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High Hopes

by Eric Fernandez :: Featured: April, 2003

My whole life I dreamed of being a hunter.  When I was a kid I would sit in the field behind my house and make bows and arrows out of whatever poor plant looked like it might work.  Unlike some people, I had no family or friends that hunted.  So, on many long summer days I would check hunting books out from the library and take them back well worn and late at the end of summer.  I would read and mark them at night.  I never knew frustration because my other choice was to stare at a TV that my parents took the power cord to; in an empty house.  Slowly, I made progress; most of the time it was without realizing it.  No longer was I a chubby boy in 'tough skins'; now I was an Indian brave; sneaking through thickets, using animal trails.  My prey, most times, was the sneaky cottontail or an ever-swift and all-knowing jackrabbit.

Growing slowly, like my skills at stalking, I moved from bows made from some green twig and grass arrows, to a wrist rocket sling shot, to a simple fiberglass bow; then a BB gun.  I loved the bow and arrow and BB gun, but with my deadeye marksmanship I would lose my arrows and get my bow taken for punishment for not doing homework or chores; because I was hunting.  The BB gun, that's another story, because I was not allowed to have it.  The first day I brought it home to my mom's house, I had to call my dad and have him come back and get it.  So, because I could shoot any partially round rock, and I could hide it almost anywhere because it was so small, my slingshot became my favorite weapon.  While steel BB where nice, there was never enough in a pack to last me between trips to the store.  So, rocks it was.  Why is this important, you say?  Well, we'll get there...

Now, if you have ever shot rocks out of a sling shot you know that the harder you shoot the worse they fly.  Like throwing rocks, you have to hold and release just right or the rock curves in flight.  OK, so now you have a chubby brown haired kid sneaking through bushes in the fields outside suburbia, with a slingshot.  As you could imagine, the rabbits made it away alive most of the time.  But with an abundance of rabbits there was no harm, and plenty of chances to try again.

Well, one day some fairy must have sprinkled magic in the air because it all came together.  There was Mr. Cottontail; sitting on the side of the dirt road.  So, without thinking about it, I picked up a rock, put it in the slingshot and let it go.  I missed him by ten feet.  The noise from the rock hitting a bush made him hop twice and stop.  When he started eating again, using my Indian Warrior stalking skills, I slowly crept with in ten feet of him and he hadn't noticed me.  This was incredible!  THERE! At my feet lay a rock that would give me a decent chance of hitting the rabbit at five feet!  Slowly, I pick up the rock and place it in the pouch.  Now one more step, One.... more.... ste-  Oh he looked at me.  Hold -hold.-Hold... -HOLD!  OK, he's eating again.  One more step -- this is it; I'd better not risk getting any closer.  Pull back sl-o-w... l-y.  OK, about eight feet away; hold right about here...  IF it flies straight... THWACK!  The rabbit flips over and lands on it's back on the bush.  I hit the rabbit...  I hit the Rabbit!  I HIT THE RABBIT!!!

As I recover from my shock I realize that we are going to have rabbit for dinner tonight.  A smile spreads over my face; the day is bright.  Forward I strut to retrieve my prize.  Just as I reach the bush and stretch my hand for my trophy; over he flips onto his belly and into the bush he squirms.  Gone! ... In the blink of an eye.  Leaving one boy confused.  Alone.  One hand still out stretched over the bush.

Losing oneself in the intensity of the stalk is why I love to hunt.  Rabbit hunting is one of my favorites because it was my first.  Yet, to this day, when I reach for a rabbit lying there, I still expect it to flip over and disappear.