Some call it a weakness. Some deny it and some never admit it. I embrace it. I’m talking about the phenomena known as hunter’s remorse. From the youngest of hunters to the most experienced sportsman, many have experienced it. I certainly have and still do. I believe it is one of the signs of a true hunter, separating us from merely killing. Here are a couple of my most memorable hunter remorse moments.
Tyler was a young hunter but an accomplished one. By his early 20’s he had successfully taken plenty of nice whitetail. Hailing from Pennsylvania, the heart of whitetail country, deer hunting was practically a religion for him and his family. When he arrived for his first ever bear hunt here at Tucker Ridge, I was satisfied in his ability and wanted to ensure he had the best opportunity to take his first bear with his recently passed granddad’s rifle. On his second day of the hunt, he took his 380 pound boar with that rifle and I was elated to be a part of it. It was an emotional high for all of us. As we prepared the bear for some photos and field dressing, Tyler had another emotional moment, this one markedly different. I assumed he was thinking of his grandfather, his mentor and longtime hunting partner. I was half right. After a few moments I spoke with him and he revealed he was experiencing hunter’s remorse. I had the feeling he was ashamed of it. I assured him that in no uncertain terms should he feel that way; taking a life is a visceral experience, for some traumatic. His emotion is the sign of a true sportsman and a testament to his granddad’s stewardship of his early hunting career.
On the opening morning of an October bull moose hunt, I had a hunting party of three in the truck, creeping down a rocky, washed out road enroute to my first hunting spot. It was dark as a pocket that morning and the glow of the dimmed dashboard lights added to the quiet anticipation of the coming hunt. I could tell my client Scott was a little on edge. We had discussed my plan, actions upon contact with a moose and general hunting experiences the night before. He and his family were avid upland bird hunters and while not averse to big game hunting, it was simply not as prevalent where they resided. He confessed quite candidly that he wasn’t sure he would even be able to pull the trigger if and when the time came. He was committed to the hunt, just uncertain of his reaction when the moment of truth was revealed. I reassured him that it was his hunt, his choice and I would respect any decision he made. We had some early contact with a bull that wouldn’t come out of a stream bottom and some cow sightings later on. I could see Scott loosening up and after no success the first day, I was feeling confident for the next day; the temperature was set to plummet with clear skies in the morning.
Day two we moved further along the road following that stream where a clearing exposed to the rising sun lay. As first light emerged, the frost twinkling on grasses and slash, we crept to the end of the road with the sunny clearing. The cow saw us first, rising from her bed and trotting off. I got Scott and his father-in-law (the sub-permittee) in position and glassed the edge of the cut. The bull moose popped up and after he took a step giving us the broadside shot I told Scott to take him. It was the moment of truth. He fired and the bull went down. A follow up shot from his father-in-law kept it down. Standing over the bull in preparation for retrieval, I noticed Scott was having some serious mixed emotions. I took him to the side and asked if he was okay. He noted what a magnificent animal it was and the roller coaster of emotions he was feeling at the moment – classic hunter’s remorse one of them.
As the adrenaline ebbed, I could see my client come to grips with his own reservations, his ability to cope with hunter’s remorse and the tumult of emotion involved in killing a big game animal. Emotions I believe we all should feel after the shot.