Ye Jacobites by name! Give an ear!

One of my favorite pleasures is Scottish culture; its tales, history, Scots dialect, and in particular its music. One of the most popular themes within Scottish music is that of Jacobitism and "Bonnie" Prince Charlie. The Jacobite Uprisings provided fertile ground for the green shoots of musical outpouring to spring forth. For that I am grateful. However, while the nostalgia and romanticism of of the Young Pretender and the massacre on Culloden Moor are undeniable, the historical facts of the conflict are less obvious.

On the surface, the conflict is often portrayed as one of England vs. Scotland. This is historical hogwash and has absolutely no credibility. The Treaty of Union was already in place, and Great Britain was here to stay, despite any opposition. Truthfully, the conflict was between the houses of Hanover and Stuart. Ah, the Stuarts! What a noble name! What a distinguished tartan! What a MISERABLE heir! I know what you are thinking, "How could he!?", but stick with me here. The historical truth (See How the Scots Created the Modern World, a wonderful book) is that Charles Edward Stuart was a pathetic leader. His insistence on the military action of his followers against impossible odds, after exhaustive marches, lead to their ultimate massacre. What did he do? He went to France, and essentially drank himself to death (he was an alcoholic even during the revolution). But really, the Jacobite Revolutions, even deeper down, were about Protestants versus Catholics. This brings to mind an interesting connection. Long has society though of Ireland as the home turf 0f the Protestant/Catholic blood-feud, but in fact, such conflict had a long and storied history in Scotland.

From Kate Beaton's "Hark, A Vagrant!", copyrighted, with my censor for suitability:
http://www.harkavagrant.com/index.php?id=12



Why then, are we constantly immersed in verse relating to the Jacobites? Certainly, the tale of Flora MacDonald, who disguised Charlie as her handmaiden and traveled to the Isle of Skye makes for an interesting story. But, beyond that, what have we? An unrealistic drunkard who led hapless followers to their death? No, I think that would be doing a great discredit. I believe the reason that we have wonderful tunes like "Skye Boat Song" and "Will Ye No' Come Back Again" is the fact that since then the Scots have been desperate for a real leader who provides both symbolic and descriptive representation. This, coupled with the sheer fact that Charlie's men gave their last full measure of devotion for the cause is more than enough to spur any songwriter to romanticize.

Regardless, the sheer power and pride of the lamentations of such tunes will forever be a part of me, and I'll always be a Jacobite at heart.

From "Skye Boat Song":

Many's the lad, fought on that day,
Well the claymore could wield,
When the night came, silently lay
Dead in Culloden's field.
Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,
Onward! the sailors cry;
Carry the lad that's born to be King
Over the sea to Skye.

Burned are their homes, exile and death
Scatter the loyal men;
Yet e'er the sword cool in the sheath
Charlie will come again.
Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,
Onward! the sailors cry;
Carry the lad that's born to be King
Over the sea to Skye.

A Sportsman's Outrage: Canned Hunting and its Effects

On January 1 I had the opportunity to start the new year off a wild boar "hunt" through a stroke of good fortune (or so I thought). This hunt was something that I had delighted in thinking about since I had first learned about it. I particular enjoy hunting boar as they afford the hunter not only a wealth of meat, but also an element of excitement when hunted on the ground. Their affectionate nickname in the United States is "the poor man's rhino" and for good reason! Wild boar are particularly tenacious in certain conditions and can stand their own against both man and dog. Because of this, I was particularly excited for this hunt. My hunt was to be conducted on a ranch in Oklahoma and was for a management pig under 150 lbs. I intended to harvest the pig with my Mission Eliminator bow and practiced continually to ready myself for the hunt. In fact, I even practiced out to 50 yards with broadheads so that I might be competent if such a shot provided itself. That, my friends, was not the problem.

I have struggled with whether or not I should write about this experience as it has the potential to harm someone's livelihood and well-being. That is not something that I take lightly. However, my conscious as a hunter compels me to write the truth and to be as ethical as possible. I hesitate to divulge the name of this "ranch", but will relate you my experience out of necessity. I struck out on this "hunt" with family friends and greatly enjoyed the drive to the location with them. Upon arrival at the "ranch" I was greeted by the owner in an odd, but comical fashion and brought to his residence to go over rules for the hunt and to sign a waiver. Notably, within the rules was the prohibition of alcohol while hunting. This was something that I was totally in agreement with. Weapons and alcohol at no point should mix. What did strike me as odd was that there was a limitation of two arrows per hunter (or likewise two bullets). This, according to the owner, was done so that the hunter would be forced to pick his shots and would not wantonly slay game. Fair enough, I'll bite, I thought. After the briefing we accompanied the owner to the hunting location where another hunter had downed a pig and was in the process of recovery. At this point I experienced my first concerns about the hunt. Before taking the wheel of a Blazer and driving us to the location the owner proceeded to fetch a beer from his fridge and offer the same to myself and the other hunters. I don't drink and didn't appreciate the fact that he was doing so while driving and while in possession of a loaded revolver on his hip. After we got to the location we happened upon two hunters who led us to their downed quarry. We came upon two pigs. One was stone dead, while the other, perfectly healthy, would not leave the scene. If this pig had been aggressive I might have understood, but it was not. Soon, my peers (I shudder to call them companions) began pelting the pig with large rocks. The pig would not leave! It simply laid down and wouldn't move. Finally, after a severe thrashing, the pig moved off about 20 yards. Then, the owner of the operation offered some insight. The pigs, he said, were litter-mates and he had released then together into the pen at the same time. WHAT? Released?

After the pig was recovered we decided to scout the area for our upcoming hunt. According to our host we were never to leave the marked trails while on his property. I thought this was a hunt? The "hunting" area, in totality was less than 80 acres, high-fenced, with a central trail and six feeders. It was also overflowing with pigs. Was this really hunting? I could corner and kick a pig to death on 80 acres----where was the challenge? Upon returning to the lodge we were brought to quarantine pens where new stock was vaccinated and wormed before being released into the hunting area. Two other "hunters" who frequented this location accompanied us and offer suggestions for "hunting" in this area between spewing indecent vulgarities to one another and the owner. One showed us with pride a large pig in a pen (over 700 lbs) that he was going to shoot next week once it was released. My head exploded! I lacked for words! I told him straight out that the pig was a Hampshire, a domestic breed of pig that I had shown as a youth within the FFA organization. This had little effect. I was utterly sick at this point. What were these irreverent buffoons doing to my beloved sport?!

That evening the people within camp gathered at the locations cleaning facility where the owner and several other hunters proceeded to attempt to find the meaning of life by guzzling beer and searching in the bottom of a bottle of moonshine. I was without hope for this endeavor. What had happened to the rules? This is a solid lesson for life as well. Rules, as important as they are, are worth less than nothing if they are not beholden by the creator and enforced with due measure. I retired to the cabin and watched Alton Brown's "Good Eats"---the only relatively enjoyable point of the whole miserable experience. When morning came we were once again escorted to the "hunting" area and once inside had pigs within 30 yards that were completely at ease with our presence. One of the other hunters yelled at them. The herd, close to fifteen pigs, never even batted an eye. I told him frankly, "These pigs are tame!". He would have none of it.

Even by the broadest definition of the word, this could not be called hunting.

1) The pigs were farm bred, or captured, and then released.
2) The enclosure was ridiculously small.
3) The "hunters" were only to remain on the single beaten trail and were not allowed to stalk on still-hunter anywhere else.
4) The pigs were in no way wild and would not shun man. In fact, I was told that the pigs would come to the sound of an approaching ATV.
5) The proprietor did not obey his own rules and drank to the point that his speech was slurred and incoherent.

I will never allow someone to impugn the most noble sport known to man by calling this contemptible act hunting. Fair chase hunting of wild animals in large-sized natural environs is the only ethical pursuit that a man can partake in. Anything other than this is simply killing. There is no challenge. There is no fair chase. There is no difficulty. There is no sport! Not only does this destroy the character of the hunter, but it also demolishes our public image. Do you want to see morons slaying domestic pigs in small pens and declaring themselves hunters? I didn't think so. Nor do I! Nor does anyone else! For our sport's sake, please keep it fair chase! If you are considering booking a hunt on any private ranch, go there and check it out before you sign up for anything! If you don't, you may regret it! Whatever you do, keep it ethical!

A Perfect Harvest and the Paradox of Hunting's Popularity

November 21st marked a holiday for myself and many of my Oklahoma blood-brothers (great term, Uncle Ted!). I am speaking of course about the opening day of whitetail rifle season. Of course, hunters across our fine state have been pursuing deer since October 1st with archery equipment. I too, have partaken in this fine endeavor. Something remarkable, sacred, and unapologetically American takes place with the firearms opener that no other day can match. The day itself is steeped in tradition, honor, nostalgia and familiarity. In all frankness, I revere it. I should mention now that I absolutely want new hunters and youngsters to participate in this wonderful experience (more on this later).

For myself, this day has always been about three things: God, nature and family. To me, those are the most wholesome and prized things in my life. My great Provider allows me to partake in the cycle of life, my earthly father taught me and introduced me to the sport, and nature bathes me in all her majesty each time I step out. You could say that my deer hunting heritage goes back to a day during muzzleloader season when I was eleven (I believe), but in reality it goes even further than that. I was profoundly influence by my dad, and his deep love for the sport. I watched in my youth as it consumed him---something that it soon did to me. Before long I was not only admiring the beautiful deer that he brought home, but admiring the ones that I had brought to bear myself. Beyond this, I have ties even further back to a hunting heritage. My grandfather, L.D. Bruce was an avid sportsman as well. Each year, I hunt with his rifle; a Remington 760 pump in .30-06 that connects us in a sublime, unbreakable way.

This year's opener was about shared experiences for me; both positive and negative. I was lucky to share my favorite quest with my good friend Dave Gordon in the morning and one of my young relatives, Chris Smith, in the afternoon. The opening morning is always full of anticipation. This was certainly the case this year. Dave and I set up on a finger of brush jutting out into a newly planted wheat field. Generally, this is not the preferred location for me, but the rest of our lease had been burnt due to neighborly negligence. Dave and I were eager to behold a deer and sat quietly, despite the large number of mosquitoes on an abnormally warm November day. Dave was the first to spot a doe making her way through the burnt brush on a distant hill. Soon after, I could have sworn the British were invading---the prodigousness and volume of fire surrounding us was astounding. I was convinced that trespassers were hunting on our lease. The proximity of the shots was such that between 10 and 15 were either directly on our property or on our fenceline. We decided to investigate and in the process spooked four or five deer that were further down the field than we had anticipated. Needless to say, the uncouthness of the surrounding hunters and the degraded state of my lease were sources of frustration for me.

Later that evening, Chris and I sat in an elevated box blind that Dad and I had rebuilt during the summer. Once again, anticipation overcame us and we eagerly awaited the sound of approaching footsteps. As time passed, I craned my neck to check on dad who was in a ladder stand in a large cottonwood tree about 400 yards away. Not only did I see him, but also a pair of riders on horseback, casually conversing and riding up and down our property-line. Their ignorance and disrespect appalled me. Not only did they not have the scruples to regard our endeavor with respect, but they also failed to don blaze-orange, making them likely victims of a hunting accident. Near dusk I caught a movement out of the front window of the blind and quietly told Chris not to move. I saw a buck! In fact, after checking him out, I was certain this the exact buck that we had previously caught on our trail cameras. I quickly readied my rifle on the window and waited for him to approach closer. Unfortunately, the wind was sweeping through the blind and bringing our scent to the deer. I could tell that he knew something was wrong and proceeded to make the shot. Like always, I was considerably shaken. The buck was just in front of a large blackjack tree that I had ranged at 212 yards. I placed the crosshairs just right of his shoulder and squeezed the trigger. Knowing that my rifle was sighted in at 200 yards, I had expected the big 180 gr. bullet from my .30-06 to send him tumbling. This, however, was not the case! The buck soon ran about 10 yards and stopped---I was in disbelief! I hastily jacked another round into the chamber for a followup shot, but the buck was blocked by my feeder. I positioned myself in front of Chris' window but the buck broke and began to run down the hill. Once again, I had to switch windows and instinctively placed another round into the buck as he fled down the hill. Emotions drove me. Ethics spurred me. Hunger inspired me. I had to know what happened. Chris and I ran towards the spot where the deer had been and I circled down the hill. There he was! Rejoice! I quickly thanked God! What a beautiful creature! My buck was laying there, bathed in the golden glow of the prairie grass! He was a mainframe 10 pt. with one side broken off. What stories he could tell! I saw my dad approaching and was, in that moment, happier than I had been in a long time. As I walked back to the truck, I said a prayer of thanksgiving. What an experience!

My story ends with a tone of joy, but there are further implications. Despite the happy-ending that I was blessed with, there are things that need to be addressed.

(1) Hunters must have respect for each other. The practice of trespassing on private property and positioning feeders and stands on property-line isn't going to have a happy ending for anyone.

(2) Marksmanship counts. I am a strong advocate of putting enough bullets into a quarry to quickly and ethically kill it. However, the wanton spraying of bullets and screaming (which my parents experienced at the same spot the next day) makes all hunters look bad.

(3) Sharing the sport of hunting with others not only enriches your time, and strengthens the sport as a whole. The time that I spent with Dave, Chris (and my dad, and Andy) over that weekend was just as joyful as the harvest of that buck to me.

In conclusion, I'd like to encourage you to go out and experience the thrill of the hunt, the wonders of nature, and the Glory of God. Better yet, take someone with you when you do it---just make for sure that the time you are spending doing this is quality and respects not only your quarry, but also the people around you who are enjoying the same sport.

New Moon: Vampires, Pop Culture, and the Bible

The second movie in the Twilight series, "New Moon" is set to appear in theaters soon. Based off of the success of its predecessor it will certainly do well. In fact, the wave of Twilight induced mania is all but already here. My primary question is why are millions of people worldwide consumed by this? Secondly, should we herald this series as a great thing? What does that say about our society?

I have neither read the books, nor watched the first film in its entirety so in truth I am not qualified to judge either's content. However, this global obsession with vampires is a trend that goes beyond the Twilight series. In fact, American popular culture is dominated by a perversive obsession with vampire lore, mystique and sexuality. This is easily demonstrated by the profuseness of literature, television and film on the subject. For myself, this is an ill-boding phenomenon. Whenever a society becomes consumed by a particular ideology, event or occurrence it inevitably aspires to become that itself. This is not something that should be taken lightly.

My sentiments here may sound far-fetched to you, but I implore you to consider the ease of which group-think and idolatry consumes a populace. Do I think that soon people will be walking down the street, biting each other's throats in an attempt to satiate a blood-lust? No. However, I do believe that this sort of fantastic obsession will result in a relaxation of what is considered taboo. Many cultures today already drink blood as a part of daily routine. Historically, Scottish highlanders "bled" livestock and mixed the blood with milk for a hardy drink. Many African tribes do the same thing today. The prevalence of "Goth" culture today is known to almost everyone. Many of these individuals wholeheartedly embrace the vampiric culture. Is this necessarily a bad thing? That depends on your own beliefs. For myself, as a Christian, it is abhorrent.

Leviticus 7:26-27

"Moreover ye shall eat no manner of blood, whether it be of fowl or of beast, in any of your dwellings. Whatsoever soul it be that eateth any manner of blood, even that soul shall be cut off from his people."

This selection is crystalline. The consumption of blood is not something that the Bible approves of. Each and every time we embrace vampire glorifying works we open ourselves a little more to the notion that maybe the consumption of blood isn't so bad. I heartily recommend that you spend your precious time on something else, instead of exposing yourself to the temptations of "New Moon".

Game Recovery and Presidential Ambitions

I came across an interesting news article via Field and Stream's website this morning. Apparently, Minnesota Governor Tim Pawlenty wounded a whitetail buck but was unable to recover it. Pawlenty now is being criticized by both hunters and anti-hunters for not recovering the deer and instead leaving for a Republican Party fund-raiser in Iowa. I am pulled in opposite directions regarding this event. Here are some observations:

(1) Every good hunter knows that an ethical, lethal shot is an absolute requirement to participate in the sport. If you can't make the shot, don't take the shot.

With that being said, (2) the wilderness is not a laboratory and sometimes things simply go wrong. Animals move, people flinch, branches are not seen, yardage is poorly estimated, and sights shift. Every hunter who spends any time the field is going to have difficulty recovering game at one point or another.

This brings to mind the fact that (3) the art of recovering lost game is as important (if not more so) than the ability to be stealthy, make the shot, and be sportsmanlike. Tracking and game recovery must be something that taught to every single new hunter.

(4) Hunters collectively lack this ability. Far too often I have heard of shooting of numerous deer by a single hunter without the recovery of a single head of game. This is one of the most enraging actions that I can possibly think of and results in the degradation of the image of a hunter---both in the eyes of other hunters and those who oppose hunting altogether.

Finally, (5) it is good to see a politician who actually goes out and hunts. I'm not going to get into this debate about whether Sarah Palin does or not, but John Kerry's publicity romp at the sporting clays range and Joe Biden's unlikely affection for his Beretta shotgun have left me with something to be desired. Here's hoping that Pawlenty gets another chance at a buck and enjoys the full experience of one of America's greatest traditions.

The AP article covering Pawlenty's hunt is here:
http://wcco.com/wireapnewsmn/Gov.Tim.Pawlenty.2.1304292.html

Cold Snap

After a none-too-brief bout with uncharacteristically warm weather it appears that Oklahoma has found her stride. With a high of 45 degrees it appeared to be a wakeup for a lot of folks. How funny it is to see people running to and fro in athletic shorts when the air is barely above freezing. What really strikes me as funny is the cold weather resilience [or lack thereof] of Texans. At Oklahoma State University we are lucky to have a good number of our southern friends and find much in common. However, the Texan reputation for ruggedness and grit doesn't appear to apply to cold temperatures. I am certain the theatrics of these individuals when the temperature drops to the single digits will be even more entertaining.

More importantly, the cold spell is likely to foretell better hunting if it continues. The Indian Summer glow is nice before the first hard bite of winter, but it doesn't exactly equate to fair hunting. In particular, the rut cycle of whitetail deer is of critical importance. Despite the vast research into the antics of the whitetail the subtleties of what determines the ignition of the rut is still up for debate. The most likely factor is the photo-period, or amount of time in daylight for a particular area. Temperature, although perhaps not directly linked to the onset of the rut can have a dramatic influence on levels of deer activity. Such was the case two weeks ago when I had a brief chance to hunt on a Sunday. Typically, I refrain from greeting the dawn in my hunting escapades and prefer to instead begin around 9 a.m. and stalk and still-hunt up until the early afternoon. This provides me with the opportunity to not only see a good range of habitat, but also keeps my legs from falling asleep (I don't know if a tree falling down in the woods makes a sound, but I do know that I certainly do). Unfortunately, my most recent adventure was star-crossed by the weather and after six miles of hiking up hill and dale with a muzzleloader and all the accouterments I had seen zero deer. I did manage to bust two coveys of bobwhites, a mallard, a squirrel, and an alligator snapping turtle. That, my friends, is fate. If I would have had a shotgun and it had been quail season I would have seen every deer in Creek County. I did however, see a good amount of sign. I saw heavy deer traffic next to a small meandering creek bed throughout the property. This creek was bordered by interspersed by persimmon thickets and made its way past several small ponds. The lesson here is that unseasonably warm weather equates to deer activity near water sources with food supplements nearby.

I've got my fingers crossed for more cool weather next weekend but it isn't looking good. The current forecasts have the temperatures hovering in the 60's---I guess I am going to have to bribe (or threaten) the meteorologist if I am going to get a deer!

On Thoreau and Growing Up

I've developed a bit of a weekly tradition in that I post a quote from Henry David Thoreau on my white board that is hung on my suite door. It's a nice little thing that keeps me sane and reminds me of how I should be living my life. This past week's quote from Thoreau was "How vain it is to sit down and write when we have not stood to live". That really struck a chord with me. At times, I feel that I have done my fair share of living, but at other times, it seems that I am actually missing out on quite a lot. As part of my curriculum I do a lot of writing, so does that make me vain? I am really beginning to think that it does.

In truth, there are two Cody Bruces. One is the academe and scholar---a person of logic, determination and scholarly enterprise. The other, is Cody Bruce the Man. My how he is different! He even verges on looking at academia with disdain (a throwback to Thoreau?). In fact, he is decidedly less focused on the knowledge of the world and more focused on the knowledge of the divine and of nature. It is frustrating for me sometimes that these two are altogether apart. I now feel that the latter, if given free reign would be the one to dispel Thoreau's vanity and would venture forth onto that beckoning path of life.

This reminds me of another transcendentalist quote: "Time is but the stream I go afishing in. I drink at it; but while I drink I see the sandy bottom and detect how shallow it is." Here Thoreau gets to the core of life. In fact, every moment it is slipping away. Certainly, we skim the surface---the coarse epidermis of life---but do we really drink deeply from the stream? Sometimes I think not. A meditative self-reflection seems to be the best investment of time for myself at this point. Here I stand; a man, quite happy, healthy and [relatively] wise. What more could a person want? Troves! Unfortunately, "quite" and "relative" are not descriptors that most prefer in reference to their lives.

I suppose then, the gist of this writing is that I must challenge and even demand of myself growth each and every day. So, my friends, let us all drink a little deeper out of the stream of life!

Best wishes and God bless,
Cody Bruce