a fine rack. The wind does not blow—there is no wind in the willows here. Pictures of trout on inland lakes—with the nineteen-foot Coleman canoe and the fisherman—are idyllic as well.

The Outdoor World off Highway 400, outside of downtown Toronto, is where I go to escape the glass and tall buildings, the miles of concrete. Though it is an Upper Canadian place, I can walk about and think of the Maritimes. I am not fully alive in it, but by God I am more alive.

There is so much “stuff” now—that is the feeling I come away with at times. We are overburdened with “stuff.” This means everything from goose calls to chair-warmers to hand-warmers to portable toilets to an array of seemingly useless things for the camping trip you are about to take.



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