The morning’s hunt had been uneventful up to that point.
Frost had long since melted away and the bright, warm sunshine of a bluebird November day felt good on my face while I made my way out of the woods. The doe caught me by complete surprise as she bolted across the trail 50 yards ahead, leaving a beautiful buck frozen in his tracks, broadside and staring in my direction.
One shot later, he was mine.
His rack was thin, barely sporting eight points and he tipped the scales at a whopping 137 pounds but to me at that time, he was the trophy of a lifetime and I couldn’t wait to jot down his stats next to my name on the “Big Buck Contest” sheet at the office.
There were maybe 10 or so of us who had opted into the pool for a $5 fee. I was competing against some self-proclaimed heavy hitting hunters whose confidence led me to believe the little buck stood no chance but it was well into the season and he was the only entry thus far.
Proud as a peacock, I passed around a picture of him to a group in the office at the time and it made its way to the hands of a certain co-worker. He’d always been boastful of his hunting prowess and as he looked at the picture, he snickered and said, “I have a pile of real racks kicking around the garage if you want some actual antlers to put on his head.”
He then added, “I pass on bucks like that all the time.”
The jab stung my fragile young hunting ego and I left in a red-faced huff. On the ride home, I was frustrated and started to lose myself down the rabbit hole of shame and criticism as I thought about all those big deer my co-worker always talked about killing.
But as I reached as far as possible into my memory, I couldn’t recall even one.
I’d been employed there for several years and during that time, he’d not tagged a single deer that I knew of. In fact, I could only remember him shooting one decent buck nearly 10 years earlier when I’d seen him at the local tagging station with it. He was a trophy hunter and in his pursuit of big bucks only while criticizing others, I felt he’d lost sight of hunting’s true spirit and meaning.
There is no official definition of “trophy hunting,” at least not in the encyclopedic sense but it’s likely fair to say, and I think most of us can agree, that there’s an objective understanding by hunters and non-hunters alike regarding the term.
In short, it’s accepted and understood that a trophy hunter is one who chooses to seek out the biggest and best specimen of their targeted game to serve not only as a grand representative of the species but also of their hunting mastery. Anything less than a prime example is seen as menial. Meat and the experience of the hunt often place second to antlers, skulls, beards or hides.
Through the years, the notion of trophy hunting has brought with it tremendous opportunity for argument and debate between those who agree, disagree, understand, don’t understand or otherwise take a stance one way or another. There are those who disparage it, believing it taints hunting’s core values, then there are those who support it, defending its inherent challenges.
So, is there really anything wrong with trophy hunting?
I’m certain it’s not for me to decide and there are equal arguments to be made on either side. What’s wrong with a hunter trying his or her best to match wits with the top tier of their quarry, embracing the challenge and if they are successful, what’s wrong with being proud of their accomplishment?
Is it wrong to ignore other hunter-related conservation responsibilities and replace them with a quest for glory or clout?
Who doesn’t appreciate a giant set of whitetail antlers hanging on a wall but are those antlers worth more than, less than or equal to meat in the freezer?
Conversely, is there anything wrong with a hunter who chooses to shoot the first legal animal they see because they value the meat and experience above all else?
Who gets to decide?
In a way, aren’t all of us really just trophy hunters? They say the trophy is in the eye of the beholder and that comes in many forms. A freezer full of deer meat is one man’s trophy while a 50-inch set of moose antlers is another’s. Whether it’s a father’s memory of watching his daughter take her first jake or a seasoned bear hunter pulling the trigger on a 500-pound black bear, it shouldn’t matter.
Every hunter has the absolute right to hunt whatever they wish, however they want and by the parameters they choose, provided it falls within legal boundaries. What really matters is that we hunters respect one another, help, congratulate and encourage each other.
He certainly wasn’t the largest deer I’ve shot or the most memorable but to me, just as with every animal I’m lucky enough to take, he was a trophy.
As the season closed, the group of “expert” hunters at the office had struggled to even see a deer and those 137 pounds were enough to claim the title of “Biggest Buck”. I chuckled to myself as I pocketed the money, proudly hung that little rack and thought of all the meals I had waiting for me in the freezer while my co-worker enjoyed his bowl of tag soup.
