Summary Of ' The Hunt '

It was the middle of October, and it was finally time for my long awaited moose hunt. I have waited ever since I was a little girl for this opportunity, and it was finally here. So, my father and I packed up our stuff and left the warmth of Phoenix. We were leaving the "Valley of the Sun" and headed for a place called Wyoming. After two days and fourteen long hours of driving, we made it to our hunting unit.

The third Saturday of November was one filled with conflicting emotions: excitement, fear, optimism, and nervousness. The screeching sound of the alarm at 4:00 a.m. initiated a sense of panic and thrill throughout me; it was the opening day of the gun deer hunting season. Within minutes, I was dressed from head to toe in bright, blaze orange that could be recognized from miles away. I reluctantly, yet willingly, climbed into the truck to head to the hunting land in Adams County, Wisconsin. My stomach felt like it was tied into knots. My mind was again flooded with conflicting emotions. I began to wonder: will I get a deer? Will I not get a deer? Will I get a buck?

As I was staring at this cue card that was written nearly one hundred years ago, I had to take a step back and realize how much this piece of paper had affected my life. Riggs Hunt was a committed feminist and traveled all over West Virginia to spread feminism in hopes that eventually women could have rights. Riggs Hunt was one of the women who fought for me to have education, ability to vote and to have rights over my own body. As I was sitting in the library holding something that was once in her hands, I felt empowered as I was holding a piece of history that had a huge impact on my life and the person that I am today. As I sat there reading this small summary of one of Riggs Hunt’s events, it had showed that she had been a strong advocate for women as she empowered women to follow her movement despite all the rumors that had been set towards feminism and at the same time she was still gender neutral as she allowed men to be involved in her feminist movement.

As I heard my alarm clock go off at two in the morning, feeling prepared mentally but not physically. My mind,at that point in time raced with thoughts and expectations, although my body felt like it wanted to die. Finally dragging myself out from under the soft covers, I pulled my gear to the bed of the truck and threw my bag up over the side of the truck's bed,-- hearing a giant thud from the heftiness of my pack. I felt mixed emotions coming from my body, my mind ready and my body said: “go back to bed hate you, I hate you, I hate you”. As soon as I plopped myself into the truck squished with three people in the back seat, after about five minutes of driving all three of us passed out fast asleep. The moment I woke, pulling into the parking lot of Mount Washington, New Hampshire I felt ready. When I stepped out of the car, I threw my hands in the air, the best feeling of stretching after a car ride. I look up to see this mountain completely covered with snow and only one round part completely treeless; that's where we hiked too. Strapping my fifty-pound pack on my back containing ski boots, skis, poles, winter gear, and food felt more tiring than it should have.

“You fat moron,” “You aren’t good for diddly” (Arp 94). Being told these words over and over again, a person eventually becomes discouraged and insecure. In Tobias Wolff’s story, “Hunters in the Snow,” main character, Tub is emotionally abused throughout the story. Tub’s two friends, Frank and Kenny haggle him about his personal appearance and sensitivity as he struggles throughout the story. Frustration and insecurities lead him to the conflict that he always tries to avoid. The emotional abuse causes Tub to be illogical and sensitive, but then eventually pushes him to become inconsiderate and self centered.

Today is the fourth day me and Little Ann have been sitting here waiting to hunt. Billy is just walking around the camp looking at other dogs and talking to the hunters. He starts making his way back to Little Ann and I. In the buggy Billy digs us each out a weenie and feeds it to us. I swallow mine whole and look at him and ask for more. I don't really think he understood me because he just walked away smiling.

As a St. James middle school boy, I was all about hunting, even though I hadn’t ever been. My dad, being the awesome guy that he is, said he’d take me if I genuinely wanted to go. Little did I know, my dad had been studying up for this on YouTube because he knew the worst part comes after you shoot a deer and have to clean it. He watched video after video learning how to properly clean a deer before you take it to a shop for it to be processed. The only thing that I knew I wanted to do was shoot a deer!

Imagine having the feeling of complete serenity as you lay still waiting; listening to every broken stick, crushed leaf, and bird chirp. Waiting for the footsteps of a deer or the image of one in the distance to fill your veins with adrenaline which gives you that feeling you dream about. All this leading up to one pull of a trigger, sending a message to your brain that tells you you’ll be a hunter for the rest of your life. This image was a very important part of my life.

The concept of the hunt in “Monologue for an Onion” is essential to understanding the poem’s commentary on human desire and failure to comprehend the intricacies of life. The heart, skin, and secret core are the three concepts attached to the idea of the hunt that humanity is on. They each contribute a vital piece to understanding just why the Onion is suggesting that humanity is flawed when it comes to their pursuit of happiness and finding life’s true meaning. The heart symbolizes both what is beautiful about the Onion and what is beautiful about humanity. Skin is the essence of the hunt taking place because it is the brush that the hunter has to go through to find its prize. The secret core is the mystery of life itself and

We are headed to Pine Log, my great-uncle's hunting camp. Three hours and many windy roads later, we finally arrive. It is a bitterly cold and foggy day. I step out the car, and look out at the wilderness. The 850 acre property seems to go on forever. I look to my left and see seventeen of my cousins racing towards us. They embrace us with the warmest hugs they could give. The warmth brings

The sharp arctic like breeze propels itself onto my young and fair skin as my mother forces the old, frail white birch door open, exposing both myself and my younger sister to the harsh and unforgiving climate that awaits us beyond the both feeble and aged shack that I have called home for the past nine and a half years. My father sits in the frost bitten and beaten three seater Chevrolet truck. Crammed in the tray covered in tarp, I struggle to make out the shape of what seems to be my previously owned duffel bag, bestowed upon me by my next door neighbours following the death of their son, my mother describes his death to me as being “a tragic accident” down in the Cape Breton mines. Before my eyes could properly focus on the contents inside the tray of the truck, my Mother had already

It was 5:00, it’s crazy that we had been walking for hours and it hadn’t even felt like it. As I peered between tall trees, I saw a waterfall way out in the distance, the two of us decided to head that way. It took about five minutes to get to the falls and it was breathtaking. The setting sun floated just above the rocks behind and around the stream of water sloping down the mountain side.So there we stood, on top of the world, in front of a pink and orange sky as the constant sound of water crashing into the lower river filled my ears, I was in awe. Allegedly, Erin felt the same way because neither of us said anything for at least ten minutes. I felt as if I could stay there forever. I pulled out my phone to take a picture of this gorgeous view, but time after time each picture turned out bad and not what the actual scene looked like. I realized at that moment that some things are just too great to take a picture and I think that is the way things are supposed to be. The fresh breeze was back again and it was even colder than earlier . I then realized just how cold I was and checked my watch, it read 5:45, the perfect time to start heading back to the

His booming laugh filled my ears with joy. He asked me to help carry some hunting equipment out to the car. I nodded eagerly. It was my first ever-hunting trip. Even though I didn’t know what to expect and I couldn’t even touch a gun it was still going to be fun. When we arrived at the hunting ground it was barren and brown and the crisp thirty mile and hour wind jabbed me every second. The previous appeal of this trip had suddenly turned to disgust and the hunting hadn’t even begun. My dad smiled at me and I feebly smiled back. The first hour was fine, the feeling in my hands went within ten minutes even though I was wearing gloves. The third hour , I started crying and my dad bribed me to stop with candy and verbal threats of punishment. However, by the fifth hour of thirty degree weather and less than two birds being shot, I sat down. The final act of defiance to try and turn the tides in my five year old favor. My actions in fact had the opposite effect and my Dad kept walking. Shivering, teary-eyed, and defeated. I stood up and dragged the small wooden gun behind me. The walk to the car seemed like an eternity, nevertheless, we got there before the sun went

After we stopped and shut the truck off, we ever so slowly and quietly exited the truck, went around to the tailgate, grabbed the guns, the little camo backpack of gear, sprayed down, and we were on our way. Even walking out, I was filled with emotions and my mind raced. Excited, nervous, alert, noticing and picking out every little thing that moved or made a noise. The frost crunching under my boots, watching my breath crystalize right before my eyes, the tops of trees swaying back and forth in the gentle wind, as if waving to us. We get to the stand, an old, wooden box on stilts, and climb up. When we get situated, I pulled out my phone to check the time. Six forty-five. I mentally took note of this and knowing legal shooting hours started at seven twenty, I calculated how long before this day could become an amazing one. Thirty-five minutes. I sit there anxiously counting down the time. After a while, Dad taps the side of my leg three times, and instantly I know what he means before he points out in the darkness. I can hardly make out the outline of a deer slowly walking broadside from left to right at about eighty yards in an open area straight in front of us. This is the kind of darkness where you can see the outline of your hand in front of your face, but not the rest of it. I could see the deer out there only because of its relatively large size. I reached down and turned on my phone that sits on the ground next to my

It was about 13 degrees out and the sun had just started to peek over the mountains behind our house. It was a magnificent morning. It was one of those crisp, cold mornings with no wind and I could hear for miles and miles. I remember hearing my neighbor’s dog, Orvis, barking two miles away. I kept walking for about a quarter mile until I came upon a field that was always a hot spot for deer in the morning. It was an exciting feeling to be out in the woods with the deer, yet at the same time, a terrifying feeling. Was I going to fail yet another year of not bagging my buck? I was anxious as to what my family and friends would think of me. I needed to get a deer in the worst way.