DanaC
12-25-2010, 06:30 AM
Been dead here lately, so here's one from the vault...
“Instant” Copyright 2001
By Dana Charbonneau
“Instant” has its place. I was raised on instant coffee – just boil water and pour. No waiting around for the stuff to percolate. No grounds to dispose. I like instant oatmeal, and ‘Minute Rice’ is the bachelor’s best friend. But there is a place in the world for long, slow processes.
The problem with ‘instant’ is that convenience is addictive, and we expect it in everything from love to career, and in our recreation. We want it all, right now. In our quest for instant gratification we forego the rewarding process of learning at a deeper level, of mastery through long, patient effort.
Mastery is more than knowledge of technique and fact. It is an attitude, a way of looking at the world, with appreciation for the essential details of what we are about, and perhaps as importantly, with appreciation for the background through which we act, for the whole rest of the scene.
The outdoor sports are mired in this conundrum today. It is no big deal to become, if not expert, at least proficient in many sports. You can buy the gear, rent the videos, read the book, and go out with a reasonable chance of success. You see it on the river, where ‘fly fishermen’ are catching fish with nymphs and strike indicators, just like they learned at school. They don’t tie their own flies, don’t know what insects are likely to hatch on a given day, and don’t know how to manage drift on the surface. Just watch the indicator, and strike. Instant angler.
Today anyone can walk into an archery pro shop (with a handful of dollars) and walk out with a modern compound bow, sights and release aid, and soon hit the target every time at twenty yards. That’s plenty accurate enough to hunt. Our novice watches half a dozen videos, puts up a stand, and waits. A deer walks past, he shoots. Ta-dah, instant bow hunter.
Now, there’s nothing wrong with this approach. A lot of people don’t have the time to master woods craft, deer biology and habits, instinctive shooting with a longbow. We’re all pressed for time, and shortcuts are tempting. But what is lost in all this?
Does our novice ever learn the hard way? Ever struggle for knowledge? How many futile attempts to still-hunt or stalk does he ever make? He knows the easiest, most efficient way to bow hunt, but does he ever learn to walk quietly in the woods? On a more abstract level, do those videos teach him to appreciate the other side of hunting – the quiet times, the long vigils without seeing a deer, the beauty of the woods awakening to a new day?
I was fortunate that when I learned to bow hunt, it was in the company of several older hunters, who enjoyed the hunt regardless of the outcome. They hunted hard, but success, when it came, was a bonus. They thrilled to every morning in the woods, every hour on stand, every sighting of a deer. They enjoyed a good story over drinks in the evening, whether the shot was made or never taken. They laughed over their failures, and thrilled to the sound of approaching footsteps in the leaves. If those steps turned out to be a fat squirrel or a waddling raccoon, they enjoyed the show all the same. They knew the joy of the hunt in all its aspects, and I like to think I learned something of that from them. Sitting around their camp I learned that shooting a deer is only a small part of deer hunting, that I was fortunate just to be out there. I even learned to enjoy coffee perked the old-fashioned way.
“Instant” Copyright 2001
By Dana Charbonneau
“Instant” has its place. I was raised on instant coffee – just boil water and pour. No waiting around for the stuff to percolate. No grounds to dispose. I like instant oatmeal, and ‘Minute Rice’ is the bachelor’s best friend. But there is a place in the world for long, slow processes.
The problem with ‘instant’ is that convenience is addictive, and we expect it in everything from love to career, and in our recreation. We want it all, right now. In our quest for instant gratification we forego the rewarding process of learning at a deeper level, of mastery through long, patient effort.
Mastery is more than knowledge of technique and fact. It is an attitude, a way of looking at the world, with appreciation for the essential details of what we are about, and perhaps as importantly, with appreciation for the background through which we act, for the whole rest of the scene.
The outdoor sports are mired in this conundrum today. It is no big deal to become, if not expert, at least proficient in many sports. You can buy the gear, rent the videos, read the book, and go out with a reasonable chance of success. You see it on the river, where ‘fly fishermen’ are catching fish with nymphs and strike indicators, just like they learned at school. They don’t tie their own flies, don’t know what insects are likely to hatch on a given day, and don’t know how to manage drift on the surface. Just watch the indicator, and strike. Instant angler.
Today anyone can walk into an archery pro shop (with a handful of dollars) and walk out with a modern compound bow, sights and release aid, and soon hit the target every time at twenty yards. That’s plenty accurate enough to hunt. Our novice watches half a dozen videos, puts up a stand, and waits. A deer walks past, he shoots. Ta-dah, instant bow hunter.
Now, there’s nothing wrong with this approach. A lot of people don’t have the time to master woods craft, deer biology and habits, instinctive shooting with a longbow. We’re all pressed for time, and shortcuts are tempting. But what is lost in all this?
Does our novice ever learn the hard way? Ever struggle for knowledge? How many futile attempts to still-hunt or stalk does he ever make? He knows the easiest, most efficient way to bow hunt, but does he ever learn to walk quietly in the woods? On a more abstract level, do those videos teach him to appreciate the other side of hunting – the quiet times, the long vigils without seeing a deer, the beauty of the woods awakening to a new day?
I was fortunate that when I learned to bow hunt, it was in the company of several older hunters, who enjoyed the hunt regardless of the outcome. They hunted hard, but success, when it came, was a bonus. They thrilled to every morning in the woods, every hour on stand, every sighting of a deer. They enjoyed a good story over drinks in the evening, whether the shot was made or never taken. They laughed over their failures, and thrilled to the sound of approaching footsteps in the leaves. If those steps turned out to be a fat squirrel or a waddling raccoon, they enjoyed the show all the same. They knew the joy of the hunt in all its aspects, and I like to think I learned something of that from them. Sitting around their camp I learned that shooting a deer is only a small part of deer hunting, that I was fortunate just to be out there. I even learned to enjoy coffee perked the old-fashioned way.