Every person who has put a bead or crosshair on a potential target feels the “fever” – that adrenaline spike that leads to hyper focus through tunnel vision, hyper hearing, increased heart rate, etc.
This is an expected physical response. But it’s emotionally triggered.
As a hunter, the social euphemism “triggered” leaves a bad taste in my mouth. But I get it. I understand the usage and the meaning.
Like the fight or flight response every biological creature deals with when presented with a perilous or unexpected situation, we humans face the same set of reactions when something proverbially raises our hackles. It’s that innate feeling of facing the unknown without being in control or able to determine the outcome in the blink of an eye.
This same response is what can lead a deer to “jump the string” when bow hunting – that split second hop into the air the moment the string is released and begins to hum its way back to rest.
I’ve watched people yell at officials, public figures, or complete strangers over a few choice words, regardless of the overall content of the message. These people were already “triggered”, at full draw, hammer cocked ready to unleash a volley of wrath at the first perceived instance of offense. And it usually ends up a mess; bruises and bloody noses if not worse.
Last year I took my first buck. A little four pointer, he certainly wasn’t what I was hoping for, especially after tracking a beautiful heavy six pointer on my cameras.
Prior to this hunt, I had been reading up the physiological response to shooting and self-defense. Whether targeting or being targeted, the response is identical. The difference is the predator/attacker expects it, plans for it. The prey, the victim is swallowed up in the surprise influx of chemicals and the unexpected psychological effects. But when the moment came there was a choice.
Dusk was fast approaching, leaving about 20 minutes before sunset and less than an hour before the end of shooting time. I had been sitting in my prime stand, the one I have taken more deer in than any other spot. For hours nothing more than squirrels, chipmunks and flittering birds could be seen or heard. I was preparing to pack up, taking a quiet and quick inventory of my gear when there, at the edge of my periphery I glimpsed a rust-colored silhouette.
Immediately my heart launched into my throat, my hearing tweaked to pick up every single amplified sound at once and filter them at light speed while my vision blurred and darkened around the edge as my pupils locked onto the target. My pulse rang like a thrumming of a freight train speeding down the track and my breath rasping in bursts as my brain finally made sense of what I was seeing.
There he stood, browsing the leaves of an autumn olive shrub at the edge of the groomed path some 40 yards from where I sat. And he was meandering towards the foot of the tree I was fastened to - 30 yards. 20 yards. 10 yards. 5. Then he stopped and raised his nose, eyes locking on to my form.
My rifle lay across my lap. After all, just minutes before I was planning on vacating, calling it quits for the day. All I could see was his eyes staring a hole in my mine.
Then I remembered what I had been reading about the physical response of the fight or flight reflex. That it could be controlled, tempered. I could use it to my advantage rather than be handicapped by the flood of chemicals and the near-autonomous response they presented.
I measured my breathing, slowing it and listened as my heart rate began to fall from the high-rate thumping to a steady measured, although still speedy, rhythm. Keeping my eyes on his general form, I pushed my vision out wider, taking in the peripheral objects and cataloging them to my advantage or dismissing them as visual chatter.
Curiously, he stepped forward toward the base of a large cherry-wood tree that stood some ten feet directly in front of my position. This may seem a poor choice, but it was strategic. Not only did the trunk of that tree provide suitable cover, but on the other side of that tree were several old, neglected farm implements and trucks that became overgrown with saplings, briars and scrub. A perfect place for rabbits and small critters, but an obstacle to anything larger.
As the buck neared the far side of the tree, I recognized the opportunity that the tree created. With each step he gingerly took, passing the far side of the trunk, I gained a few seconds of invisibility. And I used each and every one.
By the time he walked the few feet from one side to the other, I was able to raise my rifle to my shoulder and set to shoot. He was quartered away and slightly below me as I took aim at his vitals. Waiting for him to take one last step out of the brush he was passing through, I felt the trigger. Two more steps and I squeezed off a single round from my grandfather’s Winchester ’94 30-30.
The four pointer ran about 45 yards before slamming into an old, rusted field wire fence at the property line. A picture-perfect take if you ask me.
But what’s this to do with social commentary? Everything. From road rage to verbal abuse to escalated reactions, people have lost or forgotten the ability to take an emotional trigger and wind it down to something civilized. We, the general public, have developed a trigger mechanism based purely on the emotional content of what others say. And that trigger is personal offense.
My hunt could have gone very differently. I could have pulled up my rifle at the first glimpse of brown, firing a wild shot in his general direction and sending him off into the woods without another opportunity. I could have tried to pull the stock to my shoulder as he took another mouthful of leaves just yards from my stand and spooked him into running behind something that took away any future opportunity.
There are any number of ways that could have gone. But it didn’t. All because someone took the time to explain my response was perfectly normal, but I didn’t have to be hobbled by it, a victim of my own chemical inclinations.
Whether you’re an immense fan or major critic of the president, a celebrity, an ideology or worldview, take a breath. Literally, take a moment and think about breathing. Widen your vision to see more than just the narrow scope of the offense you perceive. Check your hearing and be sure there’s not something else at work.
Because of the steps I took to think about my situation and the outcome, I was able to harvest my first buck, ever. Had I gone hot too soon, that buck might still be wandering around out there somewhere, a product of my failure.* And that’s what many people must live with – failure. Failure to control their temper. Failure to censor their own words. Failure to consider the consequences of their actions.
I suppose you could say that the Four Rules of Firearm Safety apply to more than just firearms.
The entire purpose of those rules is to prevent unnecessary and accidental loss whether of life or property, and to promote conscious engagement.
Maybe Americans would be better off learning these rules as much as they learn how to drive or about sexual orientation. And if you find yourself triggered by that statement, please take a breath and read this article again.
*Disclosure – There may be critics of the choice I made. Certainly, that smaller buck could’ve become a bigger better take the following year. However, this was the last day for rifle season and a prime opportunity. I haven’t ever, and most likely won’t, hunt for the trophy. I hunt to feed my family and others. Like it or not, meat in the freezer is more important than tines on a wall.
