Traditions

One of the constants for many of us who hunt and fish is our love affair with tradition. In many places, when it arrives, “opening day” is the lead news story. So steeped in traditions loved by so many, the arrival of the “opener” is a celebrated occasion. Businesses fly banners. Schools anticipate empty chairs. Indoor and outdoor churches fill with the faces of strangers, as rural motels, restaurants, and bars prepare to reap the benefits. And as the events of the season unfold, we blow the dust off personal and familial customs and rituals, turning routines into a joyous chanty and dance.

For some the traditions are festive, open, and celebratory. For others they are quiet, personal, secret, or even liturgical. They provide meaning, explanation and order, presenting us with truth and guidance unspoken. They connect us to one another and give us permission to openly tend the too few threads of memory we have for those who can no longer be there in the field, the stream, or at the table at the end of the day. They deliver purpose and hope and anticipation to a future unknown and the next generation.

I didn’t really think much about hunting traditions until I was in my mid-twenties. One evening I attended a seminar by Dr. Hans Schabel, a forestry professor and native of Germany. Dr. Schabel told us of the stringent requirements necessary to hunt deer in Germany and of the many rich customs practiced by the Jäger. He described The Last Bite when a piece of vegetation from a tree or shrub would be placed inside the mouth of a harvested deer to symbolize its last meal; the Ownership Branch where another twig is placed on the carcass near the fatal wound in reverence and to claim possession; and the blowing of hunting horns for proclamation and communication. And while all the rules, requirements, and customs seemed intimidating, I was deeply impressed by the level of importance given to the act of hunting.

Soon after, I was invited to a northern Wisconsin deer camp where everyone knew the drill. For three days I found myself immersed in one families’ traditions, some serious, some just for fun. As a guest, my job was to pitch in wherever while I watched for and learned the unwritten rules of the camp. I felt like I was 12 years old again, a stranger in a strange land yet included and welcomed. While the traditions held by this family were not cultural or 800 years old, they were meaningful and an important part of this gathering, and as I reflect, the harvesting of a deer is the least remembered part of those few days.

Recently, I quizzed a dozen or so friends on this topic, asking them if there are any hunting or fishing traditions that they try to maintain and maybe pass on to others. Their responses were as varied and rich as the people themselves. Generally, they spoke of preparation, appreciation, fellowship and comradery, food and drink, honor and remembrance. But they also revealed the music that plays during the march of time and certain inevitabilities that comes with the passing of ages.

Beginnings and the Challenge of Time - “I started hunting rabbits with our three sons when they were in grade school. We started because my 10-year-old son found a beagle puppy someone had dropped off in the country. This beagle changed our lives. A year later, we had 6 beagles. We live on 40 acres with rabbits in the fields around the house so we could easily hunt on weekends without a long trip. When they got older, we hunted most weekends on prairies in west central Missouri. When our sons were in high school, I took them to Kansas to hunt pheasants. As they got into college and then had full-time jobs, scheduling hunting trips got more difficult. The rabbit hunting tradition with my kids passed and I eventually let my pack of beagles age out without replacement. Now we can only hunt together once a year between Christmas and New Years.”

The First Celebration - “In 1964 I rode my bike down a narrow walkway along a railroad trestle crossing to a backwater that held a few ducks. I was wearing old hip boots and had my grandfather’s Model 12, the one Dad used too, strapped across the handlebars. That evening I became a duck hunter when a hen mallard came into that pond to roost. To this day I can see her crumpling into the cattails. I sloshed over to where she went down and heard a few feeble wing flops that led me to her. I was beside myself with excitement and apparently raised my fist and yelled because a guy by the trestle said he saw the whole thing including my celebratory fist raising. Every year on the opening day of duck season, I make a celebratory fist raise as I hit the water or marsh. I did again on Saturday for the 62nd time.”

The Fly Box - “When I was ten years old, my family vacationed at Bennett Spring for several days. We were a reasonably knowledgeable fishing family, but totally new to trout fishing. I was wading above the dam and spotted a metal fly box floating in my direction. I snagged it, and when no one came along to claim it, it became mine. I have used it ever since until this year when I filled it with personally handtied flies and presented it to my 50-year-old son while we were on a dream-come-true fly-in trout fishing trip in the North Maine woods. He has two young sons and I bet that one of them will own that fly box one day.”

Fishing Lures - “Several years ago I went to northwest Saskatchewan…I bought a number of lures for that trip, but enjoyed most of all catching…northern (pike) on each of a series of about 30 red-and-white noisy balsa topwater plugs handed down to me by my wife’s father and grandfather.”

Turkey Calls - “While turkey hunting I carry one of two box calls I own. One was store-bought and belonged to my dad's boss who loomed large in my early hunting career; the other was hand-made by (the father of a friend).”

Finding Peace and Passing It On - “During my early life in west-central Illinois, there were no deer or turkeys to hunt. Like many youth during that era, my brothers and I hunted small game such as squirrels, rabbits, quail and ducks. I really enjoyed chasing squirrels. Opening day was September 1 and my brothers and I would hit the woods before school, often not harvesting any squirrels but having fun regardless. My enjoyment of squirrel hunting has continued since then. I like the solitude of the hunt and its low-key nature. Also, to me, a young squirrel is tops for eating. My son and I have spent many days together hunting squirrels and I now have a grandson who has begun squirrel hunting.”

Honor and Purpose - “One tradition we have always tried to focus on is that the most important part of the hunt is not the kill. Hunting season is a time to gather like-minded friends and family to get outdoors and enjoy God's beautiful creation; the harvest is always secondary.”

A Father/Son Moment - “My only other hunting tradition I have is to enjoy a veterans day (duck) hunt with my son who is also a veteran. We won’t get to do it this year but I will post him a picture or two and let him know I miss him.”

Dekes to Dinner - “I always enjoyed the tradition of getting out the decoys and getting them ready for the opener. This was a family affair. I also miss the tradition of plucking ducks together. When we plucked ducks together, it was about reflecting on the hunt and looking forward to the feast to come. In many ways, the experience of the hunt didn't conclude until the duck or goose dinners later in the year. When we ate ducks, it was a special occasion where we would each get our own roast duck. Goose dinners were on another level, reflecting the special place they held in the harvest. We typically had goose for our Christmas dinner.”

Bringing It All Together - “Opening day of rifle deer season in Missouri is probably the most important outdoor tradition I have. Hunting on our family farm with my dad for the last 35 years is my longest-standing tradition. It’s about being together back on the farm where I grew up in Maries County. It’s never been about shooting a deer…especially for my father. It’s about the time we spend talking, sharing food, and going down to the cabin to visit with my uncles at deer camp. As my kids have gotten older, I’ve come to appreciate even more the opportunity to share those same places and traditions with them. My two oldest kids have harvested their deer there, and soon my youngest daughter will as well.”

“One thing I have learned, especially with my kids, tradition isn’t necessarily about doing everything exactly the way we always have. It’s about making sure the next generation has the opportunity to experience the same connection to family, friends, the land, and the outdoors that those traditions have given me. The balance and struggle to make time in the outdoors is the biggest competitor in today’s society, often squelching traditions before age. So when people slow down, have a good conversation, and simply enjoy each other’s company, those are the memories I cherish most afield.”

Lost Traditions - “Growing up, the most important weekend of the year was opening of duck season. After World War II, my father and a small group of friends leased some bottomland forest with a series of oxbow lakes just over the levee of the Mississippi River. It was an ideal setting and produced many wonderful duck hunts growing up. This opening weekend joy continued well into my life and ended with the 1993 flood which destroyed that beautiful bottomland forest and ended that tradition. Although I still enjoy a few duck hunts each year, I miss that duck-hunting era.”

“A lost tradition I wish still remained is sharing stories of hunts…person-to-person or picking up an Outdoor Life magazine to read exciting print stories of hunts far and near. Unfortunately, social media has turned many hunters toward simply posting pictures of game on their favorite outlets.”

“I bought a boat for fishing on the river. It was a great father-son activity for several years until our kids moved on to college. There was no time for fishing together on the Missouri River. Now they live too far away. I had great hunting, fishing, camping and shooting traditions with my kids primarily because of where we lived. Those traditions stopped when our kids had their own separate lives as adults. They don’t have outdoor traditions with their kids because of where they live and all the competing activities.”

Summation - The cloth of tradition is coarsely woven from many threads. Like so many things in America, our hunting and fishing traditions are largely a bespoke mishmash. But the ones that endure, make us smile, or bring an ache to the heart are real, natural, and uniquely human. Says another: “For me, waterfowl hunting and family traditions are so intertwined. I’ve missed a year here and there, but for the most part, I’ve gone on a fall family duck hunting trip every year since grade school. My dad is 85 years old and is fearful this could be his last trip, and my uncle tapped out after last year due to health issues. It’s a time of reflection for all of us.”