After our early breakfast, I remain in camp.
I have shot my deer, and have no permits for anything else. Yesterday, Cenni offered to take me with him today on a coyote hunt. That was a welcome suggestion, I like the sound of it. It looks as if it will be an interesting hunt, and I'll learn all the tricks direct from one of the masters. No permits are needed, anyone can shoot as many as they want, or are able to.
Regrettably, the weather is still windy, so we won't be going out at present. Wind is a big disadvantage in this type of hunt. You have to shoot over long distances at a small target, so the
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chances of making mistakes are greater. I know I have more than enough ammunition left, so I'm quite happy to waste a couple of shells on this hunt, and I'd like to try out Cenni's guns, too.
I don't know why I like shooting so much.
Whenever I think back on all the game I've bagged here, it is always the actual shot that comes to mind first. What I did well, what I did badly, what lessons I might have learnt, how I could be a better shooter, and so a better hunter. This is equally true of all the game I have shot in Hungary.
Throughout my hunting career I do not think there have been many baggings where I can't remember what gun, what bullets, and what shells I used, and what sort of a shot I had to make to achieve my success. I do not need a diary to do this: I have a picture of each shot stored in my memory. There is nothing that soothes and calms me more than the act of shooting. If a hunt is a failure, and I have seen nothing in my sights, I am not a happy man. Not because I am going home empty handed, but because I never had the chance to pull the trigger. On those occasions I'd be perfectly happy just to set up a target and empty my magazine into it. I can never get too much information about shells, and I'm never bored talking about the subject, if I can find someone to talk to. I know many excellent Hungarian hunters who are not particularly interested in their guns, or the shells that go in them. They see the gun just as a necessary piece of equipment, indispensable for a hunt. They have been using the same guns and ammunition for who knows how long. I belong to a different group. I could never have too many guns, or shoot so frequently that I 'd get bored by it. I go home from the rifle range because I'm tired, not because I'm tired of shooting. I'm sorry to say that in Hungary there is no journal devoted solely to guns and ammunition. If one ever appears, I shall be its first subscriber. And the Hungarian book market is equally poor on the subject of bullets and shells for hunting guns.
There are very few good Hungarian authors on the topic, as well.
When I talk about myself, I deliberately mix the terms hunter and shooter. I am both. I could not differentiate between the two, even if I wished to. What I have learnt as a shooter, I can use as a hunter. And my hunting adventures show me what aspects of my shooting I am able to improve.
Learning is a continuous process, and I believe that the better you can shoot, the less suffering you will cause the game. And whoever causes less suffering, becomes a better hunter. When I am stalking or searching for game, then I am a hunter. But when I raise my gun, I become, even if briefly, a shooter. I measure distance, note wind direction, and adjust the trajectory accordingly.
These are clearly shooting tasks; though I'm still not able to behave as cool-headedly as I would at a rifle range. The shooter and hunter are mingled within me. And the hunter side of me will not let me view the game just as a target to be overcome. That is why I love hunting. The intense
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excitement preceding a shoot cannot be compared to anything else. The hunting fever that almost stopped me from bagging the Dall sheep is the best evidence that, in me, the shooter will never dominate the hunter. But the moment I pull the trigger, my first thoughts are of the quality of the shot, not what the trophy is going to look like. As I walk towards the dead game, I am again only a shooter, assessing his performance. Then I'm back to being a hunter, admiring my prey.
At noon, the hunters who arrived yesterday, return. They didn't find anything; this windy weather is not conducive to deer hunting. In the warmth of the stove-heated tent, they eat the sandwich they were given for lunch.