Traipsing across the countryside

I keep looking over my shoulder.

It’s not because someone may be gaining on me, although I do fear getting caught.

It’s because I can’t believe I’m out here in such magnificent country all by myself.

Hunting.

Surely I must be trespassing or the season is closed.

After all, this is public land, open to everyone.

So where are they?

Am I the only guy who does this anymore?

Have all the other hunters quit, lost interest, died?

I keep expecting an official looking vehicle to come barreling out my way, screech to a halt, and an armed man with a badge to jump out shouting, “What do you think you’re doing?”

It’s happened before. Years ago I was hunting on a wildlife refuge, had shot a rooster, and was watching my dog retrieve it, when in the distance I heard the roar of an engine and spotted a white pickup racing my direction.

Out jumped an angry man in a uniform shouting, “What do you think you’re doing?”

It turns out I had missed the “Closed” sign and was having my way on a restricted portion of the refuge.

Lucky for me the man in uniform was a biologist who simply gave me a tongue lashing.

I’ve paid closer attention since then, and to the best of my knowledge, haven’t broken any more rules. I try my best. Hunting means too much to me to risk losing the privilege.

But at times it’s simply hard to believe, bountiful game, birds aplenty and miles of Montana all to myself. Has this passion of mine become so obscure that I’m the last hunter standing?

It often seems so.

That’s why I keep looking over my shoulder, expecting the worst, that voice asking, “What do you think you’re doing?”

I used to dream of being the only guy out there. Now with seemingly everyone else staring at their phones, I fear I am. Traipsing across the countryside, gun in hand, trying to keep up with the dogs, has apparently fallen out of favor.

And that doesn’t bode well for the sport.

Not that it really affects me. I’m much closer to the end of the trail than the beginning.

There may soon come the day when I no longer look over my shoulder. I’ll be too old to care.

Ask me “What do you think you’re doing?” and I may not know.

In the meantime I’m hunting.

And loving it.

Parker Heinlein is at

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