Velociworld

Hunt Clubs

Entire phalanxes of good old boys around here belong to hunt clubs. Many (or most) of those clubs are located in south Georgia, where the hunting is superb, and the land is cheap enough to fund such usage. They decal the back windows of their pickups with the names of their clubs, as they are proud.

I've never felt the thrill of the hunt, but I love hunt clubs. My father used to take us boys to a club near Hardeeville, and you would arrive at 5 or 5:30 in the morning and an old geezer about 80 would be piling the long tables with insanely massive bowls of scrambled eggs, and grits, and bacon. Make your own toast, and if you want sausage well up yours, Charlie, it's bacon today.

When you are 9 or 10 or 11 this is as good as it gets; entree into the hallowed mysteries of what grown men do of a Saturday when they used to lie and tell you they were going boodling down Tar Road.

I've mentioned before how I was repulsed at an early age when 5 or 6 semi-drunken men unloaded their buckshot on a wounded fawn in a ditch (I saw the spots. They saw closure). But that is not why I don't hunt.

I just don't care for venison. I think hunting is a great sport, and hunters the great conservationists of our natural resources, and hunting in general a great bonding experience between man and lad. I will admit I have an aversion to killing mammals, but that is bullshit in its own way, because there are several dogs I'd like to shoot, given the opportunity.

I'm thinking about joining a hunt club, though. There's always the wild turkey, and eventually I just may bust a whitetail in an effort to excite the bloodlust in my daughters. Femmes can be great predators, given the opportunity. Those odds are extremely remote around here, however, given the warpaint in my bathrooms, and the manicure bills I foot, but I have no boy to ritualize, and someone else's child will likely stand in as my protege cum experiment. Or I could just go by myself. I have some fine shotguns.

Post Scriptum: Michele reminds me that there are also pigs to hunt. I'd neglected that point. Shooting a pig is not half bad, given my perpetual hunger for barbecue. I've shot pigs, culling the spotted ones from a wild herd, and felt no guilt. So perhaps I'm a hypocrite, perhaps not.