7 minute read
Hunter Profiling
ESSAY
HUNTING IS
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HUNTING
WHETHER YOU’RE A SPECIALIST, A GENERALIST OR SOMETHING IN-BETWEEN, YOU’RE A HUNTER THROUGH AND THROUGH
BY T.J. SCHWANKY
A
GOOD BUDDY of mine from Calgary, Tom Foss is what I would call a specialist when it comes to hunting. While he’s hunted most of North America’s game animals, and a handful of species overseas, the vast majority of his time and financial resources have gone into hunting sheep. Tom is strictly a bowhunter, and he’s taken five—yes, five—Grand Slams of North American Wild Sheep with his bow (a Grand Slam comprises a Stone’s, Dall’s, bighorn and desert bighorn sheep).
Many consider taking just one Grand Slam with a rifle to be the pinnacle of North American hunting, and fewer than 200 archers have completed a Grand Slam since the first records were kept in 1956. Completing it five times definitely puts Tom in an elite group.
Another good friend of mine, David Fishley, runs a very successful waterfowl outfitting business in Alberta. He basically lives and breathes hunting ducks and geese throughout September and October. Once his outfitting season is over, what does he do? Hunt more waterfowl, of course, heading out at least five days a week in the management unit around Calgary until the season closes in late December. Although David also
AS A SHEEP EXPERT, TOM FOSS (RIGHT) RATES AS A SPECIALIST
hunts big game in November, I wouldn’t hesitate to call him a waterfowl specialist.
My buddy Jeff Eno from the Yukon, on the other hand, is the classic generalist. He’s hunted on six continents, and there’s no real rhyme nor reason behind the species and destinations he’s chosen to hunt, other than they sounded like amazing adventures. As with many generalists, Jeff was born with wanderlust, and he’s lived in some incredibly remote regions of Canada. An extrovert, he makes friends wherever he travels, and he’s always dreaming about what’s next. He has also taken a Grand Slam of North American Sheep, but he has no plans for a second slam. Says Jeff: “There’s way too much of the world left to experience.”
I consider myself a generalist, as well, although for a good part of my life I would have called myself a bighorn sheep specialist. I once lived and breathed bighorn hunting, from scouting for
OUTFITTER DAVID FISHLEY (LEFT) IS A WATERFOWL SPECIALIST
10 months of the year to spending nearly every spare day in September and October in the mountains chasing full curls.
I’ve been fortunate to take three bighorns in Alberta, and I’ve been along on another 20 or so successful sheep hunts in Alberta and elsewhere in North America, either as the hunter or a hunting buddy. In 2020, I completed my own Grand Slam, but like Jeff, it’s one and done for me. I agree there’s just too much more to experience, but that in no way diminishes those who do specialize—or otherwise. Whatever path you take is a personal choice, and not superior or inferior to another. W HILE TOM, DAVID and Jeff are all at somewhat elite levels when it comes to hunting, I use them as examples only to demonstrate how deeply engrained these specialist and generalist traits can become. And truthfully, most hunters fall somewhere into either category, progressing through five distinct stages along the way.
First there’s the shooter stage, when hunters simply want to do a lot of shooting. Here, waterfowl are the typical targets. Then there’s the limiting-out stage. Hunters still like to shoot a lot, but now taking the maximum allowable limit also becomes important. That’s followed by the trophy stage, when hunters focus only on the oldest and largest of their target species. These hunters often travel long distances to hunt trophy animals. »
Next up is the method stage. At this point, hunters get the most satisfaction from the way they take game, often turning to more limited-range methods, such as archery. Finally, there’s the sporting stage. That’s when hunters take the most pleasure from the entire hunting experience and often harvest fewer animals themselves, preferring to mentor others.
In my experience, it’s once hunters progress into the trophy stage that they begin to either generalize or specialize. When it comes to the specialists, it’s important to note they aren’t necessarily like Tom, spending hundreds of thousands of dollars to feed their passion. Many are simply content to hunt their entire lives within a few kilometres of home, becoming the best they can at hunting just one species. I’ve noticed that these people also work in very specialized jobs, and tend not to travel much. They’re typically very focused, and quite often live close by to where they grew up.
Generalists, on the other hand, have often had many careers, and lived in many different places. They are typically well-travelled and get pleasure from being in situations where things are not entirely in their control. Most generalists I know describe their addiction as wanderlust, with hunting a key component. Like Jeff, I’ve had the good fortune to hunt on six continents, but being a generalist doesn’t necessarily mean you have to spend a king’s ransom. In my home province of Alberta, for example, there are 11 big-game species, more than 30 species of game birds, and numerous predators and varmints to legally hunt in an incredibly wide array of terrain.
And just looking at the popularity of draws for game such as pronghorns, bighorn sheep and Merriam’s turkeys shows how many generalists there are in Alberta. They not only enjoy travelling far from home to hunt these uncommon species, they also enjoy hunting the diverse terrain the province has to offer. For someone from Fort McMurray, hunting bighorn sheep in the Rockies is just as exotic as going on a Marco Polo hunt in Tajikistan or a safari in Tanzania. Alberta is a great place to be a generalist, even if you never plan on hunting outside its borders. The same goes for most provinces in Canada. ADVENTURER N OT ALL HUNTERS go through the five JEFF ENO IS A CLASSIC HUNTING stages, however, and not all hunters can be pigeonholed into being a generalist or GENERALIST specialist. Some hunt strictly for the meat, just as the Inuit, Dene and Cree of Northern Canada still do today; they are happy to take whatever crosses their path. While few of us live a truly subsistence lifestyle anymore, there are hunters out there who hunt for no other reason than to feed themselves, their families and their communities. In general, though, most of us in today’s society don’t need to hunt to survive, and it’s this divergence from hunting strictly for survival that has allowed us to become specialists and generalists. We can specialize in hunting only one species until it becomes a near obsession, yet not be judged. And we can travel to hunt and not have to justify why we do it. We are still hunters, and feeding our stomachs is important, but in our modern society, hunting is also nourishment for the soul. It has enabled us to explore more of our psychological connection with hunting, while still feeding a primordial need to hunt. As psychologist Erich Fromm wrote in Anatomy of Human Destructiveness, “In the act of hunting, the hunter returns to their natural state, becomes one with the animal, and is freed from the burden of his existential split: to be part of nature and to transcend it by virtue of his consciousness.” On social media, we hunters need to portray ourselves as providers. More than 80 per cent of the public supports hunting for meat, but that drops by more than half when terms such as “trophy hunting” are used. Let’s face it: the non-hunting public does not understand why we hunt, and saying we hunt for meat is an easy out. And in truth, we do hunt for meat—it may be consumed by ourselves, or it may be shared with a larger community, but it is eaten. We can never lose sight of that, but to say it’s the only reason we hunt is untrue for most. It’s just easy. Even if the non-hunting public will never comprehend our motivations, it’s critical for hunters to understand and respect that while we each hunt for individual reasons, we’re all bonded by something deeper within us being fed. OC
