Hunting as Contest

A post I wrote back in March about the immorality of fox pens generated a question from one reader:

What is your opinion of contest hunting?

Contest hunting?

I replied:

I figure every hunt I have ever been on is a contest.

The first contest is between me and the wife. On any given weekend she wants me to paint the trim, clean out the garage, mow the law, or chainsaw out a dead branch.

So first I have to beat her. She's the first contest, and she wins more than a few.

Then I have to beat sloth.

You see on a really hot or cold day, Starbucks seems nice and inviting. At the coffee shop they all know my name and they start my cup before I get past the door frame. Hard to beat that. But I have to if I want to hunt. I have to beat sloth.

Then I have to beat the injuries that sometimes occur to me or the dogs. As a general rule, I stay remarkably healthy, but the dogs occasionally get a ripped muzzle which can take two weeks to knit up. The contest is always on.

And then, of course, I have the perpetual contests that I wage with briars, poison ivy, bugs, cold, heat and rampant undergrowth. Most Mondays after a hunt, I look like I have been bare-armed wrestling with a feral cat, and it's not always clear that I won.

Then I have to beat two million years of evolutionary adaptation -- the natural wariness of critters that mange to silently slide off into holes that are no bigger around than a woman's bracelet.

Then, when the dogs find the critters, I have to battle God himself, who has layed down two feet of hard dirt, over 6 inches of marl, a tangle of roots, and five inches of stone.

So yeah, I figure I know a bit about competitive hunting.

But try to beat out another man or woman in the field?

Why would I go out into forest or field in order to do that?

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