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I don't think I've ever been disillusioned with the /out/doors at any other point in my life moreso than now.
I was talking with my brother about how someone becomes a "Pro Hunter." The people in the magazines wearing the sponsored gear and being interviewed every time the season hits. I figured much like a Pro Fisherman, you win a bunch of tournaments - but there aren't quite the same kind of Hunting Tournaments, because there is so much dependent upon prep-work and other factors that occur outside of the time you go hunting.
That said, my brother indicates that in all likelihood, you set a bunch of records and you're bound to get noticed. I laugh at that notion - Hunting in the modern sense is somewhat random given that here in the South East, you post up in your stand in the best spot you can and hope for the best. And it's here the conversation begins to wander into the territory that makes me hate Hunting, and it's beginning to poison my entire outlook on outdoor fun.
To consistently get Trophy Bucks, you have to hunt only Trophy Bucks. To only hunt Trophy Bucks, you have to go where they are. But that's the thing - they could be anywhere, and on anyone's land at any given time given that the herds are going to be moving around. My brother laughs and rubs his thumb and two fingers together - the sign for money.
Money. Fucking Money. You pay hundreds, maybe thousands, to some landowner or someone who's been "growing" a Trophy somewhere on a large, confined piece of private land, and you execute it. Are you fucking kidding me? Oh but you have to find it, right? In the world of trail cams, food plots, and timed feeders, how fucking hard is it to go check a digital camera? How fucking hard is it to throw down a grand and be virtually escorted within 50 yards of a fucking "Trophy".
