During a recent meeting of a group of New England outdoor writers, a discussion began in reference to “high technology in today’s world of hunting and fishing,” which completely caught my attention. This stems from the myriad of technological advances in hunting and fishing equipment that have become increasingly relevant in recent years. That, mixed with the many debates that surround what some perceive as the negative side of the issue. As this discussion continued, I reflected on my own life as a hunter about to embark on my 53rd deer hunting season. I must admit, here and now, to being one who has taken advantage of a few of these technological enhancements along the way, especially when it comes to bow hunting for deer.
I graduated long ago, somewhat reluctantly, from my old Fred Bear Grizzly recurve bow (which I still have) to the technological era of compound bows. I gave up my wooden arrows with glued-in broad heads and switched to aluminum — and later on carbon — arrows with broad heads that screw into the tip of the arrow and remain firmly attached. My first compound bow was a Browning Nomad XL series with wooden limbs, and I loved that entire set-up, and used it for many years. Today I have different and better compound bows with better optics for each of them. I also use scopes on a few of my rifles, rangefinders, and trail-cams, all driven by technology that has helped me in many different ways over the years. But in the days following that outdoor writers meeting, and with additional deliberation, I’ve concluded that for me, it all comes down to three simple points: personal choice, legal obligations that we all have as sportsmen and women, and the ethical implication of this advanced use of hunting technology. Where do I, as a hunter and sportsman, draw the line in my use of this cutting edge technology, and how much of it am I willing to utilize as a hunter? And to answer those questions honestly, I had to think back to the very beginning.
At an early age, my technology in hunting came from my father, who would take me on long trips, adventures to me, deep into the woods of the Southern Tier in New York State. He taught me signs that he hoped I would someday utilize as a deer hunter, and simple skills that I still revert back to every single season. Things like how to define the age of a deer track; which way is it traveling? Identifying well use routes, feeding and bedding areas, funnels, and places that restrict deer movement. Rubs, what they indicate, how to tell if they’re fresh, and as a tool to distinguish the direction a deer is traveling. Scrapes, community scrapes, and scrape-lines… how to tell if they’re fresh, and the meaning of a “licking branch.” Droppings, how fresh are they, and defining the meaning of their location. All of these lessons have served me well for decades.
Having said that, hunting has changed dramatically since those years when the technology we have today was not even a blip on the screen. Back then, we learned by doing, by failing, and by continually working to improve. Today, optics, high-tech range finders, ballistic calculators, trail cams, drones, night vision, hunting apps, fish finders, ATVs, GPS, etc. have all evolved into getting us to the end results quicker. And a lot of these advancements really are impressive, but at some point, we have to ask ourselves, when is enough of this enough?
Hunting purists insist that the best way to experience the natural sense of hunting and fishing is to forget the gadgetry. Those of a different persuasion point to an increase in hunter safety and comfort, while also embracing every possible technological advancement that will increase their chances for success. Both of these assessments do raise questions, but for me it simply comes down to this: by utilizing massive amounts of high technology, are we moving too far away from the one thing we all stand by as hunters and anglers; the principle of “fair chase?” Or do we feel we deserve to experience a successful hunt every time we step in to the outdoors, by using every new high-tech contraption that comes down the pike next. Again, each person must answer these questions individually and within themselves, or will there be a time when someone, someday says, “where do we set a stopping point, when is enough, enough?”
Joe Judd is a lifelong hunter and sportsman. He is an outdoor writer, seminar speaker, member of the New England Outdoor Writers Association, and a 2019 inductee into the N.E. Turkey Hunting Hall of Fame. Joe is also on the Quaker Boy Game Calls and Bass Pro Shops/Cabela’s Pro-Staff. He can be reached at jjontheridge@comcast.net