Out of Sight, Out of Mind

A frustrated hunter finds a novel solution to an age-old problem. But he can only keep it up for so long…

Having started hunting late in life, my shooting career was less than auspicious and to be honest, downright frustrating at times. One day a friend who was tired of my easy misses grabbed me, held up a hand in front of me, and had me close each eye while looking at the hand. “Just as I figured,” he said. “You’re right-handed, but left-eye dominant. You need to either find a way to block your left eye or switch to being a left-handed shooter.”

While the transition to being a left-handed shooter was more difficult than I’d hoped, I gradually got better, but never became the expert I wanted to be. I tried classes, going to the range, sporting clays, but I had one problem: I was a streak shooter.

When I was on, I could go long stretches and not miss a bird or target. When I was off, I was really off, going days where I’d never make even the easiest shot. I tried instruction, friendly suggestions, unfriendly teasing, and when I’d start one of those miss streaks, my skeet club friends would just shake their heads. In the words of Cheech Marin in the movie Tin Cup, I had the yips.

When I’d hit my first target or bird, I’d breathe a sigh of relief and my hunting companions would relax, knowing that I wouldn’t be so damned hard to live with back at camp. Life would be good until the next streak.

Unlike in golf, you can’t wear silly contraptions, but you can buy laser sites, barrel cameras, and video simulations—and believe me, I tried them all. But when I was missing, nothing would help. When I’d hit my first target or bird, I’d breathe a sigh of relief and my hunting companions would relax, knowing that I wouldn’t be so damned hard to live with back at camp. Life would be good until the next streak.

When I was on one of my “non-contact” (I decided that the word “miss” was part of the problem, so I eliminated it from my vocabulary) streaks, I was miserable at home and work, but most of all it affected my relationship with my hunting dogs. When I was on a hot shooting streak, all was right with the world, my dogs exceptional and ready to be inducted into the “Bird Dog Hall of Fame” (or something like that). I’d praise them profusely, overlooking the creep on point, sloppy retrieving, or other miscues.

When the inevitable first miss would happen, I could watch the change in the dogs. Their normal happy demeanor would immediately shift. It was almost like they felt sorry for me. They’d still hunt hard, but as they waited for me to cover their points, you could see the look pass between them: “here we go again.” The swearing and cursing on the miss, while directed at me, still left a negative impression on them. They’d slink off into the brush together, commiserating on the work they’d done and the missed opportunity. I’d feel terrible.

Finally, after a day or two of misses, I had a flash of brilliance. It went something like this: anglers have been practicing catch-and-release fishing for decades, why not do the same for bird hunting? Shoot-and-release hunting! No more worrying about missing, no more stress, and so what if I wasn’t shooting any game. I could buy that at the store. I started carrying blanks and treats for the dogs. I’d trained them to be steady to wing and shot, so all I had to do was point the gun, shoot and miss, and give the dogs a well-deserved treat for being steady to the shot. They were happy, I was happy, and more importantly the stress of missing went away.

My friends at camp couldn’t figure out why my attitude had improved. My normally surly mood at dinner was gone; I was the same guy as when I was hitting every bird. The only thing that changed was there was no game in the bag. They’d be bragging about the birds they’d shot or getting their limit and I’d be making excuses about lost birds that got away or that the dogs couldn’t find.

I stopped going to the range, stopped shooting sporting clays, and I saved a ton of money by not buying ammo and instead re-loading blanks.

I couldn’t see a downside. I was happy and the dogs were happy to get treats every time they made a find and a point. I’d come up to them, flush the bird, take a shot, miss, and then give them a treat if they stayed steady. While I was happy, my friends started feeling sorry for me and wanting to give me some of the birds they shot. At first, I would politely decline, insisting that I was happy just to be out with the gang and watching the dogs work. But then I realized that I was missing an opportunity here. Why not accept a few birds, and then when I got home, I’d have something to show my wife for all the money I’d spent. This could be a win-win.

I stopped going to the range, stopped shooting sporting clays, and I saved a ton of money by not buying ammo and instead re-loading blanks. I was shooting less and enjoying it more. I was happy at home, we had a few birds in the freezer courtesy of my hunting buddies, and it looked like I’d found the perfect solution to my streak shooting. All was right with the world.

Until it wasn’t. I should say until I got found out. I wasn’t thinking when I accepted an invitation to go with a buddy of mine to hunt for sharptails in the east. We’d often hunted before and I just absent-mindedly said yes. When we got to the camp, I tried to make excuses for why we couldn’t hunt together, but he shut me up when it turned out his pointer had come up lame. Damn.

We took off in the morning early. The dogs were covering the grass nicely and I secretly hoped they wouldn’t find a thing. Not likely. They were up on point within 20 minutes, and I walked up to flush the bird, knowing that while I wouldn’t down a bird, he might. I kicked out the birds and we both shot and missed. The dogs stayed steady and got their treats. He praised the dogs for their work and we went on our way. A few minutes later, the dogs found another group and we repeated the process, only this time a bird fell and my friend was waiting to have his bird retrieved. The dogs stayed steady, got their treats and ran off to find the next birds. We stood there looking at the ground and he asked if my dogs would retrieve. I was apologetic and we searched for a few minutes and picked up his bird.

When I held out the shells he took them, looked at them and said, 'There’s no shot in these, they’re blanks. What the hell are you doing?'

This pattern repeated itself throughout the morning and while he shot a few birds, I had none in the bag and was still happy. He knew something wasn’t right. No birds in the bag, no swearing, and why the hell didn’t the dogs retrieve after they got a treat? It came to a head mid-morning after we’d had a nice hunt and my partner asked, “Hey you got any extra 6s?” I said, “No, I only shoot 7s for sharptail.” I knew it was the end when he said, “That’ll be okay,” then walked over to me and held out his hand.

When I held out the shells he took them, looked at them and said, “There’s no shot in these, they’re blanks. What the hell are you doing?”

I was busted. I said, “I’m really getting into shoot-and-release hunting.” He looked at me and said, “You are batshit crazy,” and angrily walked off. Since he was out of shells and the only ones I had were blanks, we were done for the day. We silently walked back to the truck and as we were putting the dogs up and getting dinner ready, he turned to me and shook his head. “Well, you are a hell of a lot easier to be around than when you’re on a missing streak,” he said. I smiled and looked at the dogs. I think they agreed.