“Maybe we fear that the work we depend on images to do for us — the work of immobilizing, and therefore making tolerable — will be undone if we throw the image back into the flow of time.” — T.J. Clark, The Sight of Death (8)
“I think we hide, necessarily, from an understanding of what is most to be avoided in the sight of death.” — T.J. Clark, The Sight of Death (227)
What is the “face of death”? We’re in a sport that makes us face death whenever we’re successful. And instead of shying away from it, discomforting as it might be, we photograph it, and most of us post the photos for others — friends and strangers alike — to see.
Why do we do this? Where does our current publicization of this taking of life fit on the continuum of monumentalized, frozen-in-time death? If T.J. Clark is right (and I’m inclined to agree with him, except maybe for the “necessarily” part), we take and share these photos of our kills both to acknowledge and avoid understanding what we’ve done. I have to think there’s something in our DNA that compels us not only to record the fact of our death-causing (and even death-gazing) but also to share it so we don’t have to think about it too much; McLuhan’s “the medium is the message” rings in my head. This compulsion might be limited to those of us outside the hunter-gatherer lines; even though we’re hunting, we don’t need to and neither have our ancestors for thousands of years. In fact, the compulsion might be because hunting isn’t necessary for our survival. It might be compensatory somehow.
I’ve written about Brightman’s Grateful Prey before, specifically how traditional Cree animal-human (prey-predator) relationships differ from those of Invader/Agricultural traditions (i.e., most of us who are not Native Americans or First Nations people). I’ve tried to fit the imagistic depiction of prey into the Cree system but can’t, nor does it fit in Hugh Brody’s account of Inuit hunting culture, which I’ve also recently mentioned. For hunter-gatherers, at best, static portrayals of a formerly alive thing are disrespectful. At worst, they’re like putting a curse on yourself. But that’s a different tradition, different culture than this. So let’s see.
Even without doing a thorough historical analysis, it’s fair to say that there are a couple major (let’s call them “Western,” as in Western European) traditions in how dead prey get represented. One, for lack of a better term, might be called the “Still Life Tradition,” and the other the “Hero Shot.” In super simple terms, “still life” images foreground the prey as objets d’art (removing, mostly, the hunter), and the “hero shot” foregrounds the hunter and/or his “achievement” (dead prey). I’m going to talk mostly about the Hero Shot, but I’ve included some fantastic “still life” paintings, too, mainly because they’re amazing (you’ll know why).
Chukar hunting is hard, and bagged birds come at a price, whether it’s the calories you burned in the pursuit, the abrasions on your dogs’ pads, the pride you had to swallow when you couldn’t get up the hill to your dog’s stealthy point in time, or the axle you broke trying to get just a little farther up that nasty road. Lining birds up on a tailgate for a photo, with your amazing dog whose praises you’ve made a habit to sing and your best human buddy you’ve shared the challenge with, makes a certain amount of sense. This photo is not intended to say, “Screw these stupid birds, I’m glad they’re dead and I’m gladder I killed them.” It’s not meant to say, as the truly stupid saying about chukar hunting goes, “The first one’s for fun, and the rest are for revenge.” Rather, it’s meant to say, I think, “I respect these birds, love where they live, admire beyond description my dog’s singular flotation of the whole proposition, and am grateful for the opportunity to hunt them.” It says, “Chukar are beautiful, and a worthy pursuit, and I’ve hunted them fairly, ethically, and shot well enough to harvest some of them, who — I admit — gave their lives in exchange for all of the above.”
So, going back to T.J. Clark’s thoughts about these images of death, the faces we see probably daily (at least during bird season) of these multitudes of expired prey, I still can’t help wondering what we’re avoiding, “what is most to be avoided in the sight of death.” I do think something’s not being said here, whether it’s in the image or outside it, behind it, surrounding it. What, for example, really, is remorse? Pity? Sorrow? Projection? Reciprocity? Do those register? And, if so, since they’re all necessarily (aha!) irreconcilable (unless you commit suicide every time you kill a bird), where do they go, what do they do to us, what can we do with them? And how can we participate in a tradition (whether it’s a Hero Shot or a still life) saturated with adulation but based entirely on death that’s not our own, without avoiding something important? Is that possible? Does it matter?
On a very crass and basic level, what we’re doing is trying to connect (with others?) and using the death of birds to do so. Somehow, posting pictures of bird dogs pointing or of the sun rising beautifully over a ridge just doesn’t garner the same kind of response (or we think it won’t) from whomever we’re trying to connect with. The result rather than the experience. The bottom line. It used to bug me when I’d go back to work on Monday and the dudes who didn’t chukar hunt would ask, sincerely, “How many birds did you kill this weekend?” Once I answered, “None, but you should have heard the wind carry a slow sound in the hawthorn.” Connection aborted.
One of the loveliest poems I know is Robert Burns’ “Song Composed in August,” which situates bird hunting naturally in the middle of courtship:
Avaunt, away! the cruel sway,
Tyrannic man’s dominion;
The sportsman’s joy, the murd’ring cry,
The flutt’ring, gory pinion!
Part of what I like about this is that it just puts it out there, this is what we do, they’re birds, they’re beautiful, and some of them, when we’re not trying to get laid, we kill. Chalk it up to “tyrannic man’s dominion” and the “joy” of sportsmen. We hear and see and might even be the cause of the murderous gore, and then get on with things. This, it seems, is exactly in the right cultural milieu. Harvest. Death isn’t really faced because it doesn’t have to be (as long as it’s not your own, and even then…). So, killing birds — and posting photos of them — isn’t the end of the world. Unless you’re the bird. I just think, aesthetically, that photos of dead birds look way better in natural settings (rocks, grass, dogs’ mouths) as opposed to tailgates or (the absolute worst) impaled on barbed wire. But that’s just me.
Well written account of a topic I have explored many times in my mind as a lifeling bird hunter with a favor to chukars. I too admire and enjoy the complete experience regardless of “results”.
Thank you for this post!
Thanks for your comment, Tim. I appreciate your thoughts.
I’ve come to the conclusion that the opportunity to shoot at birds is like a paycheck. Without shooting and some killing, I wouldn’t work as hard as I do. I probably wouldn’t climb a mountain just for the scenic view, but have climbed many on the chance that they’re be birds on the other side. That motivation has granted me more scenic views than I can recall.
A picture of a dog and single bird has to be spectacular to get much of a response from me. My dogs have retrieved thousands of single birds over my lifetime. For that matter, any pic of a single bird doesn’t represent any special skill or determination. The taking of which could have as likely been an accident. I don’t really care for “tailgate” shots” but I agree hanging on a fence or nail is the worst.
I seldom post a pic online. I don’t think the vast majority of hunters share my feelings for the combination of dogs, birds, and end of the day, that I see in my pictures. Too many seem to prefer that another hunter’s experience not appear to have been overly successful no matter how skillfull the depiction.
I like your “paycheck” idea, Randy. I totally agree, and am similarly motivated (although I have been known to climb mountains for fun, but that was mostly before I got my first dog at age 37).
Once my lungs stop heaving and my curses cease, I meditate on what it must have been like for Yakama Indians, on their land I trod, to hunt without shotgun, bismuth or steel. Not for chukar–another import like me–but grouse, sharptail, and mountain quail. I ponder how quiet I would need to be–steady, calm and alert. I imagine noticing every detail of landscape: sage, insect, a circle of bird shit, an elk’s trail, the screech of a redtail hawk.
These days I no longer brag about the 70 pheasants I shot in one season in the Magic Valley in 1973 when I was 17. Nor do note the 63 Mallards and Greenwings the same year (except I just did). I notice the beauty of gray sky kissing the ripple of sage landscapes erupting with columns and scree of black basalt. When I arrive at the scene of a trembling Brittany steady and intense, and the covey erupts, my heart pounds, I miss half the time. But the beauty is that dog–her intensity is like mine, our tails hold still or wiggle a little–for a 68-year-old man, the whole experience is better than sex.
If and when the chukar tumbles from my shot and Grace returns the bird to my hand, the experience is pure joy. Her’s and mine. A life has been taken. But the whole experience is holy–time set apart. When I eat that bird’s breast with rosemary and port wine reduction, that too is holy. The bird may have a different opinion. But he’s dead. I killed him in partnership with my Brit. I hope he had a good life, viewing the same fierce landscapes of sage, gray sky and columns of black basalt. I hope so. I hope his incredible vision and bird brain helped him to see the vast, dry landscapes of the Mountain West. There’s nothing like it. It’s pure beauty. It fills me with wonder. Death is a part of it.
Thanks for your comment, Mark. Beautiful as usual. I paused hard on the phrase, “…and Grace returns the bird to my hand.” Did you plan her name for that perfect summation?
Enjoyed reading your stories .
Thanks .
I hear you Bob ,
You are not alone, at 68 years old ,I am trying to act as if I am 30 ,
no retirement yet !
My daughter’s last year in UC Berkeley.
Hopefully after she graduates we will have free time !
For what we love to do the best.
As far as the crook realters are concerned , they make the
used car sales men look like angels !
We have had the same experience in the past.
I wish you all the best in your new career !
Ps I replied to your previous blog with this note but it did not get posted .
Thank you, again, Derya. I look forward to possibly meeting up sometime next season.
Bob, I enjoyed your introspective on death and how we photograph it. Of the pictures you present, two stand out to me for much different reasons.
Your photo of your two dogs, one retrieving a chukar, in grouse habitat, is an exceptionally beautiful photograph. The perspective on terrain, placement of dogs, color, and scene are worthy of an oil painting. It presents the topic of surprise in many facets. It has esthetic beauty that takes the mind of a hunter to a special past moment and conjures hope for the future. For the non-hunter, I expect it also holds esthetic beauty.
The second of your photographs I find particularly appealing is the one of a young person with his first chukar, not at all for esthetic reasons, but for the experience it represents, a “4-year” experience much broader than the picture alone can tell.
I don’t care for tailgate pics either, but participate when my group is so inclined. The hero shot, for me, is much more about the commeraderie of the group in the moments before and possibly after the photo than about the skill of the shooters. And the solo hero shot is a reminder of a beautiful day in the field…So, why not take the hero shot photograph in the field instead of on the tailgate, and why not with just the most photogenic of one’s birds with a special dog, instead of the whole bag.
Thanks for your detailed comment, Kerry. I’m glad you liked the photo with Peat and Angus, and I hope you’re right about non-hunters finding it beautiful: I had it made into a large piece for the wall in my real estate office (Chukar Hills Realty)! I agree, too, with your thoughts on the “hero shot,” and follow a number of bird hunters on social media who post those kinds of shots.
Because social media demands it, so it seems. Sad commentary on modern times. I take plenty birds each season. Much time and effort is spent , from love. No revenge , only respect . The killing is anticlimactic , yet a component
A really good essay on death. Perhaps the best I have read is in “The Unnatural Enemy” by Vance Bourjaily. While there were some unappealing personal characteristics to him, he was a superb writer, particularly on hunting and death.
Thank you, Robert. I’m embarrassed to admit I’d never heard of Bourjaily! I tried to find a copy of The Unnatural Enemy, but typical out-of-print prices make it unaffordable for me right now. I’ll continue to keep an eye out.
I feel different about what is called tail gate pictures. Many could be a little more classy but I look at them as living rather than the death. Anybody that has hunted chukars know that those first pictures in Spain weren’t of chukar hunting as we know it. There is no possible way hunters could take that many chukars as we hunt them. I pack a camera when I chukar hunt and try and get as many action shots as possible but I still like the final picture of the day. Like yesterday when I covered 7 miles and 2000 feet of elevation I was proud to show my take with the dogs. At 73, I feel the picture shows how I lived that day, not the death of birds. Not everyone wants to pack a camera and the only way they can record how they lived that day was the picture back at the rig. It’s a record that they look back at in the future to remind them of that great outing. I look at tail gate pictures and wonder about the fun dog work those people in them had and hope that they realize the opportunity chukars give us to live excitedly chasing them.
Thanks for your comment, Larry. I respect your opinion; you’ve certainly earned it! We’ll once again agree to disagree, though: I believe there are better ways of reminding ourselves of the day’s greatness than lining up every bird on the tailgate (I keep a detailed log, for example). I try to think of those who don’t hunt looking at an image of my day, and what might get them to want to try it, or at least look less appallingly at the evidence. I realize this is dishonest in a way, but we all choose how we tell our stories, don’t we?
Amen to that.
What a great topic and presentation of the philosophy! I think that it’s remorse we avoid by celebrating the lives taken and skills and efforts of the hunt, etc. The hunt itself connects us to the natural world, which modern humans have strayed so far from to the point of being oblivious to our role and impacts on the planet = our ecosystem which we actually do rely upon for survival. It’s the pursuit and participation in the primal activity that runs far deeper than killing for most of us. Just because we have agriculture doesn’t mean we’ve completely bred out a deeply innate piece of our makeup. Some of us feel and some don’t. Our appreciation for the lives given for us and the beauty which they possess is nearly indescribable, hence, it’s painful to take the life. Sharing our appreciation feels like we’ve done that life justice. The “still life” images are meant to capture the beauty and appreciation of the animal, and for me, they remind me of the actions that I’ve willing taken. The day that I am numb to the spectacle of a bird in hand, fail to find the skilled work of a pointing dog anything short of poetry, and have no desire to grace my table with the animal’s flesh, is the day that a life is taken in vain. The last day I will pursue upland birds.
Thanks for your comment, Brad. I agree with you on the poetry of the point.
That photo of angus and pete is about as good as it gets….I hope you have a larger framed edition on your wall
It’s in my office (20×30)! A true feel-good image.