Good News Bad News and the Sportsmans Quiz

Mulak Reader - Good News, Bad News, and the Sportsman's Quiz

This one appeared in Outdoor Life in October of 1987. As with all my pieces, I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope the result is as entertaining as it is thought provoking. When Outdoor Life used it, not a word was changed, but somebody didn’t like the title, so it was published under the name of The Good, The Bad, and the In Between.

GOOD NEWS, BAD NEWS, AND

THE SPORTSMAN'S QUIZ

          Is this you? You're nearly back at the car after hunting all morning without any luck, and you've already begun to think about the cup of coffee you'll pour out of your thermos in a minute or two. Then, in the last rows of corn stubble, the dog goes on point. Forget the coffee! You approach, and a big rooster pheasant bursts from the weeds, cackling obscenities and flailing the air as only a cock bird can. You're excited, sure, but you're also no novice at this, and you wait until the bird tops out his climb and then you center him in the pattern. Ahem. Change that to 'You try to center him in the pattern'. Feathers fly, and the butt of your gun drops from your shoulder as you look up to watch the bird fall. No dice. With a leg hanging the rooster flies on, and even though you pump two more shots after him, they do no damage—You never were much good at follow-up shots once you've dropped the gun. Hanging in the air like a three-dimensional punctuation mark is a cloud of feathers where bird and pattern came together, but in the distance your trophy glides on set wings over the road and your parked car onto the posted land on the other side.
          You walk to the road and have a look at the 'No Hunting' signs along the fence on the far side. They're brand new and nailed up every 50 feet or so, but of course there is only a blank space where the landowner is supposed to put his name. As I said, you're no novice at this: You know that the bird is hard hit and isn't going very far with that leg dangling. But you can also read signs. As you stand there, pondering what should be done, it dawns on you that maybe the pheasant can, too.
          Is that you?
          Naw, that's me, last October 22nd on the Northampton Flats. But I'm sure—if you hunt—the situation is familiar. Somewhere there should be, chiseled in stone right next to Murphy's law, the disclaimer, "Things are always more complicated than they at first appear." In light of the pure truth of that statement, it would matter little who's name would give title to that axiom. (Mulak's disclaimer?) All things, almost without exception, end up being more indefinite, more fluid, more complicated than they at first appear to be. Wouldn't it be nice if real life was like the world of the 1-hour TV drama, where the bad guys are certifiably evil, the plot is clearly defined, and the hero never has to go around the block a few times until a parking space opens up? The hard truth is that nothing in the real world is purely black or white, but rather, any of countless shadings of gray.
          Those of us who enjoy days afield know too well that our apparently simple and straightforward sport is no exception to the unnamed axiom: We think of ourselves as sportsmen and all believe we have a well defined sense of right and wrong—So how come we spend so much time wondering if we've done the right thing? We shoot as well as we know how, if only the birds always fell cleanly or flew on unscathed. We're just as able as the next guy to tell a keeper from a fish that's too small, if only they were always clearly over or under legal size. Anyone can tell a hen from a drake, if only the ducks would fly when the lighting conditions were a little better. Antlers are no mystery, if only the deer would either step into the open or stay completely out of sight. If only those pesky little fish wouldn't insist on swallowing the hook. If only the mallards wouldn't show up exactly at sundown. If only if only if only.
          None of us like borderline situations afield, but the only sure way to avoid them is to stay home, and that's a solution worse than the problem. Good sportsmanship is not always clearly defined, unfortunately, and at times seems contrary to the dictates of good sense. During the course of a day afield, you may be called upon to be a good will ambassador, a politician, a policeman, and/or a teacher—all in the name of good sportsmanship. What follows are a dozen ticklish problems that may be uncomfortably familiar. If you're not a deer hunter or a bass fisherman or whatever it is the question is asking you to be, just substitute a field sport of your choice—All share similar problems, and none has a corner on the sticky question market. The real message is not in the questions, but in the answers you give to them.
          One last item: I am not in any way, shape, or form qualified to write any sort of psychological quiz or to attach any meanings to the answers you give. (The only letters after my name are B.S.A., and the "A" stands for "Artist".) This quiz is only intended to be an exercise in sportsmanship for those of us who need all the exercise we can get.

          Situation #1:
          Pleasantly heavy in your gamebag is two-thirds of a three-bird limit. The afternoon is lovely, and the day is already one that will stay in your memory for a long time to come. You hunt into a likely looking spot, and when your dog points a pair of birds flush, presenting a rare opportunity for a genuine double.
          Try for the pair and you'll be one bird over your limit. Ah, but chances like this don't come along often, and if you pass this up it'll haunt you for a long, long time.
          Admittedly, this is the sort of choice we all wish we had more opportunities to make, but would you try for the double? You can tell yourself that your shooting is such that you're probably not going to get both birds, anyway. Or do you just try to cleanly take only one bird? Rules are rules, after all. One way or the other, you've got to kick your dog's butt: He knows better than to point a double when you're just a bird shy of a limit.

          Situation #2:
          Three weeks ago you told the neighbor's 12-year old son that you'd take him duck hunting with you this Saturday. The kid has been looking forward to going, and has spoken to you about it several times, but now the weather forecast calls for a storm to move in, with wind, cold temperatures, and possibly snow or freezing rain. The ducks will be moving in the morning for sure, but having an ill-prepared kid along could cut your hunt short.
          Do you call him and tell him the weather is going to be bad, and that you'll take him out another time? Or do you bite the bullet and take him out with you, even though it'll mean a lot of extra trouble? You might have to provide him with some of your spare waterproof gear and cold weather stuff, but he'll see duck hunting at it's best. Or do you go one step further and buy the kid a license so you can shoot on his limit?

          Situation #3:
          You're fishing a remote section of your favorite river. You've had to hike a couple miles or so to get back from the road and away from the heavily fished areas, and now it's just you and the river. In the pool ahead a hatch is just getting started, and there are several dimples in the water where the trout have started rising. You tie on your best guess at "the right fly" and are ready to make your cast when a canoe comes around the bend and into your pool.
          "Look at that, Mildred." says Mildred's boy friend. "The fish are starting to rise."
          "What fish? There aren't any fish in this river."
          "Sure there are. Here, lets ask this guy up ahead here. He seems to be a fisherman. Hey, buddy, there's fish here, right?"
          We both know what you're thinking. But do you actually blow your stack and tell these people off? Or are you understanding, and let them know that although you'll have to wait 15 minutes after they pass before fishing returns to normal again, that's okay. Or do you shrug it all off, figuring that you're interfering with their canoeing, too? Or is laughing it off by playfully tossing a 42-pound boulder into their canoe more your speed?

          Situation #4:
          You're on your way home from work. As you drive by the spot where you often see ducks, you notice a man standing at the edge of the river holding a gun and wearing a florescent hunter's hat. Duck season has been closed for three weeks.
          Do you keep driving, figuring that that chowderhead isn't going to do any damage to the duck population in that orange hat. Besides, you're not the kind to rat on someone else. Or do you take the John Wayne approach and stop and holler at the guy? You use some choice words—After all, he's making a fool of you, a law abider. Or do you simply stop at the next phone booth and call the game warden. Or are you more the vigilante type? You drive around until you find the guy's car, then let the air out of his tires and leave a nasty note on his windshield. Sign it "The Ducks".

          Situation #5:
          It's opening day of deer season. You've been on your stand all morning, and although you've heard several shots, you haven't seen a thing. For the thousandth time you look slowly to the right, but this time instead of an empty game trail you see a 6-point buck sauntering toward your stand. No problem here—that's what you brought along the gun for. But as you're standing over your trophy, another hunter walks up, slightly out of breath, and says that he wounded that deer an hour ago and has been trailing it since. You look closely, and sure enough, the deer had been hit previously.
          Do you tell the other hunter to shoot better next time? The deer is rightfully yours, and the law backs you up. Or do you offer the deer to the other hunter, since tradition says the deer belongs to him, and you only helped him harvest it? Or do you offer the other hunter twenty bucks if he'll field dress the deer for you? Hell, make it an even fifty and see if you can get him to drag the deer back to your car.

          Situation #6:
          You travel to another state as the invited guest of a friend for some bird hunting. Everything is done in a most sportsmanlike manner by him and the other members of his party: All hunters are duly licensed and stamped, shooting hours are observed, long shots are frowned upon, and the birds are promptly prepared for the table. Everything is as it should be. Everything, that is, except limits. Birds are left at the farmer's house and the hunt goes on, with everyone shooting without regard for the legal limit. No one is counting, and the sense of an outing pervades the whole party.
          Do you keep up with the others, figuring that when in Rome a guest does as the Romans do? Or do you bow out as gracefully as you can? "This is great fun, but I've had enough," you say. You can just start missing or declining shots, but staying with the party makes you an accessory, after all. Or do you elect to let everyone know that you're rightfully outraged by the whole sorry spectacle before you leave the field?

          Situation #7:
          You're in the woods or along a trout stream or somewhere out beyond everything. The scenery is beautiful, and is one of the reasons you've come here in the first place. Then, around the next bend you come across the former picnic area of Mr. & Mrs. Slob. They've left beer cans, paper plates, and food wrappers scattered around.
          Do you curse out the absentee Slobs, kick a can or two, and shake your head in disgust? Or do you let the Slobs make a fool of you by picking-up after them and carrying out their litter with you? Or, since this spot is ruined already, do you add to the mess those sandwich wrappers and the paper cup you've been carrying in your pockets since lunch?

Situation #8:
On the first Saturday of bird season you drive to an old abandoned pasture. You've been hunting here for years, but today there is a row of brand new "No Trespassing" signs nailed up facing the road. Do you seek out the man who put the up the signs, and try to convince him to let you hunt the pasture? Or do you shake your head and look for another place to hunt? There's no use talking to the landowner and causing trouble. Or, since the landowner hates hunters already and the situation can't get any worse, do you look around for an out-of-the-way place to park so you can sneak into the pasture and hunt without being seen?

          Situation #9:
          Before duck season you did some scouting. You found a good spot and built a modest blind on the public land along the river. But when you show up in the pre- dawn hours of opening day, there are decoys rigged barely 50 yards from your blind, and a pair of hunters have set up a boat blind just down the river bank from where you intend to hunt.
          Do you point out your blind to them and ask them to leave? You've got a claim to this spot, after all. Or do you find another spot to hunt? Since it's public land, those hunters have as much right to be there as you. Or are you the sort of fighter-at-heart who sets out his decoys and hunts from the blind anyways, and if those guys want to say something about it you'll offer to punch their lights out.

          Situation #10:
          You watch as a buck deer crosses in front of your stand. He has a nice rack, but you can't see him clearly enough to count the points. He is in the brush, moving out at what you believe to be maximum gun range. You follow him in your sights, hoping he'll step into the open, but he doesn't. In a moment he'll pass behind a ridge outcropping and be gone.
          Do you chance a shot through the brush, and hope you'll be able to find some sign that you hit him? Or do you simply pass? A third option is to use your deer call—The add said it would bring them in from "amazing distances".

          Situation #11:
          Trolling, you've had good luck and have a limit of walleyes on the stringer. You change your rig to try for one of the big lakers you've seen taken out of this end of the lake. But the next strike turns out to be yet another walleye, bigger than those you've already landed. For the sake of the problem, lets say it's the biggest walleye you've ever caught. You look hard, but none of the fish on your stringer appear alive enough to release in favor of this lunker you've just boated.
          Do you throw back the biggest walleye of your life? Or do you keep them all in the hopes of giving one of the others to a passing fisherman before you get back to shore? Run the risk and keep them all? A fourth option is to toss back the smallest fish on your stringer—He's not actually dead yet, and who's to say he won't recover? There is yet a fifth option, providing you like sushi.

          Situation #12:
          When you finish hunting a local police officer is waiting for you at your car. He checks out your license and gamebag, then says he's had complaints about hunters shooting too close to houses in this area. He writes you a ticket for obstructing the right of way with your parked car, even though you've pulled completely off the road.
          Do you pay the $5 fine and be glad he didn't bag you for something more serious? Or do you tear the ticket in half after he drives off? You don't live anywhere near this town, and this bozo isn't going to track you down for a lousy five bucks. Or do you notify the state police that as a legitimate hunter you're being harassed by the local authorities, and risk all the hassle a complaint like that involves?          "Unlike other more competitive sports, hunting and fishing are sports played out, for the most part, without the benefit of referees. As such, the most important rules are those you make for yourself. You can sneak a look at the covered cards in a game of solitaire, or you can ground-swipe a bird or keep fish you should throw back, but if it's all just a game, (and it is, after all)... why bother?"
          I wrote that in an essay a few years ago. There was a time when ethics and sportsmanship in the out-of-doors were exclusively personal concerns, and if a sportsman didn't behave like a sportsman should, the rest of us shook our collective heads and looked away.
          But there is a movement afoot all across the country that holds our sport under close scrutiny. While there have always been an abundance of folks who had a tough time telling where their own rights stopped and someone else's began, the threat to our sport implied by the spectacular growth of anti-hunting and anti-gun organizations is very real. Those who know enough to be concerned are frightened by it.
          The anti's are quick to sight the behavior of the unethical sportsman as exemplary of our sport. The days when we could laugh about scofflaws and bumbling poachers are gone. There is a fight on, and sportsmen everywhere are coming to the realization they must fight back.
          Through our own personal day-in day-out example, each of us can hold up our end of the fight. We can all make a small dent in the mistaken notion that all outdoorsmen are unethical slobs by demonstrating that at least one isn't. Earlier, I wrote that in the course of a day afield you might be called upon to be a teacher, policeman, good-will ambassador, or even a politician—All in the name of good sportsmanship. Taking out the neighbor's kid is one way to teach someone first hand about sportsmanship, and about waterfowling at its best. Going to a landowner and proving to him that there are some hunters who are concerned enough to ask permission to use his land can offset the harm done by those who don't bother. Each chance encounter afield with others engaged in another activity is an opportunity to represent our sport well. Something as simple as picking up litter or passing on an unsure shot or electing to release the lunker walleye might seem a very private effort—We alone are often the only witness to the act, after all, and our good sportsmanship will not be noticed by anyone. Ah, but neither will the unfortunate results of the alternative action: No dead fish seen floating, no wounded deer run down by dogs, no slight addition to the litter on the landscape.
          There is good news: The non-competitive games of hunting and fishing are alive and well and as much fun as ever because sportsmanship is, more than anything else, its own reward.
          But there is bad news, too: Our sport is in trouble because not enough sportsmen find anything rewarding in sportsmanship.
          And then there's this quiz: It is only what it claims to be—an exercise in self-examination. There isn't a list of "correct" responses to my dozen questions, since they nearly all involve ethics as much as sportsmanship. If nothing else, it serves to prove out the idea that things are indeed always more complicated than they appear. Me? Sure, I turned in the poacher, and when I was hassled by some local cops I went to the state police with a complaint. But when I was invited to hunt geese along the Chesapeake I went along with the party atmosphere of it all rather than offend my host, I'm ashamed to say. Thankfully, though, there have been occasions when I felt better about a decision: Last October 22nd, for instance, when I locked the gun in the car so that I could cross the "No Hunting" signs with a reasonably clear conscience and let my setter find the crippled pheasant for which I was responsible. But the questions persist: Is wasting game worse than trespassing? Does the publicity of a caught poacher do us more harm than the act itself? Have the rules become more important than the game? As I said earlier, the real message is not in the questions, but in the answers you give.

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This site was last updated 09/20/06