A Life for A Life

A Life for A Life

Howdy Folks,

Of all the things we do today, very few have been part of the human experience since the beginning. One of those very old things is the act of sitting around a campfire. Another is hunting.

Whether you're a passionate hunter, have zero interest in it, or find yourself somewhere in between, Nichole Potter's story of her first elk hunt is worth a read.

You may end up pondering her insights for a long, long time to come.

 

To see more of Nichole and her husband Ben's adventures, follow @we_are_cana on insta.

A LIFE FOR A LIFE

Words by Nichole Potter

Photos by Ben Potter

I put a lot of pressure on myself to do it right. I didn’t want the burden of injuring an animal that I couldn’t recover.

But then the moment came, and I didn’t know if I wanted the burden of taking a life. This would be my first elk.

Let the arrow fly? Or let the elk walk?

Hunting is how humans have fed themselves and their families for thousands of years. What I was contemplating doing now, killing an animal, would bring me closer to this long, rich history of humans getting their food from the land.

But I only knew this in an intellectual way. Now that I was faced with a very real animal, a very real choice, I was surprised by the weight of it. I felt it in my chest, squeezing the air out of me, making my heart race.

Let the arrow fly? Or let the elk walk?

He was coming towards us fast, but the intensity of this feeling slowed everything down.

My life seems to revolve around hunting. Ben, my husband, makes films for a living about hunting and wildlife conservation. For many years, the meat he's taken is what we've eaten. I've seen the goodness of this way of life, and I don't flinch from it.

But now these were my hands, my arrow, my bow.

We were only a few hours into the first day of the hunt, and I hadn’t expected an encounter so quickly. I thought I'd have more time out here to prepare myself. But this bull was young and making his way quickly toward Ben's calls, ripping bugles the whole way.

I had my arrow fitted to the bow string. Soon I would be straining at the string, my muscles pouring into it all the force it would need.

Ben and I had been shooting in the yard for months, just like this, for exactly this moment. But would I be able to do it now? I was shaking, nervous, the adrenaline rushing making me feel out of control.

I could see him. He was beautiful. He didn’t deserve to die.
Trying to calm down, I reasoned with myself. I knew the odds. If I didn’t kill him, or if he didn’t die by another, slower-killing predator, then one day he would be taken by the gnawing of Wyoming's winter, or starvation, or cold, or disease.
 
Natural deaths are natural, yes. But they are not fast, not painless. If I could just settle, my arrow would be quick.

And still, he did not deserve to die. Not here in his home, strong and sleek. Not now, with so many years left to roam.

My mind swung again. A bird eats an insect, and the insect is no more. An elk eats an aspen shoot, and the shoot is no more. This is the world's design. Every meal we eat to stay alive requires some other being to die. Each time it is a body broken and given. A life for a life.

Each time it is a body broken and given. A life for a life.

If I don’t kill him and eat him, then something else will die for us to eat. I don’t get the chance to pet a cow, or thank it for its protein. I don’t often even get to thank the animals that Ben kills before they're cut and wrapped.

But right now, to this elk, I could directly address my gratitude. If I chose to take him, he would give his life for mine, and for the lives of those I love. I could thank him.

My arrow flew.

The woods were silent. I had no words, just a blizzard of feelings snowing over me. Shock. Did I hit him right? Is he suffering? Please don't let him be suffering. Eventually we walked toward where we thought he went down. Yes, there he was. Yes, this was real. He had gone quickly.

I felt sad. I felt thankful. I felt so many things.

Can I tell you something? The actual moment it comes down to… is so challenging for any hunter. I am thankful I was able to keep it together enough to execute a lethal, compassionate shot with my bow. It’s not easy to say I’m proud of myself for something, but I am proud of myself for that.

It took a few days to pack the meat out, so I had time to sift through the emotions.

A storm came and delayed us from packing out the rest of the meat. We sat by the fire, but I couldn't relax. I was so nervous, really stressing that another animal would get to the meat before we did.

Finally we made it back to him, and the meat was all there. Relief and gratitude washed over me and we resumed carrying him out in loads. My quads burned, my hips groaned. The burden of taking a life, literally weighing on my body.

I did something hard, something I didn’t think I could do in shooting this elk. On the last load I wore that pack laden with meat, and now the head. This was completion, a victory march back to camp, back to the fire, where I could let go and get warm and talk with Ben about all that had happened.

Our little tribe will eat him for months to come. That is our future. As for the past, I find myself connected in strange and subtle ways to the generations before me who also bore this burden of taking a life for a life.

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