The Hunter
Written by Carl C. Hughes
I could feel, rather than see, his eyes. The chill of the early morning air seemed to penetrate my clothes as though I was standing naked to the world. Vapor poured from my breath, spurred on by my anxiety and mingled with the fog that entwined itself in every tree and bush around my hunting stand. My breathing grew more pronounced with every fall of a limb or mysterious sound around me. It was as though the whole universe was trying to crowd in with me at that moment. I gripped the stock of my rifle so tightly that the blood was draining from my fingers and my hand was becoming numb. I loosened my grip but still remained pensive and aware of every movement made by this creature.
My father had warned me of such a morning, away from the protection of my family members. He knew that I would come face to face with my fears someday and be put to the challenge brought on by a mutual respect between hunter and hunted. I crouched, pulling myself tighter against the tree, my head snapping left and right at any unexpected noise. Did it know I was there? I could hear its halting steps in the forest, ever aware and taking in its surroundings. Survival in this game does not go to the careless, each scent has its own meaning, each sound its own reason. Was that danger? Was that normal? It was the right of passage that brought me to the hunt this morning, a time that comes to every man at one time or another. To hunt the beast, alone and in its own habitat.
I shivered slightly. Carefully, I changed positions in order to catch a view of the forest edge, the tall grass moved suspiciously and I gave it all my concentration. Was it in front of me playing with my nerves or just my imagination running wild. It was hard to distinguish as the varieties of assaults on my senses were being played out in front of me.
I had been trained under the most exacting conditions, drilled in my mind were all the rules of engagement between man and beast. Personal safety was foremost in my mind as the confrontation drew nearer. I was alert, reveling in the moment, conscious that this once in a lifetime event would mark me forever among the most hallowed in my family
. The Hunters.
He was elusive, cunning and watchful of all around him. One wrong move and the victory would be his.
A flash of fur, the snap of a twig and my rifle swung to the right, powered by the training of my father and grandfather, I overcame my fear, my sights centered; I confidently squeezed the trigger. The sound of the blast remained in the forest for what seemed forever. My breathing labored, I approached the beast that lay motionless on the ground. I slowly circled. Putting the barrel of my rifle on the beautiful fur, I nudged and received no response.
Admiration filled me. Respect for my quarry was deeply felt. It was a hard hunt that took me through many emotions and one I am sure will be etched in my memory forever. Hefting its weight, I centered its body on my shoulder and began my departure from the forest.
Swelled with pride, I approached the farmhouse. Cheers were coming from the porch as my Grandfather, Father and brothers greeted me. There will definitely be meat on the table tonight. I dropped the rabbit on the porch for all to admire. In all my 10 years of life, I have never felt so much a man.
My father walked into the house and returned carrying one of his most prized possessions. It was then that I knew my test of courage was over. He handed me the .22 that had been passed through three generations. I also knew the responsibility that went with the rifle. I cant wait to pass it on to my son; as he too..becomes..A Hunter. The right of passage of a man will be mine.
