Pride goeth before the fall (Proverbs 16:18, King James Bible) or in my case, the fall happens in the Fall due to pride. Just when I think I have the outdoors figured out enough to tell young hunters, "You should do this." my comeuppance arrives with a vengeance.
Most of my hunting companions are 10 to 30 years my junior and, admittedly, their strong backs and youthful enthusiasm are welcomed. Furthermore, they all know the rules and seem, on average, more careful with firearms than many older hunters. This is likely due to Alberta Hunter Education Instructors' Association (AHEIA) and the provincial hunter safety training requirements paying dividends.
Us oldsters often crow about our years of experience. We may have land or landowner permissions, more discretionary hunting funds, and simple time-tested gear—but young and old, we each bring the skills of our era to the hunt!
Recently, I got to play wise elder by having the right 4x4 rig, interpreting habitat use, and considering post-rain track patterns and wind direction to guide my two 30-something hunting partners. Everything worked out and—BINGO!—down came a fat mulie doe. I was mildly prideful in my "I told you so" swagger. Then it got better. The young Turks were ready to eviscerate and haul her up to the truck when I "whoa-ed" them and said the ever-dangerous "watch this!" before pulling out a skinning knife and some gauze game bags.
I proceeded to pull back skin and lift quarters into game bags to air-cool in the mountain breeze. They watched as if I was pulling a rabbit out of a hat, as their butcher previously did this mysterious art of making meat for them. I was a demi-god in my own mind and may have even referred to them as "Grasshopper"! That's when the trouble began. You see, I tend to think the old ways are best and am leery of too much technology. Humble pie was cooking.
Have you ever heard the saying, "we don't have time for a shortcut"? Well, we took a shortcut home, by misreading my paper map, we got lost on foggy logging roads. "No problem," one of them said. "My phone GPS bread crumb trail says the camp is… r-i-g-h-t t-h-e-r-e." Saved! Then back at camp, they had water boiling on a jet boil before I even refuelled the Coleman stove. Furthermore, I didn't even mind the camp music on their magical Bluetooth speaker.
The next day, I stared dumbfounded at their iHunter app showing terrain, regs, access, ownership, and weather. It was my turn to bow down to these savvy young hunters. My chronic concerns over Wildlife Management Units (WMUs) boundaries, regulations, or land ownership were erased. They had a lot more to offer this old hunter than I had anticipated and, while I am unlikely to switch to range-finding scopes or thermal scanners, I know a good thing when it slaps me in the face.
Back at the campfire there were other bridges across the age gap. Not just greybeard blowharding to the youngsters with "back-in-my-day" stories, but rather carefully listening to their concerns about the current and future state of hunting. They struggle with how to handle peers who don't understand hunting; unflattering hunting scenes on social media; concerns over chronic wasting disease (CWD), whirling disease, and avian influenza in wildlife; or family reactions to hunting.
All hunters want acceptance, trust, and respect.
Validation matters, and a nod is even more meaningful coming from another hunter. It simply requires more listening than talking. Experienced hunters don't need to impress, and only an egomaniac or poseur needs incessant stroking and compliments. Giving your younger hunter companions credit for their keen eyes, great lungs, enthusiasm, mapping homework, and appropriate technology use will elevate you in their eyes more than any attempt to regale them with tales of your hunting exploits. These simple acts of interest, humility, and acceptance are powerful gifts to younger hunters assaulted by never-ending social media messages of one-upmanship, bigger-is-betterism, and "New gear is essential!".
Don't get me wrong, I still love to prove it's possible to wear tan Carhartt coveralls and kill geese, or use a conventional .270 chambering—which is 100 years old this year—under a fixed power scope to neatly drop a white-tailed deer. I guess there are still moments when a good gloat looms up. Sorry young hunters, your day will come—eventually!
