Gunshot Geese
"When a man stops liking this, it's time to bury him."
I agreed with the voice coming from the TV. Then I realized the guy wasn't talking about gawking at naked supermodels. So what was "this," the thing so critical to being that no man should live who must live without it?
Shooting Canadian geese.
Flipping around the TV before going to sleep last night, I happened upon OLN, the Outdoor Life Network. It looked cool. Birds in formation silhouetted against the early morning bright blue sky of Alberta, Canada.
Then the video cuts to two guys lying in coffin-sized boxes camouflaged with leaves and brush. You can see the tops of their heads as they lay on their backs, ready. They look obvious to me but I know nothing about the visual acuity of geese. Besides, not knowing they are going to appear on the Outdoor Life Network how suspicious can they be?
When the geese get close enough you can hear their honking, the two guys undercover join in with fake geese calls. Then one of the guys yells the signal. The double doors of their boxes fly open. They sit up, raise their rifles and take aim. The video cuts back to the flying geese as we hear the gunshots. Suddenly one of the geese stops flying and drops like a feathered stone. The gwo guys hoot and holler like it's the greatest thing they've ever done.
Maybe it is.
The guys fetch their prizes then climb back into their boxes to wait for the next flock. The scene repeats itself several times: geese approach, honking starts, boxes open, gunshots fly, goose falls. This must be a particulary good day, if you're not a gunshot goose. One time the guys don't make it back to their boxes before the next wave approaches and they drop to the ground, looking as inconspicuous as two guys with rifles lying on the ground can look, I suppose, and bag another one.
Much male-bonding gaiety ensues after each kill. It doesn't look that fun to me. It certainly doesn't look like such a life affirming event that when you stop liking it that you should stop breathing too.
Yet oddly I can't turn away. I watch again and again as they cut to that shot of the geese flying where one of them suddenly stops flying. I'm not enjoying it, really, but I watch, waiting for the killshot, glued to the moment at which something dies.
I'm not a hunter. Never have been. My momentary fascination with watching it did not make me understand what its recreational value must be. I'm no bleeding-hearted tree-hugger. I don't oppose game hunting. I just don't get it.
When a man stops liking this, it's time to bury him? You shot a bird, buddy. What's the big deal?
I agreed with the voice coming from the TV. Then I realized the guy wasn't talking about gawking at naked supermodels. So what was "this," the thing so critical to being that no man should live who must live without it?
Shooting Canadian geese.
Flipping around the TV before going to sleep last night, I happened upon OLN, the Outdoor Life Network. It looked cool. Birds in formation silhouetted against the early morning bright blue sky of Alberta, Canada.
Then the video cuts to two guys lying in coffin-sized boxes camouflaged with leaves and brush. You can see the tops of their heads as they lay on their backs, ready. They look obvious to me but I know nothing about the visual acuity of geese. Besides, not knowing they are going to appear on the Outdoor Life Network how suspicious can they be?
When the geese get close enough you can hear their honking, the two guys undercover join in with fake geese calls. Then one of the guys yells the signal. The double doors of their boxes fly open. They sit up, raise their rifles and take aim. The video cuts back to the flying geese as we hear the gunshots. Suddenly one of the geese stops flying and drops like a feathered stone. The gwo guys hoot and holler like it's the greatest thing they've ever done.
Maybe it is.
The guys fetch their prizes then climb back into their boxes to wait for the next flock. The scene repeats itself several times: geese approach, honking starts, boxes open, gunshots fly, goose falls. This must be a particulary good day, if you're not a gunshot goose. One time the guys don't make it back to their boxes before the next wave approaches and they drop to the ground, looking as inconspicuous as two guys with rifles lying on the ground can look, I suppose, and bag another one.
Much male-bonding gaiety ensues after each kill. It doesn't look that fun to me. It certainly doesn't look like such a life affirming event that when you stop liking it that you should stop breathing too.
Yet oddly I can't turn away. I watch again and again as they cut to that shot of the geese flying where one of them suddenly stops flying. I'm not enjoying it, really, but I watch, waiting for the killshot, glued to the moment at which something dies.
I'm not a hunter. Never have been. My momentary fascination with watching it did not make me understand what its recreational value must be. I'm no bleeding-hearted tree-hugger. I don't oppose game hunting. I just don't get it.
When a man stops liking this, it's time to bury him? You shot a bird, buddy. What's the big deal?
posted by jack at 2:12 PM
5 Comments:
I think it has something to do with our love of violence. Our heart rate goes up-- and we feel alive-- just a theory. If we got our heart rate up with other things more often-- the world would be a better place. I blogged about it a little today-- a little friendly competition of Sex vs. Violence...
It depends on who's having the sex. If it's two guys in camouflage get-ups, er, getting it up, I'd rather watch them kill things.
lol! Maybe they shoot things because the aren't getting any!
If they shoot a gosling, can they brag to their buddies back home, "I banged a chick!"
I gotta stop commenting on my own posts. I see "4 Comments" and I click on it thinking there's a lively discussion going on and it's mostly me talking to myself.
Post a Comment
<< Home