A Hunter's Confession

A Hunter's Confession
Автор книги: id книги: 1580262     Оценка: 0.0     Голосов: 0     Отзывы, комментарии: 0 1675,23 руб.     (16,33$) Читать книгу Купить и скачать книгу Купить бумажную книгу Электронная книга Жанр: Биология Правообладатель и/или издательство: Ingram Дата добавления в каталог КнигаЛит: ISBN: 9781553656203 Скачать фрагмент в формате   fb2   fb2.zip Возрастное ограничение: 0+ Оглавление Отрывок из книги

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A Hunter's Confession tells the story of hunting in David Carpenter's life, including the reasons he once loved it and the reasons he no longer pursues it. When he was a boy, Carpenter and his father and brother would head out along the side roads and into the prairie marshlands searching for duck, grouse, and partridge. As a young man, he began skulking around the bushes with his hunting buddies and trudging through groves of larch, alpine fir, and willow in search of elk. Later, hunting became a form of therapy, a way to ward off melancholy and depression. In the end, as a result of a dramatic experience after shooting a grouse, Carpenter gave up hunting for good.Winding through this personal narrative is Carpenter's exploration of the history of hunting, subsistence hunting versus hunting for sport, trophy hunting, and the meaning of the hunt for those who have written about it most eloquently. Are wild creatures somehow our property? How is the sport hunter different from the hunter who must kill game to survive? Is there some sort of bridge that might connect aboriginal hunters to non-aboriginal hunters? Why do many hunters feel most fully alive when they

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David Carpenter O.. A Hunter's Confession

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To the memory of my grandfathers, Artie Parkin and H.S. Carpenter, and to the memory of my father, Paul H. Carpenter, hunters all, I dedicate this book.

Preface

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THE IDYLL of father-son hunting was not to last. A father wants to hunt with his sons forever, but how long can a son remain fixed in that supporting role? We wanted to drive the car and call the shots and prove to ourselves and to our father that we were much more than just his boys.

For me the split came in the fall of 1961, when we three Carpenters and a couple of friends were hunting sharptails and mallards out by the Glory Hills. After a great deal of walking, we all returned to the car for a drink and a snack. I was the last to return. By then there were six or seven boys and men hunkered down by the vehicles. I leaned my shotgun against our car’s bumper. My safety was on, but I still had two live shells in the chamber. I was gulping down some water when my father came up to check on my gun.

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