The Last True Communion - Field Ethos
I’m fresh off the most successful venture of my hunting career, having taken five Axis deer on Molokai, one of Hawaii’s rugged gems. Outside of culling hunts, where you leave with nothing but the memory, bringing home this much game in one trip is nearly unheard of. Back in western Oregon, we count ourselves lucky to close a season with just a single blacktail, let alone five animals. To say I’m thankful feels like a sin against the gravity of this opportunity.
I often call this hunt “Alaska light,” but only because of the tiny planes and the towering mountains. The comparison ends there, though. My hunting is steeped in the traditions of the West and my indigenous roots, blended with a potent cocktail of poetry and death. Going into this hunt, my focus was clear: fill the freezer and, if luck allowed, bring home a trophy buck and his cape so my wife can have a nice rug. I managed both—stocked the freezer and took a decent 28-inch Axis, not the biggest, but nothing to scoff at. Yet, what I walked away with was far more valuable than meat and antlers.
