Canon Fodder – Sports Blog

By Craig Dumas

Hunt or hunting as described by Webster’s Unabridged is: ‘the act of chasing wild animals for the purpose of catching them; a chase, the act of a person or animal that hunts’.

It may be inferred but it doesn’t say anything about killing them. That is exactly where I separate the term sport from survival. So, is it safe to say hunting’s now considered a sport, or is it truly a necessity for only those few that only rely on the meats of the wild to maintain life? Hardly. The sport is exactly that. Many a hunter goes out either alone or with a group to kill game for what? Do they just toss their kill in the trash and call it a day? Is there a ribbon or certificate awarded for the accomplishment? This is where the term should describe and differentiate fun from survival. As in fishing, catch and release is the only true explanation of the term. Nothing is killed, yet skill and talent are the only things expensed and exercised.

If you go out and join a club that shoots at targets short or long range, or even spot targets that move, that’s a sport. You are expressing skill and talent towards a hobby. You are not killing anything but time and ammo, hence the term ‘sport’. If you want meat, you depend on the local grocer to supply the fattening and heart attack-inducing beef that’s farm bred and fed chemicals to plump up our dinner portions. In today’s day and age, it’s common for us to hunt for fun since we are, after all, the superior species and have the opposable thumbs. Survival of the fittest is putting it mildly. We don’t have to depend on the kill to put food on the table and feed our families. I think it’s more common to see this when you get out of the city and get into the rural settings. Believe me – some of these settings are downright uninhabitable and inhumane. I don’t really know how people live and survive in little shacks that look deplorable and should be condemned. But I can tell you that by the number of gunshots I hear after the typical hunting hours plus out of season shots, these folks are putting food on the table for reasons beyond simple sportsmanship.

Survival as described by Webster’s Unabridged is ‘remaining alive or in existence by any means necessary’. This means that ‘sport’ is no longer the correct term and should instead be replaced by ‘hunting’. This is where it gets interesting.

The root purpose of survival hunting is to utilize all parts of an animal for food and whatever else is needed. Be it bait for entrapment of larger game, tools from the bones to fashion weaponry, or the skins to make clothing for protection from the elements. All these are truths to the terms survival and hunting. An example, you commonly find in that area is rabbit. Setting a snare trap is easy. Once caught, skinning and eviscerating are essential and need to be done quickly. Like rolling a wet sock down a leg, the hide is done fast and then you have fur-lined gloves. Hand protection. Deer is a larger game and the same rules apply. Only now you have some quantities of meat to be stored in an underground-type freezer. As an added bonus, you’ll have a hide that once added to another you have the makings for a durable coat. Being that deer hair is hollow; this creates wonderful insulation for your body. As for the meats, one must be aware that you can, and do, get protein poisoning due to over consumption of the wild meat. Since wild game is very lean to say the least, you will in turn get lean as well and must utilize all the other parts of the body to get the necessary fats available. This includes the eyes, feet, brains, and even bones. Yes, I said bones too. They do carry some fat sources that are at a minimum, but needed nonetheless.

So when they say hunting is considered by some to be a sport or a game, I don’t necessarily agree. Some don’t take it quite as seriously as I do. As our Canon Fodder editor, can attest to, I’m somewhat serious and reserved about the whole thing. More than I probably should be, so I try lighten up with a few ‘barley pops’ daily during the hunting season. I don’t go out there just to kill for the fling but to properly study and choose the best target, not unlike the natural predators of the land. It’s no longer a survival-type need, but more of a hobby practiced by those of us that like to be one with nature and fire weapons. It’s more an acquired skill that one cherishes and appreciates all the more when the trophy is taken. Heck, if I just wanted to kill for the rush of it, I have 10 acres that has a plentitude of game ripe for the taking anytime, any day. That’s not the point and I am sure you understand where I come from. In today’s day and age where anything goes and the future rapidly becomes the past, it’s hard to keep up with the discussion that never has an end but is a never-ending circle.

So is it sport, or survival, or a bit of both? Chasing game for the fun of it is sport, but when you actually kill something the critter is when it changes to hunting. Not necessarily for survival, but essentially to feed one’s family. Hunting is the intent of a kill; sport is the intent of the chase. I don’t know if it exactly jives with the Canon Fodder description of a sport, but the dictionary definitely has two definitions.

Now grab your firearm and get close with nature… it’s almost time for supper.

By Craig Dumas

Editor’s note: With NFL fans less than a week away from an unmercifully long off-season, we’re taking a break from Super Bowl hype to reintroduce you to another group of sportsman lingering through off-season depression.

Well, near as I can tell, ‘zilch’ and ‘diddly-squat’ are roughly the same amount, which leads me to believe if you’re a true hunter you know this is the time of year laden with lull and waste. Nada, nyet, zero, and zip are all descriptive words for this time of year. Tis’ the season of mere small game and yet smaller meals due to the size – or lack thereof – of this small game. (Although a good-sized rabbit with the trimmings can satisfy even the heartiest of appetites.)

Now is the time to start planning your meals for the upcoming season (still nine months away), how and when you will be arriving for Opening Day, making sure the rifle is clean and safely tucking it away yearning for the next opportunity to fire. If you’re a diehard hunter, I suppose there’s something to hunt anytime of year; one just needs to refer to the yearly hunting guide published by the state government. I, for one, must also ‘kill’ time by visiting the Almont Smoke House in Almont, MI to salivate over the variety of meats which include venison, elk, turkey, pheasant, etc., all processed into tasty snack sticks, jerky, and salami. Even entire birds are readily smoked and available for the most daring of taste buds. These animals are butchered and sold to the luckless hunter in need of the wild taste unearned from previous season. I, for one, fill the shopping cart to the rim and go home stocking my freezer with a variety of these to pacify my appetite for wild game.

With our firearm and extended, or ‘late’, season come and gone, I can only ponder what I’m going to do as I watch a six-point buck looking to bed down for the night in the back 40 behind my house. This is what brings on the depression and makes me toss the idea around of just going back there with a .22 and bag that trophy. And since it is getting late, those antlers are due to fall off anytime so a kill now would generate a decent wall mount sans head but nonetheless a trophy. Or, I could let it go, hoping it will make it to next year without being poached. (Since we live in the boonies, it’s entirely possible – and probable – the deer will be taken on any given day by another lawbreaker.

So on it goes. Turkey applications were being accepted after the first of January. I don’t particularly care for wild turkey (unless it’s in a rock glass with a few cubes) and find it difficult to skin. I’m told, however, if you do it right away, the feathers are easy to pull out. On the other hand, if you wait, you might as well try to skin the thing as the colder it gets, the harder it is to do. So I’m not too fond of turkey hunting. (But I do make an exception when it’s destined for the deep fryer. There’s something to the technique of brining it or injecting it with your favorite marinade. Without this preparation, it’s just not as flavorful and mouth-watering a taste to die for.) Other than that, as long as it’s dark meat, I’ll settle for the once a year sit-down just before Christmas. It’s the only time of year you’ll have the excuse to fall asleep (via an overdose of tryptophan, no doubt) during your favorite football game late in the afternoon.

With all this pondering which can – and does – take months, the new thoughts of the previously mentioned meals, preparedness, and scheduling of the calendar begin to take shape. By now I have these days memorized from the calendar and the premeditated workings on the wife for her to schedule time-off has begun. I can, for the most part, reason with her and the quiet mental celebrations have begun. Believe me, it’s a struggle to convince her to not cash in vacation time in lieu of my extended stay in the great north woods. And especially this year when Opening Day is on a Saturday, which means I have a full week and a half to bring home the goods. See, it’s happening already – happiness is starting to work it’s way back in!

Soon spring will bring thoughts of the newborns and more frequent visits up north to do some surveying, tree trimming and biking. It will awaken the urge to study the adult deer and see what they’re eating and when. It’s too many a morning you can find me standing at the doorwall with a coffee in one hand and my mini binoculars in the other. There are quite a few runs or paths the deer take to taunt and tease the unarmed observer. These are the best times for a hunter such as me to see the hope and potential of another years’ herd making it through the winter and promising for a successful season.

By Craig Dumas

I have written the piece on the hunting meals and how they were prepared and consumed but what was omitted – and how I forgot this I’ll never know – was the most important meal of the entire trip ¾ the coveted heart and liver. (Not human mind you, the deer’s.) I don’t really know if this tradition is just in our camp and we are demented and grotesque, or if other hunters partake in this highly praised meal of the gods. I’m a big fan of the heart and liver of the turkey and even the gizzard so it’s only fitting that I share with you another camp favorite when the lunch bell rings. Heart and liver is just another one of the things keeps me coming back year after year.

As previously mentioned, it all starts with a call for the newbie to get dressed, for there’s a carcass to be dragged! (After all, he’s gotta earn his keep too) I really hated to get him out of his warm cozy bed but there was work to be done. Meanwhile, the hallowed meal lies in a pile of innards in the field waiting for the protection of a Ziploc bag. Until it’s safely hidden away, the prizes are begging to be lost or stolen forever by a hawk of some sort.

(No, hawks don’t typically eviscerate deer in the wild and make off with their heart and liver, but you never can be too careful with this stuff. If an armored car can warrant armed guards, heart and liver deserves its own armed and paranoid escorts.)

We all end up standing over the carcass, discussing the hunt and the shot, and trying to finish off the fifth of schnapps saved for this exact occasion. Then one of us admits to getting a chill and we proceed to hook up the deer and drag it to the truck or camp if it’s close enough. Inevitably, we almost forget the most important thing. For some unknown reason, with all the commotion going on, we pass this almost every year. But nevertheless, Denny, the senior of camp, asks if we have the heart and liver thus causing one of us to go bag it and bring it back.

As a rule, part of our get-up (uniform or outfit, if you will) must contain a large Ziploc containing a pair of surgical gloves (not for reasons or fear of disease, but just plain old not wanting to get too bloodied up), some zip ties, paper towel, and your tag or license. All these things are necessary in order to complete the job efficiently. If all goes right, you can eviscerate a deer in less than twenty minutes ¾ unless you’re like Uncle Dave and gag from the smell along the way. Now I personally don’t mind the odor. It’s quite an earthy ripe stench, but have you ever caught scent of any animal’s innards that smell of roses? I think not. As I said, if done properly and quickly, you don’t catch too much of the stink. David, who has gutted many more deer than yours truly, is a sight to be seen while performing this job. We can’t help but bust a gut (no pun intended) watching him perform.

Visualize a hapless fifty-year-old kneeling in a wet field. He’s wearing an outfit that is all but falling down his midsection due to his girlish waist and lack of a backside (and just for the record, I did purchase for him a set of suspenders just for the occasion, but he’ll have nothing to do with ‘em.), plus the weight of a pistol weighing his bibs down even more. (I also must add in all seriousness – and even though he jokes about it – I’m convinced that someday he’s going to bend over carrying all his gear and shoot one of us while trying to pull his pants up.) Years ago he stuffed Kleenex up his nose but has graduated to a set of swimmers nose plugs to alleviate the pungent odor. He, to this day, gags uncontrollably while we laugh in a like fashion. So gagging and spitting regurgitated beer, bent over a deer trying to pull up his pants with his elbows, and trying to finish up cleaning up his trophy is quite the look reminiscent of something from the old reels of the Three Stooges or Laurel and Hardy.

Some tangent, huh? Well, it needed to be said. Back to the heart.

Once in the kitchen, this precious hunk of meat, that’s no bigger than a man’s fist, must be prepared in the proper fashion. Due to the amount of blood still in the ventricles, it needs to be rinsed, re-rinsed, and rinsed some more. This is all done with the care and tenderness of a gentle hand knowing how to drain it and work out all the clots. If you can’t stomach sticking your fingers in an organ then you don’t deserve a taste. This requires just the right temperature of water to help in dissolving the clots, and having extensive knowledge of how a heart works to get all the areas clear.

The liver not so much needs rinsing as it does needing to be soaked in warm water to get most of the blood out. This organ, since it holds blood and filters blood, needs extended soaking time to get that overly wild taste out. To say deer liver tastes “gamey” is to put it mildly.

All the while, sliced and diced onion is steaming in a buttered fry pan over on the neighboring burner awaiting the meat. Once the meat is added, the cook needs to pay close attention to ensure the most is made of this tasty morsel. Depending on how many hearts we have (most of the time it’s one or two) will depend on how thin the pieces are to be. Our resident expert chef, Denny, is all but blind in one eye and has double vision in the other. (He still wears the old glass contacts from the eighties and refuses to adhere to the new and improved gas and breathable types of today. Old school is putting it mildly.) But when it comes time to divvy up exact amounts of heart for all of us, he has the trained eye of a laser-guided knife and there is always plenty of liver to go around due to his skilled hand.

And then the feast begins. Four grown men huddled over a few – always too few – scraps of delicious meat.

That, in a nutshell, is how we obtain it, how it’s prepared, and how it’s eaten. The coveted heart and liver of a longtime sought after trophy, the northern Michigan white tail deer. No matter the sex of the animal, it always tastes superb and melts on the palette. The succulent tender meat and soft, luscious steamed onion can’t be beaten for a dish best served in camp. There’s no finer fare served in any palace and for those few precious moments in deer camp, we are truly kings.