The Water is Rising

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Remember this: The water is rising. When a woman says, “Don’t go in there.” Don’t go in there.

 

I decided yesterday that I was going to go turkey hunting in the WMA on Friday. I scouted the area for the water table. The water was rising and spreading. I blamed this situation on the fact the moon is going into its dark nighs then growing. The moon doesn't change shape but affects the water table and tides. Just through the woods to the river you can see the salt water and the fresh water meeting. I knew the Gobbler King told me to call him on Sunday but that would give me three days left to turkey season. Rain killed the first part of the month for me. I didn’t want to count on him because I figured he was going to back out of this anyway then where would I be; empty-handed and not even trying.

The day before I drove the golf cart around for about an hour and a half at a different place; calling for anything. I got no response. That is when I schemed my plan with the help of Nena-Two-Feathers. I decided I would get my mountain bike, assorted hunting necessities and beat back the rising tide of river water. Mountain bike with a metal basket; extreme and hardcore, I know. Wait til you see pictures of me looking like a bag lady pushing a shopping cart in the woods with a buck in it when I am fifty years old. By then I will be a nutter and it won't matter what the game warden is telling me because I will be tone deaf.

I checked my bike for flat tires and loaded her up into the truck. I got all the stuff I needed and drove down to the WMA. I looked down the road and the water had now pooled well onto the road in front of the sign-in box. I pulled in onto the gravel park, got out, walked over and signed the notebook inside. A truck drove up with a Mr. Wilder from Tabor City, NC. He was driving a Z71 but his four-wheel drive was compromised. He asked me did I think he could get in. I told him no. I did ask him did he want to walk  with me up the road but he seemed disgusted at the idea of getting wet.  I offered. He had never been in the area and did not know it. I explained the terrain to him. He relayed stories of other hunters submerging vehicles in the next county near Punch Bowl because they couldn’t see what was before them. Mr. Wilder decided to turn -tail and go back home.

I had sat at the sign-in box the day before talking to the propane driver from the next county. He didn’t think he would be able to go down the road either. He said he stopped going hunting when he got married, took up horses, got divorced, then stopped with the horses. I guess marriage and divorce is a buzz-kill.  

I waved good-bye to him then walked up the middle of the road in my snake boots watching the turtles drift by. I finally got to the second parking area and walked up on a turkey that flew into the woods over the briar bushes. I meandered through the thicket, after hiding my bike in the briars, to see if the water was there too. It was. I passed on this area.  I pushed on through the earthy tea of the swamp.

 

 

 

 

I heard a vehicle coming up behind me as it broke the water. These two men pulled up.  The driver had never been there before. He asked me if I thought he could make it. I told him no but he could make his friend get out with a stick to dip test areas for depth of hole; made sense to me. Once again, Sacajawea was telling Lewis and Clark not to go there but they did.

 I was now the unofficial swamp troll telling hunters if they could pass or not. Somehow, I thought I needed a staff like Gandalf, while proclaiming, “You shall not pass!” The problem with these two guys was the truck. It was one of those low riding Nissan deals. I could see it sinking into the mire while water flooded it.

We talked about turkey because they were there to hunt like me. It was about 10:30 am and the two hunters were trying to find a gobbler after the hens left for nesting.  We discussed the surveys the DNR sends out and how I got one that was a psychological questionnaire. I told the guy, “I am now starting to question my mental status because I am here, knee deep and up to my eyeballs, pushing a mountain bike with a shotgun strapped to the handle bars.” We laughed.

The driver also told me he thought some of the younger men shoot the turkey and drive right out of the WMA without saying a thing so they can reserve their tags for other days. I think this was probably his opinion but I don’t know what people do and don’t do in the WMA once they get dead birds to their truck. I kept in mind he said he had never been to this WMA so I am wondering if he didn’t mean some other where he had seen it. I am not the game warden but people sure do tell me a lot of stuff.  After shooting the breeze a little more these two intrepid souls decided to chance the water and mystery holes on the road horizon while pushing forward to their dreams.

I wondered up the road and came to a small clearing that lead to a grown up road with a gate in disrepair. I thought about going down it because something had stomped down a path. I looked down in the ditch to find an assortment of red shotgun shells floating there. I piddle for a while then realized it was to overgrown. I went across the road and down in the water-filled ditch. I was unceremoniously up to my waist in water but made it across to the dryer part and mounds of dirt. I messed around in that area but it was one of those spots that one step and you are down in it with your head sticking out. I passed on this but while standing on the hill heard a motor coming. A red jeep wrangler appeared pulling the little green Nissan in tow with the driver laughing like Santa Claus and his co-conspirator, riding in the truck bed, laughing it up at me while I cried, “I tooooldddd yoooouuu soooo.” The swamp troll was vindicated. Those two guys looked like they were in their forties but the look on their faces reminded me of two sixteen-year-olds out with new drivers licenses and getting in trouble.  I thought it was hilarious and so did the jeep driver. They were just waving and laughing.

I then went to the trouble of getting me a witch cane and measuring a section of ditch to cross that wasn’t so deep. I barely made it across but I didn’t get my backpack or gun wet. I walked back up the road to get my bike. I then thought this wasn’t going to get better but I remembered back at the sign-in box there was a gate and I saw a turkey. I walked back. At the second park, two men stopped me to tell me that I didn’t have to wear safety orange because someone would shoot me and the game warden couldn’t write me a ticket because it was turkey season. I told him people worried me enough with their drinking and hunting. The one old dodger had a cannula in his nose where he was getting oxygen. I thought he must be a boss because even sickness wasn’t going to hem him down. He was giving my shotgun googley eyes and said, “That is an 870. Best gun ever made for turkey shooting.” I said, “Yes sir.” He looks at me and says, “Go in there girl and get that turkey.” He excused himself and rode away with his friend. He didn’t want to go down the road either and he had a new Jeep Liberty. I wished at that point I had a Jeep Wrangler but all I had was a mountain bike. Yep, good old mountain bike.



 

 

 

 

I watched them go and strolled through the waters. Finally I got to the gate and steered around the post to go inside. Dart frogs were shooting in every direction. This road was previously bush-hogged and I could walk it no problem. I wanted to be far off the road because of the no shooting zone. I came to a bend and went right where I eventually found a little cul-de-sac and nestled in. The only water I had to cross was a small low place with running water. It was dry as a bone and you couldn’t tell from where I was, that not too far in the other direction, it was flooded. I sat giving my calls and listened. I heard purrs and some yelps. I then concluded that I was on the dry spot with the hens, which were nesting because by this time it was mid-day. Every so often I would do some calls. I was so engrossed at one point with practicing my purr-cluck, I didn’t notice the fast moving black racer that came up to three inches of my snake boot to stare at me. It looked to be over six feet long. It scared the bee-jesus out of me to start with because it snuck up on me and I tossed my flex-tone wooden piece to my slate somewhere in the beige straw grass. I yelled and it shot over to do a semi-circle around me. My inner voice said,  “Snake I am not a hen laying an egg. Go away.” I thought about how this was probably adding to my white hairs that I have had since I was twenty.

 

Of course there is the old superstitution that if a black snake crosses your path, someone is trying to do you harm. I don't think so because this snake was just after something to gulp down.

It’s funny how even snakes can hunt eggs and hear or feel a sound that signals a hen is laying and came calling. I decided after sitting for about two hours that I would call it an empty-handed success. I then saw baby ticks on my gun. It wouldn’t be hunting unless the ticks were invited unannounced to the party.

I did want to see where the road leads but half way up it was muddy like a hog parlor. I relented, jumped on my bike and peddled away. I was doing well until I hit the water hole at less than top speed but didn’t sink the boat. I was exhausted but fairly accomplished.

I then snickered that I had found the hens and walked up on a turkey. I was still in the woods making calls when everyone else was giving up over water and not looking for options. I didn’t wait on someone else but went to do my business, whether I failed or succeeded. I laughed at intrepid souls who laughed at themselves and met people, all men who have been hunting longer than I have. I transversed a ditch to get to the other side then went back into that same ditch to come out. I questioned my mental status while knowing I was not insane. I stood on a hill and laughed at people's shenanigans. There were hunters knew to the WMA that didn’t have a clue and I was educating them and giving them advice. I was encouraged by a man that looked like he was two steps from a nursing home bed.

With hunting, it’s as much what you observe people doing and how they deal with situations that arise. It is not just actually scoring a turkey for you. People are amazing, funny, and informative when you get off your computer, out your house, and strike out down a path to a spot in the brambles. I do have new found respect for ancestors that ran with the Swamp Fox through those same swamps. I signed out after four hours while watching people come then giving up. I thought and laughed a lot going home.

After all, I did it on a mountain bike.

 

 

 

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth

 

~Courtesy of the AOFH~

 

 

 

Female Hunter; Social Stigma

Remember this: All motives do not end in sex (esp. with un-sexy people) but stupidity runs rampant.

The truck was stopped on the road by the sign-in box at the mouth of the wildlife managed area. I stared down the road at what looked like flooding in two spots; one deeper than the other. The little voice in my head said, “Turn back Lewis and Clarke; turn back.”

I pulled over into the new, rock covered parking area by the sign-in box, got out and walked down the road to the small tea colored stream making its way from one side to the other. River water was everywhere. The first hole didn't look deep but I could tell that second one was a doozie. I later tried the first but backed right up out of there on the second. I wasn't feeling lucky.

I was reading the list of people who were turkey hunting since the first of April. Only two male gobblers where taken over a period of 23 days. The weather has been uncompromising while cold yet today it was extremely hot and humid. As I was perusing this information an SUV came rolling by. It backed up and a younger black man asked me if this was the sign-in station. I told him it was and carried the book over for him to pen their names in. He told me they had been there the year before with no luck. I told him he probably wouldn't have good results because it was so flooded and where he might go to find one. He eyeball rolled me and I could tell he did not believe me. Maybe he thought I was trying to send him on a wild goose chase so I could have all that WMA turkey for myself.

They went into the first hole but backed right back out the second to stop and ask me what they could do. I told them there was another access point but I couldn't guarantee the road would be any better. I gave them directions and off they went. I would later drive down to the other access point and find several crater like holds filled with water and flooding across the area. I doubt they went in.

While at the Sign-in box, I heard the soft sound of what could have been a female turkey. I wondered into the brambles to find the origins of the sound but then realized this pitch-black crow was the culprit. I wasn't sure if the crow was bad news or what. There it was, hanging around, trying to punk me in the swamp. I then left.

I stopped by the grocery store on my way home but met a guy in passing who I was familiar with. I asked him did he go turkey hunting. He told me no, but started to talk about it. He was more of a deer hunter. I asked him did he know where in the WMA people actually hunted. He shrugged no.

A pause in silence while I heard mental crickets because I wasn't sure what to say next. Good fortune for me because this little man pulled up in a kidnapper van and started to talk to the guy. I walked off and went to shopping. Guy was still there with the old dude when I got back. I was about to open my door when he walked to the other side of the truck bed and began talking. He told me of several places where I could find a place not on the WMA that would not be so water logged but on the edge of it. He told me about this man that lived down the street who he proclaimed was a Gobbler Calling King. Of course he did direct me, upon calling this Gobbler Calling King, to excessively compliment him while blowing his head up and giving him the credit for pointing me in the general direction.

I was listening intently when he seemed somewhat nervous. I thought, “Uh oh. Here it comes.”

He then looks me square in the face with nervous hands and said, “The only problem you might have is the fact that you are a single unattached female. If you go with any of the men down here, people will probably say you are having sex with them.” In my mind the snotty voice was thinking, if I set foot on the WMA then I am making out with everyone even the game wardens. Oh happy day! I would be exhausted when I got home.

I told him I already new this to be a true statement. All of the people including relatives  I spoke to were showing me their backs or politely directing me to a dead-end.

My reputation is pretty spotless unless someone were to spread common gossip about me. I can't account for every little comment said or unsaid as to my person. Who does? I don't have time for that. Its emotionally draining and counter-productive to my goals and objectives.

We spoke a little longer but I did get some information from him on the turkey. I excused myself then went home to cook dinner and dial up the Gobbler Calling King. I finally got in touch with him and explained what I was asking for. I also told him what the guy said about people talking and how I wanted to work right past this particular issue. He told me he would have to ask his wife. I said that would be fine. His wife knew me. He will probably come back to say no. They always do.

While on the telephone he did relay to me that he went hunting several times but he wasn't impressed with the low show of turkey. The DNR forecast was listing 'fair'. He thought this was because of predators, people shooting gobblers who were not old enough to even have good spurs, the weather, or some other problem. He did tell me some of the turkey taken were young jakes instead of older birds. We were both in agreement in the past 2 to 3 years the amount of turkey seemed to be slowly dissipating. I felt at times he was discouraging with this information like I should give up but yet he was hunting and it wasn't stopping him. He was going with other people. He complained a lot about younger men shooting underling jakes for the sake of getting a turkey tag filled while not considering emptying out the herd when all that is left is hens with no males to breed with. The two men at the sign-in box had this same attitude through conversation of just getting a turkey regardless of it being too young or gobblers per hens. A lot of people want to get a turkey for turkey sake, a photo, and the experience even if the turkey bird is not mature enough. I have spoken to a lot of people that feel the same way in regards to low turkey numbers and this year if the breeding isn't improving or poults don't survive, next year will be no better. There is always a stand-by answer for this.

All men like to say, “There are turkey everywhere.” This may be true to them in their mind but when you see something dwindling down to nothing and a person who has hunted long before you were born is telling you what you've seen in the past 2 to 3 years is parallel to their observation, then I would think someone needs to rethink their hunting habits or do some research. No wonder turkey season only lasts a month. Most people don't even know turkey here were re-introduced because the population got so low and the DNR does their research through surveys based on hunting participants' observation and honesty to determine what is going on each year due to lack of funds or man power. I guess the turkey biologist has got to be pulling his hair out with tied hands.

After this conversation, I sat on the porch with a long face. Why do people have to think of stupid things and act that way when in reality there is not a lot of people that look that good to want to steal their husband or boyfriend. Men picked their wives and married them; I say suffer thy wife and let me turkey hunt. People's personal suspicions are not my problem. If nameless people have to worry that much maybe divorce is in order.

I then pondered over the questions: Is it more relevant for me to be married to justify hunting? Would this make another married woman or man feel safe if I had a wedding band on my finger?

No. Legal papers and wedding bands do not keep a person from straying. The only thing that would usurp this migration is the person's strong moral compass and the ability to say no because the individual actually loves their significant other. No compromises.

On the other hand after deliberating over crazy mind thought shenanigans; I laughed.

I have solved a problem. Turkey hunting with a single female is the litmus test of whether you are in a bad relationship!! Run, hide your husbands because no sheep is safe tonight. The only beacon of light was the guy was dead honest with me and reaffirmed my suspicions. I wondered how long it would take him before he asked me out? Yes, I chuckle at myself sometimes.

In reflection to this stigma of being a single female who hunts, this impairs your access to opportunity while demeaning the person you really are. The idea of someone making comments in regard to your morals, while constructing some fallacy as to your true reason or nature for going to an area to hunt, is one of the lowest common denominators of humanity I can think of.

There are a lot of under-conditioned men and women in the hunting world. The last time I looked some couldn't even crawl up in a deer stand or the side of a mountain. Thinking bad thoughts of innocent people is wrong. If you have to worry that much over someone else maybe you need cognitive therapy to question all those crazy thought.

Once again in the spirit of informing women not so much in a rant, as to what goes on in the minds of other people, so you'll be aware of things that could impede your hunting; this is one of them. I was planning on going into the WMA later this week whether the people in the community help me or not. I have come thus far without their help and will go on to do whatever it is to reach my goals. Its better to be eaten by hogs otherwise the gossip hounds will drive you into a hole then tear you apart; unfounded rumor by unfounded rumor. Common gossip based in fiction destroys lives and makes the people spreading it appear to be stupid cumquats.

Go do your hunt. If the game warden wants to burn you, it might be better to eat a ticket than be put off because somebody can't control themselves while in the woods with you or their wife doesn't trust their husband.

I will say while everyone was trying to get into the WMA, I drove ten minutes away and found this.  Besides, I did not know I was that much of a temptation.

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Written by: W Harley  Bloodworth

~Courtesy of the AOFH~

A Better Informed Female Hunter

Remember this: Everyone has to start somewhere; encouraged or not.

Recently I have been scheming to hunt outside of my state. Hunting within your state is where you cut your teeth. From there you have to branch out.

Of course the reality of this would be casting myself out into the world alone, which is a scary thing to do. Eventually this gypsy-like quality strikes all people for them to migrate and see new places for the excitment, awe, and alas vacationer fatigue (when you go, then come back more tired than what you were when you left).

While entertaining this idea of out-of-state hunting I was plotting to hunt turkey nearby on this tract of land that belonged to the DNR, but being familiar with the property over time, had some questions before I set out to beat the bush. I referred to the rules and regulations book; no answer. This tract of land was fifty miles off the coast in a swampy area.

My questions were on unmarked lanes with gates that were at times locked. Seemed simple enough to answer.

Called up the game warden. Not a nice chap; didn't answer my question. He admitted to me lack of knowledge on his part about the area. Belligerently referring to the rules and regulations book, which did not cover this particular question. Sadly I had to raise my voice which I don't like to do. He made me feel like I was not welcome to go to that place or I was pestering him when he had more important things to do. The most useful thing I got out of him was the problem of bogging down so some of the lanes with locked gates could only be walked down. It would seem previous hunters or woodsy people just tore up the roads. It was the Blood Moon. Maybe he was on his manstruation? (Love you guy!)  I wondered why he didn't take my name and get back to me. Moving on.

What does one do when the game warden is of no help and the possiblity that you could run amuck of the law exist? I stewed then got an idea. I considered people that were new to the sport without a clue. One must get a clue after all.

When a person starts out hunting, fishing, camping, or even hiking there are rules and regulations that you must abide by while utilizing property. If you do not understand or know these regulations and rules could mean a ticket, fine, or jail time. God forbide losing your hunting license for the rest of your life.

If I were to go to this area, get myself in trouble, the game warden is not going to care, then will most likely antagonize me for whatever crime I commited by making me feel stupid; giving me a ticket anyway. I refer back to my conversation with the game warden when saying, "I don't want to go to this area then commit a crime by happenstance and have the game warden say to me, "Ignorance is no excuse" when I am calling you with questions. Made sense to me. I will tell you I love the SCDNR but sometimes it is the individual attitudes within this department that make life problematic.

Sometimes you can't let off-putting people stop you. I can admit there have been up to three different people excluding the game warden that I have asked to clarify or go down to this tract with me so I won't get in trouble. All they do is walk away or ignore you.

Here is what I did. I knew of a retired game warden that lived close by and called him. I explained to him what I was attempting to do. He took 45 minutes of his personal time out to explain to me about the tract of land. After this conversation I felt more empowered to go by myself and sit under a tree to do my business.

I had paid for my license last year for this particular tract that didn't need tagging or special permits. Always thinking of safety, if I were to go inside this place by myself then someone would have to know. I went over to the local DNR office to pick up maps for each game zone. I looked them over. Unfortunately there were no detailed maps of the specific area. What was a girl to do?

I googled Earth. For every one of those little lanes or entry ways, I followed the white line to see exactly where it ended. Most of them looped back to the main road so I was comfortable with the fact I could get back out. I did note the swampy areas where it would not be easily accessed. I then thought I would go down and make my own map with numbers and where it ended so when I went back I could mark the places where I hunted, water holes, game that appeared, general direction of tracks and time of day among other things. As we know some animals do not go back to the same place twice or travel the same path. Overall this endeavor was to pinpoint my location to family members if I were not to come back so it would be easier to find the body. There is the old saying, "Gone and let the hogs eat you". Gone being the southern sounding word in exasperation for "Go on". I could be eaten by wild hogs; it happens.

This is why sometimes you have to consider the way people get into hunting or fishing. Someone else takes them and minus the license probably do not feel responsible for the knowledge because they are temporarily there for the pleasure of the activity.

If you go by yourself it is rather different. As a hunter you have to put some semblance of thought and planning into your trip or else come up empty handed or worse yet in disaster. Your success depends on your knowledge and not someone elses unless you are gathering it from the source that dictates the legal parameters of whatever it is you are doing. I negate guided hunts in this piece because you are still relying on another person for your success.

I know there is a lot of online chatter about how close people are that hunt but when  you are considered the outsider in circles or just starting out while not knowing anyone it can be hard. To some extend it is who you know. You don't know anyone; it gets harder. You might approach people that turn their nose up at you, do not want you to know their hunting spot, or consider you a joke because they don't think you have "the look" or "attitude". Unfortunately for me I don't have "the look" but my attitude I wonder at sometimes. I don't wear camo all the time, sleep in it, cover my truck in it, or whatever else people do with camo. I don't look the part which confuses people. Usually I wear a red plaid shirt, blue jeans and snake boots. Half of the time there are memes that have make-no-sense messages that drive me crazy. Hence, keeping my inflammatory writings relegated to my blogosphere.

When you are a female hunter starting out, as magazines and other people that hunt are tooting their horns while neglecting to educate these women on the details of what life is going to be like, may find moments where things are just unclear or you are going it alone.  A lot of this information you can get from online or at the local Department of Natural Resources. It is always a good idea to check with these departments because when land tracts are exchanged they could have changing legislation, logging companies could be on or off the properties, there might be existing private property within the tract, and  the reality of changing conditions. Moreso what you can, can not do and telling someone when and where you are going, then coming back at what time. You have to consider cell phone reception in case you break a leg, bog down, shoot yourself, or pass out. Some hunters go down in the woods to have a heart attack then where will you be?

There is nothing wrong with asking for help. If whoever doesn't want to help you find someone with character that will. There is always a way, might take you a while to get there, or find a friend or two to get your back, but keep trying and doing. Eventually it will come and they will find out they found a diamond and not a piece of coal; when coal was all that surrounded them.

P.S. So going to get a ticket from the DNR.

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth
                  
 

~Courtesy of the AOFH~



The Shifting Shadows

Remember this: The midday sun casts a shadow on the ground but the setting sun only makes a solid form appear like an empty shadow when really it is solid as a rock.

Recently I modified a wooden dilapidated chicken brooder into a coop with heat lamps to keep the chickens I have hand raised since April-May of last year warm. The golden buffs were complaining like two old ladies and seeing them with frost huddled up on a wire laying pen made me feel sorry for their plight. I was their care-taker so I felt compelled to build a better mouse trap for them. I must say my carpentry skills are becoming occult I tell you.

I resembled a chicken thief sneaking up on the fowl in the dark to gently grab their legs and shove them “into the light”. They showed their appreciation by dropping a couple of eggs off the next morning. Seeing my business was done I walked around to feed my horses. As I was tossing sweet feed I looked out over the back field to see if I could detect movement. Near the swamp I thought I saw a dark shape move. I walked out of the corral to get a better look. Here I was doing the three-step until I was out in the barren garden behind some very thin wispy dried weeds. I stood and stared for a while. Lo and behold seven dark shapes strolled out along the barbed wire fence. I wondered if I could get any closer. I shuffled on stopping randomly and standing still. One of the horses came out and I thought she was going to blow my cover but I moved up the row. Eventually the other three horses came out and I was walking down the dirt row in the center of them. I thought two can play at that game Mr. Deer herd. I began to think about the things these tricky deer have done in the past.

I remembered over the summer I was picking string beans when I decided to lie down in the tall grass to take a rest. The light was right and I wanted to watch bugs. After a while of bug watching and wondering if a snake would slither through I got up and went about my business planning to come back to pick more beans. The next day I discover the deer have wallowed in the same area I laid down in. I scratched my head and said, “Huh.” Undoubtedly the deer tried to get my stink on them in a pivotal move of strategy to hide their scent when men with guns came a-calling. Well played; well played. How smart is that?

I realized that while looking at these deer they were nothing more than black silhouettes dancing across the late evening to disappear at their leisure into the beige high grass by a now defunct watering hole.

This shadowing effect got me to thinking about how in hunting we are obstructed, confused, or enlightened by shadows or dark solid moving objects. Seeing the movement across the fields of animal bodies that look like dark specks, or see things ghosting by in our periphery before first light or at the close of day will mess with your mind.

The shadow that is cast by mid-day sun is not solid yet in the evening the lack of sunlight causes a dark shape to seem like a shadow. That is why you should always take care when you aim your gun at what you are going to pull the trigger on. If you can’t see it, don’t put yourself in a bad situation.

It’s amazing the act of casting a shadow because it can be ether-like, an illusionary solid, or even one of the mind. How could one possibly apply the shadow to hunting aside from something you think you see but might not be, all that it seems.

Here is the opportunity for the shadow of the deer to help us as individuals accept our own shadow.

“The persona is what we would like to be and how we wish to be seen in the world. It is our psychological clothing and it mediates between our true selves and our environment just as our physical clothing presents an image to those we meet. The ego is what we are and know about consciously. The shadow is that part of us we fail to see or know.” (Johnson 4)

We are followed by the shadow of things when ever there is the orb of enlightment. The shadow can not hide. Yet our shadow is constantly with us, yet we forget it is there sometimes whispering in our ears as projection. This projection is cast onto the outer realm of our bodies onto other people, things, or self.

It would be safe to say that we truly aren’t the person we really are except around people that have grown up with us or know us intimately. Outwardly we put on this display to entice other people to befriend or take us seriously with no guarantee they will do such or any idea there has to be a mutual exchange of interactions.

Accepting one's shadow to balance out the dark and light aspects of ourselves deep down is the most honest thing a person can do. Trying to rectify these two poles and bring about a certain amount of unstable balance is a challenge for the person who hunts. Owning up to the facts that we take animal life, ingest that life, and carry on in the wake of what would be considered destructive behavior is embracing that part of oneself that is capable of such things for the sake of survival. Others who are not presented with dealing with this darker half as a hunter still encounter the shadow in their life as love, hate, obsession, resentment, etc. No one is immune or above the shadow. The shadow presents itself in different ways and is never destroyed only countered.

We are solid objects that can look and seem as dark formless purveyors of death from the perspective of the outside viewer when the hunting act is considered. Being honest with yourself on why, how, and to what extent you perform as a hunter rules the way in which  you form a code of morals to deal with the world at large. This world has no limits even when attitudes are projected onto you by others. There is the constant push to be like everyone else so bonds can be formed. Is that really necessary to fit into the square my little circles? Own your darkness and you own yourself; this is when the light breaks through and comes in. Huntress, own thy shadow.

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth

PS. Can't wait to see which one of you magazines grabs this up and posts it on the cover, in an article or on a meme.

Literature Cited:
Johnson, Robert A. Owning Your Own Shadow, Understanding the Dark Side of the Psyche. Harper Collins Publisher, New York, NY. 1971 Print.

Spewing Fire

Remember this: It is better to spew fire than have smoke blown up a person's rear-end.

At the Genesis of this blog, the administrators had a clear goal. One of the conditions of producing this work was to balance the Death/Life checkbook and answer the question of whether we could produce a blog without proof you're a hunter content or bending to other people's false idea we have to prove anything to them. After each review and discussion, things got more interesting in the huddle.

What is a Death/Life checkbook? It is a tally of how much you kill versus how much you nurture, save or propagate. This balance concerns tallies.

Here is a good example of keeping a tally.

I worked for a boss that wanted his staff to put out rat traps in the attic where dog food was stored. I did not like mice and always heard Bubonic Plague going off in my head like a siren. How can you argue when the plague almost took out Europe?

This was a series of events:

When the first mouse was caught in a mouse trap, the veterinarian marched me up the stairs to the attic. We went inside and he picked up the squirming mouse, released it from the metal snap and as it plopped on the wooden stair landing;  took his Rockport shoe and stomped while smearing the mouse's body all over the wood. There was glaring. I was sick in my mind for a week. After that trauma was over,  the staff would make a mark on the refrigerator for the Rat Kill tab. Offsetting this violent dispatch of dog food poachers upstairs; we saved animal lives downstairs .

What I learned from this scenario was no one likes to have events or actions forced off onto them for the benefit of someone else, even if it's necessary. The way in which you approach something is the long term ruler of how resistant or accepting a person or group is to a task/information. It's assault of the mind.

There is something about keeping tallies. Men and women keep tallies of who they sleep with. People keep tallies of what animals they kill. Some people can not even keep up with their checkbook because they are poor accountants.. There are perfectly balanced tallies and overly imbalanced tallies.

In keeping with the written work a need for cosmic balance was there. Questions arose.

Asking the questions:

Is it necessary to kill something everytime we want to post a piece?
Is it necessary to kill something just for entertainment or writing?
What would we actually post in the way of photography or art?

As huntresses who write, we didn't feel it was ethical for us or prudent to kill everytime we felt there was something we needed to say or spoon it up to the mass consumption for others. After all, the writers on staff would have to live with excessive behavior and wanted to maintain our commonsense when approaching our topics.

One of our mottos (Thank you Marianne) was:

The world is your oyster but if you don't take care of your oyster bed it will die or go dry. No one likes a dry oyster.

Every time we write and post a piece of work somewhere in the world there is an endeavor going on in a habitat that we encourage be it plants, trees, bees, birds, large animals habitats, or anything under the radar that will help along wildlife, women and kids who would venture out in the field.

The question about killing for other peoples entertainment was a definite no. If consumers wanted that kind of material there are hunting personalities or average lay people that would readily fill this void.

Kill photos we decided against because after discussing with non-hunters didn't want them to feel like we were forcing visuals on them that their minds are not geared toward. Its not a game of how many people you can offend or run off because they don't belong in your group. This behavior doesn't make you much of an Ambassador of anything. People do not have weak minds. Their minds just pick and choose what they deem inappropriate because you never know when someone has been abused, raped, or whatever evil people do to them. We wanted to have a little consideration. If you extend consideration it is extended to you.

Another question asked was could we generate content without death photos and still be relevant. Relevance was tossed out the window after that because it was a reminder of how people or groups do things to get all kinds of attention; good or bad. People seeking relevance need to go to Hollywood and play the tabloid game.

Another thought was did we want to make the blog like everyone else or copycat people as a competitive edge? No.

There is something about personally made blogs. If you have ten of the same things people tend to have way too many choices and better make your work a outstanding one or it will gets passed over because its the same old-same old.

Don't be a grape snatcher either.. This person or business sits back, wandering the private and public profiles of their followers just so they can find their next best thing under the guise of "sharing" or "product research" when in fact they are watching you do all the work then pulling the grapes off your vine. Once these are pulled they bask in the abundance of your work while your grapevine is now empty and you can't make your own wine.

There are also people that don't know themselves or are just holding a grudge and go "borrow" from other people then take it in as their identity as mimics do and believe their own lie. At the end of the day they will realize that someone else was in their head and what they made was not completely theirs to begin with.

Recently I read someone's words about writing a college paper. Here at the AOFH the decision was made that we would try to use original content. If there is something worded in a text that would support our critique or argument then credit would be given to that person or source. Its the right thing to do. Additional photography could come from free photo-sharing sites or deceased people where copyright is no longer an issue. The other issue was taking people's personal photos and using it to build a base while taking advantage of their love of outdoor sports to promote ourselves here at the blog. When people who hunt share personal photos of themselves and one person is sitting back taking all that information and building things for themselves then all those "followers" are empty handed except  for an "atta boy" while taking and taking. Online posters to such sites are merely fireflies dancing around a lantern. When their energy has been exhausted, die and then replaced by a new blinded firefly. After a while the entity that reigned supreme over this online site or realm then brushes the dead away and basks in the glow of other people's endeavors.

They say when someone emulates you, it should be a compliment but  that means less than a handful of times. When it becomes chronic, I would guess they are not doing it because they hold you in high regard. One way for online people to get your ideas is to friend you. After that they run rampant in your pages so they can go back to their dark corner of the world to do whatever it is they do and call it their own while building their facade for relevance in whatever group they call friend or foe.  The truth of the matter is,  with online blocking of participants, you can easily find what is the same as yours because Google + or Facebook puts it in your sites as what you have in common. Imagine that?

Wait til  these nameless souls have an identity crisis while looking around at the match house they built only to find it burning while whispering, "This is not me." The true people they treated like crap will be long gone. It always happens. Lonely at the end.

We try not to hate on people but some attitudes have us rolling in the hay barn come nightfall such as the--born with a silver spoon in the mouth people. They either choke on that spoon with their haughtiness or need a good half a bottle of black draught to relieve them of the problem once the silver spoon gets caught in their social digestive tract. I have met some grossly wealthy people who were not pretentious and accepted you no matter what. I have unfortunately also been in the company of people holding their head up so high they look like a turkey chicks about to drown when it rains. There are also the types that want to be the braggart leader and threaten anyone who rocks their little world. To them I say,  "Grow up and get over yourself. Your days are numbered." I will say for these people I still hope for a spark of humanity in the shallow empty sausage casing they walk around in. The unproven truth is there is no substance inside and if there is maybe its hidden by the facade. Why? Because this individual is taking from everyone else. (Sit back and see who gives themselves away.)

While our fearless non-leader is gone we have put up some more personal pictures for your viewing. Staff will be going back over the writings and adding more interesting content which will be posted in a couple of weeks if not sooner. Enjoy your time and remember to be the person you are and not the reflection of someone you think you should try to be or what looks good.

Be yourself that is all that matters.

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth

~Courtesy of the AOFH~