I really like hunting. I enjoy the hunt itself, including the animals I do or don’t pursue. A hunt might have equal parts camaraderie and solitude, which I appreciate in equal measure. And then there’s being outside. It’s hard to have a bad day when I’m in the woods. Hunting the right way, you get a chance to enjoy the woods and all that they offer in a way that you can’t when fishing or hiking. Plus, I have no ethical problems with it. Fairly harvesting an animal is an experience I think more people should have.

I just don’t hunt anymore.

To be fair, I don’t golf either. Or ski. Or have season tickets to the local minor league team.

As a younger man I had a job, not a career. I had a wife (who was in graduate school), not a family. I lived in rural Pennsylvania, not suburban Boston. It was easier to spend a Saturday in the woods. Waking up early to be in the tree stand at dawn before work was simple. 5am to 8pm could be hunt, work, fish: it wasn’t unreasonable or irresponsible.

Now? Fish. Just fish. When I can. If it works. And if it feels responsible. I fish enough. Enough to keep whatever credibility I have to write and talk about fishing. Enough, because fly fishing is what I’ve chosen to do.

Recently I’ve been watching Steve Rinella’s Meat Eater while logging treadmill miles in the morning. Of course, that’s a relatively idyllic version of hunting. Even the failed ventures they document look fun. That is good storytelling. That is why Rinella is who he is and why he has built what he has built.

Watching those trips, and vicariously sitting in on those hillside glassing musings, has had me pining for time in the woods with a rifle. I have to remember that fly fishing was my choice. Hunting is not for now. There isn’t any excess time, and hunting would inevitably eat up fishing time. It isn’t about just carving out a few hours. It is about being present with the important things – with the important people.

I have a good friend who hunts ducks. He hunts them and he kills them. A morning with him would mean plenty of shots, meat for the freezer, and feathers for the tying bench. We had plans to go last season, but I had to pull out for a pretty stupid reason. It’s as easy as it comes. He’s got the spots, the know how, and the desire to show me what to do. It’s just hard to get away for one more thing.

Hunting is still a thing for me. One day I’ll be back on the ground, shotgun in hand, waiting for the turkeys to come down from the trees. I’ll be up early, decked out in camo. I’ll walk quietly. I’ll sit still and think about all the sounds in the dark. I’ll sit still and think. I’ll think about fly fishing, and much more important things. Looking back at all of those days in the woods with a rifle or bow, that thinking weighs heavier than pounds and pounds of ground venison.

I still hunt. I just don’t hunt anymore.