Conservation MattersTM

with Shane Mahoney

Shane Mahoney is considered to be one of the leading international authorities on wildlife conservation. A rare combination of historian, scientist, and philosopher, he brings a unique perspective to wildlife issues that has motivated and inspired audiences around the world. Named one of the 10 Most Influential Canadian Conservationists by Outdoor Canada Magazine and nominated for Person of the Year by Outdoor Life Magazine, he has received numerous awards including the Public Service Award of Excellence from the government of Newfoundland and Labrador and International Conservationist of the Year from Safari Club International. Born and raised in Newfoundland, he brings to his writings and lectures a profound commitment to rural societies and the sustainable use of natural resources, including fish and wildlife.

Thank you to Sports Afield for permission to reprint this article.

A LIFE UNCAGED

e are all hunters at some level, requiring and taking, as we do, renewable living resources from the earth. Yet, as hunters, we frequently encounter friends and acquaintances who express genuine discomfort with the prospect of harvesting wild animals. They are not, necessarily, anti-hunting in their views but they are often critical of the photographs hunters share; and they can find it difficult to understand how someone can find any satisfaction in an activity that results in the taking of an animal’s life. While I understand and do not criticize friends, or anyone else, for feeling this way, nor for choosing not to participate in hunting, I believe it is important to engage in debate when such reactions lead to broader accusations that condemn hunting as cruel and without conservation or social value.

While many hunters I know prefer to avoid such discussions, I don’t feel this way. I believe we should and must debate hunting’s place in modern society and doing so requires challenging ourselves, certainly; but it also involves challenging erroneous assumptions the public may hold concerning conservation and about animal life and death...especially in the wild. The purpose of doing so is not to condemn the views of others but to ensure that our discussions of humanity’s place in nature are based on some level of common understanding.

One argument I frequently encounter is that wild animals, as distinct from domestic species, presumably, should be left alone to experience a natural death, meaning one not mediated directly by a human being. Leaving aside that modern humans have been hunting to sustain themselves for some 60,000 years, that as many as 2.7 trillion(!) wild fish and as many as 167 billion farmed fish die to feed us every year and that over 52 billion domestic hogs, chickens, goats, sheep and cattle are slaughtered annually, this modern impression often conveys that death in nature is somehow less traumatic or more peaceful because it is “natural”. So, compared to what, I ask? Domestic animal slaughter? International fisheries harvesting? It is all rather confusing.

This belief in the beauty of natural death can stem from a tenuous understanding of natural world realities, where one imagines an idyllic environment in which

animals live and die peacefully, undisturbed by the destructive and perverse forces of humanity. Such a view conveys the false impression that life and death in nature are peaceful undertakings. Having spent thirty years as a research biologist in a variety of natural settings to observe, track, and understand the dynamics of wildlife populations – and, yes, to hunt also - I can assure you that nature is anything but peaceful. On the contrary, nature is wild and chaotic, dangerous and uncertain in every regard, a place where animals constantly hunt for food, safety and reproductive opportunities. They must continually be on guard for predators, competitors and adverse weather. A rich experience no doubt; an extraordinary pageant of beauty no question; but it is neither Edenic nor safe, and peacefulness is, at best, a passing, tenuous thing.

When the end arrives for an animal in the wild, it is almost always a violent and painful process, often drawn out, agonizing, and difficult to watch. Predators are relentless, ruthless, and designed to inflict trauma on their prey. Concern for the suffering of their prey was not part of the carnivore’s evolutionary menu and their feeding etiquette demonstrates this emphatically. Killing occurs in whatever fashion is possible. There are no criteria, no bad practices, no holds barred. For many others in the wild, death may come from wounds inflicted by a rival male or from a slow, drawn out ordeal due to accident or disease. Few in nature die of old age, in their sleep. There are no front porches and easy chairs in nature...ever.

When you compare this death to that experienced during most hunting expeditions, the difference is stark and measurable. Just like many of our non-hunting neighbors, hunters, too, feel a fascination, empathy and respect for animals, and, unlike nature’s predators, no responsible hunter wants or allows their prey to suffer. On the contrary, hunters take every possible measure to ensure that the hunted animal, often unaware of even our presence, dies a quick, humane death. When this does not occur, it is within our ethics and laws to not let the injured animal escape but to direct our energies to ensuring that we quickly end any and all suffering. Hunted animals, it may honestly be said, generally die very quickly, having lived a natural life, unconfined and free. And, in the vast, vast majority of cases, hunted animals are consumed as food. They are not wasted or frivolously taken.

When we assess it from this perspective, arguments regarding the inhuman(e) nature of human hunting fall somewhat short. Of all hunting species, surely, we are the most caring. So then, why do such arguments persist? At issue is a profound and far-reaching misconception; that humans somehow exist outside of nature. And it is this misunderstanding of human existence that perpetuates an idea of nature being something that requires unremitting protection from human influence. It’s as though our species appeared only to shatter a perfectly balanced and harmonious natural world, of which we were never truly a part. Thus, it is not that animals die, nor that they may die horribly by other means, that is really in debate. It is the fact that humans are doing the harvesting. This is what hunting opponents really oppose.

Let us be frank and acknowledge that humans have seriously disrupted and disfigured this world and that we bear a unique

“Hunted animals, it may honestly be said, generally die very quickly, having lived a natural life, unconfined and free.”

For pigs and chickens, especially, their lives are often terribly confined with little or no contact at all with the outside world.

responsibility to safeguard nature in responsible ways. This does not, however, I argue, require us to deny our own animal nature.

Humans are warm-blooded, omnivorous mammals. We and our hominid ancestors having been consuming meat for millions of years. True, modern humans differ from most other mammals in our use of symbolic thinking (as far as we know) but, otherwise, we have the same basic needs and urges as all animals. Our participation in the hunting odyssey is far from unnatural or an aberrant assault on the natural world. It is, instead, a natural expression of our legitimate role in the circle of life. Such direct engagement is not for everyone. And, it is true, of course, that unlike other meat-eating mammals, most humans today do not need to engage in hunting directly in order to meet our food requirements. Therefore, it is not so difficult to understand why non-hunters may view hunting as unnecessary and the death that results as frivolous. But let us explore why hunting is no longer essential for most human beings, because this certainly has not resulted in an end to animal death, though it undoubtedly has led to a different life for the animals which now replace the wild others we once more directly depended upon.

More than 90% of people in the US and Canada consume meat. The vast majority of us acquire this food by perusing the aisles of our local grocery store, where we can easily select from a variety of fresh or frozen cuts of meat that have been conveniently packaged and labeled. The plastic-wrapped morsel we present at the check-out is so far removed from the sentient life it once represented that we can almost forget we are eating meat at all. The animal has become a mere commodity, objectified to the point of being unrecognizable. In fact, many – if not most – people scarcely take the time to consider what they are really purchasing and if they do, please notice, it is not cow, but beef; and not pig, but pork. These are commodity names that make it easier to forget that a living creature died to feed us. But, most importantly, if the grocery meat hunter peaked behind the curtain and traced how their cut of meat actually made its way into their basket, what would they see? Would it be the humane “alternative” to hunting reasonable critics would seek?

As in most countries, the majority of meat consumed in the US and Canada is produced through industrial farming practices, primarily focusing on chickens, pigs and cattle. These farms are usually filled to capacity, leaving little, if any, space for animals to roam or explore. For pigs and chickens, especially, their lives are often terribly confined with little or no contact at all with the outside world. The animals are typically fed a dull, fixed diet that little resembles what their wild counterparts would consume. This fare often includes a cocktail of antibiotics and growth hormones, designed to ensure quick, effective growth so that animals can be harvested at the earliest possible point in order to maximize economic yields. And, let me be quick to add the following. The sheer scale of production required to meet consumer demand for animal protein, which is increasing worldwide, severely constrains the options available to domestic meat producers. Nevertheless, if one wishes to speak of evidence of humans establishing and perpetuating dominance and control over other animal species and undertaking an unnatural role in animal death, our current domestic meat production systems would provide a much stronger example than our sustainable hunting practices.

We all understand that death is part of life, a reality each of us must face in our own lives, and in the lives of those individual

animals who have come to especially matter to us, such as the dogs, cats and others who share in our lives and homes. However, hopefully like most people, however, I am much more concerned with how I live day-to-day than I am about my eventual demise. This is also the lens I apply in my attitudes and empathy towards other animals, wild and domesticated. When I choose to consume meat, I want to know that the animal harvested benefited from a life that enabled them to roam free and enjoy the wild experiences to which they are adapted. Yes; that they have enjoyed their lives! We all revel in nature. Why would we think this different for other species? That this cannot always be the case is something we have to accept for many domesticated animals; striving to attain this, however, for even these species has been a major influence in revising and improving modern animal husbandry practices. But for wild animals...living wild is the case; and their death from hunting in no way impairs or imperils this reality. When we speak of animal welfare, wildness should be listed as the perfection we seek.

When I engage in hunting activities, I interact with nature in a manner that is not in any way inconsistent with my evolutionary history. It is little wonder that it entails and delivers a sense of satisfaction on many different levels. I, too, am adapted to nature. Furthermore, my investment in hunting, and my interest in seeing it preserved for future generations helps to ensure the protection of those lands that wildlife, of all kinds, require. Through this, and my reliance, as far as possible, on wild meat, I am taking at least one small but effective step towards ensuring that even more wilderness is not lost to provide the animal protein we seek, through industrial processes that inevitably reduce the wildness of animal lives, as well as our own. And seeking wildness is a very human thing to do; losing it is a large part of the modern malaise.

Ultimately, I feel much more comfortable choosing the exceptional gift of a harvested wild animal, and in taking responsibility for its death, than lifting a disguised chunk of packaged meat from a grocery store freezer. I prefer this, not because I do not like domestic meats, but because I know the wild animal lived the kind of life I would have chosen: a life uncaged.

The Guide Outfitters Association of British Columbia (GOABC) continues to foster a fundamental shift among hunters from caring about hunting to caring about all wildlife. Ranchers care about cattle and anglers care about fish, but hunters are concerned for all animals and their well-being. Hunters are committed to the responsible use of wildlife resources and passionate about preserving a diversity of wildlife species. GOABC is a strong supporter of the North American Wildlife Conservation Model, which stipulates that law and science should manage wildlife. This model is the result of hunters and anglers who were dedicated to conservation. As anti-hunting pressure becomes louder, it becomes increasingly important to continue and enhance the legacy of the hunter-conservationist.

“Seeking wildness is a very human thing to do; losing it is a large part of the modern malaise.”

WHO CARES?

About British Columbia’s Wildlife

by Michelle Flugel

Three years earlier, at the DSC Convention, I had decided that it would be an awesome achievement to hunt mountain goats in British Columbia to celebrate my half-century milestone.

ne could hardly begrudge steady rain in the province of British Columbia, where the 2018 wildfire season was one of the worst on record. Millions of acres charred and scorched. Evacuations, devastation, and life-threatening wildfires had touched the lives of our friends, Jack, Crystal and Lloyd Hooper of Babine Guide Outfitters and their beautiful Tukii Lodge.

Our arrival into camp three days earlier was heralded by the first significant rain in Smithers Landing since early August. Coincidentally, it was that last storm on August 4th which brought the lightning strikes that were to start a 10,000-acre inferno. The parking lot was full of a multitude of distinctive bright red firefighting equipment.

Instead of evacuating, the Hoopers had opened their lodge and cabins to the brave men and women who had been tirelessly on the front lines, battling the fire which threatened their livelihood not half a mile away. I tip my hat to these fine folks; what a backbreaking job they performed, with courage, dedication, and tenacity. The joyful smiles on all faces were due to Mother Nature’s bountiful rain, that was now ensconced over Babine Lake.

August 2018, the month I turned 50...Three years earlier, at the DSC Convention, I had decided that it would be an awesome achievement to hunt mountain goats in British Columbia to celebrate my half-century milestone. Having previously run winter traplines with the Babine boys and knowing that they had phenomenal goats in their concession, I chose to fulfill my birthday dream with them.

So, there we were...black bear hunting...waiting for a break in the weather. Me, my husband Stan, and our guide Lloyd Hooper, all three of us trapped inside the cabin of a 28-foot aluminum boat. The purr of the big Yamaha outboard was accompanied by the hypnotic dance of the window wipers, as they struggled to keep up with the twilight deluge. We scoured the rocky shoreline and beaches of Babine Lake, hoping to find a bruin that was brave enough to have ventured out in the elements.

As the rain relentlessly continued to pelt us from seemingly all directions, our eyes were committed to following the path

Tireless men and women battled the fire that threatened the Hooper’s livelihood not half a mile away.

of the incessant wipers. Lloyd, ever the optimist, was certain that the next day the weather would cooperate and thus would begin my epic mountain adventure.

As I peered out the cabin window the next morning, I gasped in delight. In the pre-dawn darkness the mountains were illuminated by a dizzying array of stars, sparkling like jewels in the inky sky. The lake, shimmering, lay calm and still with not a ripple to mar its surface. “Yes,” I thought, “no more delays!!”

The mountains where I was to hunt are located in northern British Columbia, not too far from the town of Smithers, a 16-hour drive from my home in Spokane, Washington. With a strictly-controlled quota system (hence the three-year wait for my permit) Jack and Lloyd had told me that the goat population was thriving and they had an almost 100% success rate. Odds were good that I would have a shot opportunity at a quality animal. With this in mind, I had opted to use Stan’s custom sheep rifle, chambered in 300 win mag, with a 3 x 18 ballistic turret scope. This mountain gun had not let Stan down in his quest for the North American Sheep Slam. With plenty of practice under my belt, I knew it would perform just as flawlessly for me.

Setting out from the lodge we were bathed in glorious sunshine, the rain now a distant memory. We had only an hour’s drive to the mountain trailhead. Once parked, we offloaded a side-by-side which carried us another seven and a half miles, winding our way back to a tributary of the Babine River. Once there, as I shouldered my pack weighed down with a week’s worth of provisions, I remember thinking, “Michelle, you have trained all summer long. You’ve got this. Go get your goat.”

We began our ascent, following the tributary and meandering our way up the steep canyon. The mountain range was crisscrossed with the trails that had been laid down some 100 years previously by miners as they extracted large amounts of ore. Lloyd informed us that our initial push would be about five and a half miles to a dilapidated miners shack. Arriving at the shack, we found ourselves above the tree line and in goat country. After a quick refuel, we continued to climb, finally traversing our way along a ridge to gain a vantage point. I sat truly lost for words as I took in the most incredible, awe-inspiring vista I had ever laid my eyes upon. The snowcapped peaks, the small pristine alpine lakes...it was a visual symphony. This having been my first true mountain hunt, I found myself unprepared for the stunning scenery.

“There’s a goat.” Stan’s voice broke through my trance. All business, my husband was methodically glassing the large basin in front of us. Directing my gaze, I was able to pick

out the goat, lying on an outcrop some 1,800 yards away. His bright white coat sported a distinctive brown tinge as the result of frequent summer dust baths.

“Got a second,” murmured Lloyd.

“And a third,” I chimed in, not to be outdone by the guys. WOW...three goats, all billies!!! The billy I had spotted appeared to be the largest. At that distance, it was body size rather than horn size we were evaluating through the spotting scope. It was 3:00 p.m., six and a half hours since we’d forded the tributary some eight miles away.

“Let’s go,” said Lloyd, “we can make a play for him!”

We decided to take all our gear in case we had to set up camp on the other side of the basin.

“Michelle, it’s your hunt – which way do you want to go? Up or down?” my guide queried.

UP OR DOWN?? How about we stay right here, I thought to myself. I’m not going to portray myself as Super Woman...I was bloody exhausted!! Those had been a hard eight miles and my 50-year-old body was screaming for a respite.

As I weighed my options, my eyes lifted skywards. Yikes... looking at the frozen ice-covered ridge and peak I knew it would be a struggle for me to navigate the snow and ice, although it appeared to be the shorter route.

“Down.” I had made my decision. The longer route seemed to be the better choice, as we had to stay out of sight of the three billies that were continually scanning the drainage for danger.

Down, down, down across a small creek, hands grappling for purchase in the rock crevices, sliding on my bum. This was the epitome of mountain hunting.

“We are heading for that rock pinnacle,” announced Lloyd as we began to hike up once more.

Some 250 yards from said pinnacle, we dropped our packs and made the last agonizing push, unencumbered by the extra weight. Lloyd and I peeked around the rocky outcrop. Stan had stayed 20 yards back to lessen our exposure to the goats. “Magician” is the word I use to describe Lloyd. Somehow, he had conjured up my billy a paltry 157 yards away.

Quickly glassing the three billies, we were able to ascertain that the largest goat had all the qualities we were looking for, most significantly, size, age and mass. He was magnificent!!! Rising majestically from his bed, the billy stared intently at his companions, who were calmly feeding not 20 yards in front of him.

The quartering away shot hit the billy perfectly. He humped up, staggered, and began to stumble. I put two more quick follow up shots into the goat, to ensure that I had anchored him where he stood. The bottom of the drainage was a long

The snowcapped peaks, the small pristine alpine lakes... it was a visual symphony.

way down and we had no desire to follow a bouncing billy to the bottom!!!

Stan was on me in a minute, with hugs, kisses, and a “You did it babe!!” I was in a daze. It was only 6:00 p.m. It had taken THREE hours to get to the pinnacle, and then it had ended in the space of a few seconds. Unbelievable!!! I sat for a moment, shaking and quivering from adrenaline and exhaustion, while I collected my jumbled thoughts.

Approaching my billy I was astounded by his size. He was huge, a true monarch of the mountain. I gave a quick word of thanks that my goat had fallen against the only large rock on the slide, which had stopped him from what would have been a rather nasty decent.

As darkness was approaching, we decided that we would field dress the goat leaving him overnight where he lay. We would commence caping and boning out in the morning. As this area is known for wolves, Lloyd encouraged us relieve ourselves (pee) around the immediate vicinity. Combining this with a jacket draped across my trophy, he assured me this would keep the predators away.

We made camp on the banks of a small, emerald green alpine lake, 660 yards below the goat, which was acting as sentinel that remarkable evening.

Reflecting on the day, sharing a congratulatory dram with the guys, I was blissfully unaware – and quite frankly, ignorant – of the brutal 11-mile pack out we would endure the following day. I would feel my love and appreciation for Stan overflow that day, as his share was to include my horns and life size cape, which would push his pack well over 120 lbs. But no, that evening my thoughts lay elsewhere. The air was cool, and my head was clear. We were in the mountains and it was a great day to be alive.

Is it the thinner air that does it? Is that what gives you the euphoric feeling you get when you venture into higher altitudes, with a mindset that enables you to put one foot in front of the other despite the burn? I was fifty years old, a mountain hunter. Such questions can only be answered one way...another excursion into the mountains! Yes, I am addicted. North American Sheep Slam, I’m coming for you!!!!

EDITOR’S NOTE:

You can reach Babine Guide Outfitters at 250-697-6249 or visit their website at www.babineguides.com