J. Shane Townsend

J. Shane Townsend writes about people and nature.

The killer in your backyard

A perch some 20 feet up a backyard tree offers a peek into every manner of activity in the neighborhood. One guy in a uniform sets down his running leaf-blower, backs into a bush, squats and relieves himself. Another guy wearing pastel and khaki rides tight circles on his mower; his facial contortions suggest he’s singing his ass off. A woman washes dishes at her kitchen sink. A man grills on his deck and searches for me in the treeline. This is urban hunting. And it sucks. All the way around. But here’s the truth: it’s necessary – for hunters, for homeowners, for the community and our economy. New York City infamously invested $6 million in taxpayer funds to give bucks vasectomies As a hunter, the suck starts when you pull into a stranger’s driveway.

hunting killing

Confessions of a bear hunter

Southwest Virginia, October. Gravel groaned under my creek-numbed feet. I looked up at a mountain laid out like a fist and I climbed toward the most violent knuckle. But before I got there, the world turned on its side. I don’t know for sure why I collapsed. Maybe it was food poisoning, maybe a heart attack. I felt my face resting on cold stone and gripped the dark walnut of my rifle stock as I passed out. Eleven hours later, a new day started. A distant pickup truck with glass-pack mufflers fired up, then idled in a deep rumble. I stood – before the sun came up – and did squats for warmth, surprised I felt as good as I did, but I had a decision to make: walk off the mountain or hunt my way out. May as well hunt.

bear

I tensed my bow as the bull elk stared at me

Some 500 lbs of testosterone and pissed-off muscle and bone busted through the fog and the aspens. I drew my bow. The beast stopped broadside not twenty yards away. Perfect. I moved to settle my sights. There was his head and his rump. But a copse of three aspens covered everything vital. Not perfect. The bull stared at me. And I begged and willed and made unholy promises to God almighty if that bull would just take one fecking step forward. This was the first daybreak on a five-day guided public land archery hunt. Before this moment, I had been on two elk hunts. Each a weeklong. Each do-it-yourself. Each elkless. And neither had taught me a thing about how to hunt elk. A Western elk hunt costs us what we have: time and money. And, I had just about determined it wasn’t worth either.

Bow hunting