Personal Narrative : A Personal Essay On Hunting

Things were just going great! I thought for sure that they were going to shoot my Moose. But my dad wasn't going to let that happen. We ran right by the truck and set-up in the nearest spot we could see the Moose. It was a pretty bad position and I was basically laying backward in the middle of a bush trying to get steady. The other hunters were kneeling down and looking through their scopes. My dad could not believe his eyes and all he said was "shoot, and make sure you get

Of all the hobbies out there one of my most fond hobbies would have to be duck hunting. It’s something that nothing else in this word can compare to. Chasing ducks is something that’s been in my blood for three generations now. From a very young age I’ve been very into the sport. Duck hunting is a passion that comes deep from my family, from my dad to my grandfather we’ve all become obsessed with the sport. Wading through the flooded fields and timber of the Mississippi delta, and shooting ducks is something that will never go out of style to me.

The next Monday coach gave us practice off so I headed home again. That night I went over to my brother's house and borrowed his shotgun because it had a fully rifled barrel with a scope. This gun was much better than mine. While I was there we talked about where he had shot his deer and where he had saw other deer. I headed home that night with little hope that I would actually get a deer at all. It was really cold when I got up the next morning. I headed out to a spot near where my brother shot his deer. As I walked out the snow covered ground crunched under my feet. I got set up in my spot and settled down for the wait. I was sitting there for about forty five minutes when I heard a noise.

disagreed upon for various reasons, the effects of hunting have been and will continue to

With the hopes that it wouldn't snow, I traveled to Silverton Colorado with my dad in October. My dad and I had six elk tags for the very first rifle season. We pulled our camp trailer down to a nice wooded area about five miles before you get into town. The camp sight was about a quarter mile off of the highway. There were trees all around the camping spot; the only break in the trees was where the road came through.

In the fall of 2012, I had just completed a six hour hunters education course and my father finally deemed me ready to hunt. Hunting is a tradition that has been in my family for generations. My grandpa taught my father how to hunt, and finally it was time for my father to teach me. “Once a Gerace gets his first kill, he earns the responsibilities of being a man,” That is what my Grandfather told my father many years ago, and now my father told me. Later that week, we found out that we were drawn for javelina hunting, although the hunt was not until February. For the next four months I spent every weekend at the shooting range, the determination I had for getting my first javelina was unmatched. I never wanted anything more in my life.

"Sport" hunting is a violent form of recreation that has left countless animals maimed, and orphaned animals vulnerable to starvation, exposure, and predation. This activity disrupts natural animal population dynamics and has contributed to the extinction of animal species all over the world, including the Tasmanian tiger and the great auk.(1,2)

Leaves have all transformed to different colors, pumpkins are being hunted down, and the smell of Fall is brewing. October is here. It is not the costumes, carvings, or delicious caramel corn that gets me all hyped up, it is the opening day of duck season. Duck hunting is one of my most cherished times to spend with my dad, grandpa, and younger sister. I started tagging along with my dad at about three years old. At that age, rather than handling a gun, I handle some crayons and a coloring book in the back of the blind. Five years later I was able to start shooting on my own and still continue to.

The conference meet was upon us. I was as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. The tension between the runners soared as we lined up at the starting line. I took a few deep breaths, anticipating the gun. I had a nerve racking deep inside. Bang! The gun went off and I took off stumbling over people, shoving, fighting for space. I was breathing hard already, pushing up the first hill. There was a straight away after the hill. I was afraid to get passed, so I kept my pace with the first pack. Michael, who had tripped over the back of my shoe before the first hill, had caught back up. As the first mile came around, I heard determined coaches exclaiming our mile splits.

My first year of high school I had a great opportunity that helped me grow up into the person that I am today. I had the opportunity to go on a moose hunt in Vermont. Growing up in Upstate New York where moose are a rare occurrence I knew this would be one chance to ever get to hunt a moose and maybe my only chance to ever get to see one. My trip started with a four hour car ride through the Adirondacks to Lake Champlain and then Burlington Vermont. The first day me and my dad woke up after spending the night in Burlington we got up bright and early to meet our guide for the hunt. He lead us to the camp we would be staying at for the next week. We were right on the Canadian border in the northeast corner of Vermont. There was not much in this

On a crisp, February morning flooded with sunshine and bright, blue skies, Providence Hill Farm members were greeted with blazing fires, coffee and donuts beginning a day of camaraderie and companionship in the field. Just one of many events, held for members of Madison County’s most exceptional facility for the sporting lifestyle.

Everyone kills, and everyone eats. Not everyone eats what they kill, but these remain two of the most intimate forms of communing with our environment, whether we recognize them as such, or not. Almost 40 000 Americans are killed each year as the result of homicidal, accidental, and suicidal uses of guns; in all, Americans wielding guns intimidate, wound, and kill hundreds of thousands every year. These were the kinds of ideas impressed upon me as I grew up in my urban home: Guns were beasts, as were knives, arrows, spears, indeed anything could become a weapon if held in a particular way. We sprayed each other with the hose instead of water guns, and spent many long hours as a family "communing with nature" through long walks on the

The deer hunt tests your patience and in my case- accuracy. One day my brother told me to come up to him on the property. When I arrived there I caught my breath and calmed down to be able to take my best shot. After that we then situated our selves for the shot. It was a long 150 yard shot. I held my aim and didn’t even breath to be able to take the perfect shot. Once I shot, the deer all of the sudden trotted away. I had missed! However, I took three more shots, right after the third shot the deer dropped dead instantly.

I headed home. Once there, I heard the arguing of my brother and mom. Walking up the stairs to my room, I lay on my bed and read my only book again.

After that we sat in silence for about 20 minutes until the cold began to nip at my feet and the tips of my fingers which made me very restless but I tried to do my best so I would not scare away the deer. When we hit the 60 minute mark I was bored out of my mind, I thought I would go crazy, but suddenly my Father grabbed my coat and pointed out Words the west side of the field that we were watching. I