Among the Fudds

Like any other hobby or act of passionate recreation, the hunting world is divided into many subcultures. These cultures and factions of sportsmen clash like distant relatives at family reunions. They might share the same name, but many times their motives and values misalign. No one hunter is alike and there are many answers to the question, “what does it mean to be a hunter?” I reckon there are more subsets of hunters in America than social media groups to house them.

Consider the small game hunters, many chase rabbits with hounds, while others sit quietly, waiting for squirrels. Many hunt, just to let the dogs work, while others hunt exclusively for something to pair with dumplings.

Or how about the waterfowl hunters, a peculiar group with many confrontations within their ranks. Disputes over boats, shotguns, dogs, camo and calls make them a competitive and ornery class of outdoorsmen. Being one myself, I have found the waterfowler to be among the most passionate, yet hard headed type of outdoorsman. Near-sighted and oftentimes selfish, they make their way begrudgingly difficult for the sake of a handful of feathers. My frustrations with the waterfowler abound, but that is neither here nor there and would be better suited for further discussion another time.

The big game hunters are perhaps the most diverse group. These hunters also come in all shapes and sizes. On any given rendezvous, you might find yourself in the company of deer, bear, elk, or turkey hunters to name a few. Each having their own subsets of ideologies, hunting strategies, and other standard operating procedures.

If you are like me, then you might find it difficult to fall into any one category of hunter. My interests, knowledge, and experience overlap and touch many hunting subcultures. I thoroughly enjoy deer and duck hunting. I am kindling a new love for small game hunting and building an interest in the big game pursuits west of the Mississippi river. Turkeys continue to be a thorn in my side, but I still find myself stomping through the green woods at least a few times each spring.

Regardless of season, target species, or method of take, I do still find myself struggling to fit in with the elites of any one hunting subculture. Being elite doesn’t necessarily mean being famous. An elite hunter can be anyone. More often than not, these are the folks who have gone all in on one particular form of hunting and mastered the science of it to the point it becomes routine operation. We all know hunters like this and aspire to be so proficient in our own efforts. It is amazing to experience how much knowledge and skill can be accumulated by a determined hunter, but when pride and pomp take the place of genuine desire and curiosity I become unenthused.

Arrogance is a dangerous, but even more annoying, quality among hunters. It is sad, but true that many elite hunters become arrogant after finding routine success. Looking down from their tree saddles they roll their eyes at the incompetent Fudds below. I don’t mean to imply that hunting from a tree saddle makes you a pompous elite, but seeing that the newer technologies are quickly adopted by high class hunters it was hard to avoid the analogy, sorry.

A Fudd can mean a lot of things to a lot of people, but in the context of hunting subcultures it seems that this term is most often ascribed to those that lack qualities worth taking seriously. Fudds are very looneytunesesque, clumsy, mistake ridden, slow adopters of technology, and many times lazy. The more I think about it the more I think I am a Fudd. I own a fair share of high end camouflage and name brand gadgets, but when I analyze with methods I realize I am more Fudd-like than elite.

I like my insulated ear flap hat, red plaid coat, and 30-30 lever action deer rifle. I hunt from deer stands, but exclusively ladder stands because I have never learned to use a climber or a hang-on. I’d rather just sit on the ground during most hunts to be honest. This is a very Fudd-like thing to do. It feels simpler and safer. I view a lot of things pushed by the industry as unnecessary and that’s probably why I subconsciously view tree saddles as an elitist tool, but I am sure that if I tried one and learned to use it I would enjoy the advantages it supplied. I have never used a trail cam and wouldn’t even know how to set one properly. I was taught to be pleasantly surprised by what the woods offered and I guess that way of thinking never left me.

So, is a Fudd just another term for a bad hunter? Maybe, but in a lot of ways we are all bad hunters. We all bump deer, forget to play the wind, and miss shots. Most mornings I would rather be a lucky Fudd than a hyper-skilled elite. I like to think of myself as a simplistic hunter and maybe that better describes my fellow Fudds, simplistic. Regardless of the name, I think there is something honorable in those willing to cast status aside, hunt simply, make mistakes openly and learn along the way.

In a spiritual sense, I know I am not elite. I am a fumbling sinner, saved by grace and trying to walk the narrow road. When I think about those ahead of me on this road, it is easy to find those who think they are spiritually elite, usually because they are the ones falling off the side. Southern religion, empty habits, and pride have blinded their eyes and sin has grabbed their heels, pulling them from the way. Those broken, vulnerable, and willing to confess the struggles of life still limp up the path, always looking to Christ as their righteousness. Those are the ones who encourage me. They know only a simple, yet freeing truth; at the right time Christ died for the ungodly (Romans 5:6). He came to seek and save the lost (Luke 19:10).

To those who don’t have it all figured out, the ones who seem utterly helpless and pitiful, the non-elites, Christ died for the likes of you, so you could be made right with the Father (justification). Better yet, he promises to make you new and more like himself in this life now (sanctification) and even more so in your eternal life to come (glorification).

I have some degree of comfort in knowing that I am not elite. Neither in my hunting nor in my faith. If that means I am in better standing to receive Christ, then so be it.

Count me among the Fudds.