Meet Your Meat

“The Indians have a name for you—vegetarian,” my hunting instructor jokes. It’s March 2017, and I’ve just completed my turn shooting at a digital target with a fake gun as part of Iowa’s hunter education program. I didn’t hit a single brick. My instructor doesn’t know it yet, but he’s right. I am a vegetarian. So what the hell am I doing learning how to hunt?

Veg Out

I’ve been a vegetarian for eight years. It started as an animal rights thing—I was that annoying kid handing out PETA stickers to my classmates. After a few years, it became my norm.

But last spring I really noticed a drop in my energy levels. Maybe it’s because I’m a college student who doesn’t get enough sleep. Maybe it’s because I’ve found myself eating more pizza than produce. Or maybe I’m just not giving my body the nutrients it needs.

I know a plant-based diet can be healthy. But I don’t always have the time or money to eat as well as I’d like. At the end of the day, it would be easier to grill a chicken breast instead of worrying about how much protein is in my pasta.

Plus, I’d be rejoining society’s norm. U.S. residents will consume 222.2 pounds of meat and poultry per person in 2018, according to the U.S. Department of Agriculture. And that stat still leaves out other animal food groups, such as seafood.

But many Americans don’t like to know where their food comes from. There’s a lot of disconnect at the butcher counter. After all, a pack of boneless, skinless chicken breasts at the grocery store doesn’t even look like a bird.

I decided to make a deal with myself—I could go back to eating meat, but I have to be conscious of my meal’s origins. I have to accept that an animal was killed for me to eat. That’s where the hunting comes in. If I’m going to be a reborn carnivore, I need to better understand the life I’m taking away.

Shots Fired

I started by contacting my aunt and uncle. They live on a large property in Wisconsin—about 45 minutes northwest of Milwaukee. And they own guns.

“You’re doing what?” my aunt asks when I explain my story to her. I get why it doesn’t make sense. She’s spent years making two separate Christmas dinners so I have a meatless one to eat. My family’s finally accepted my vegetarianism, and here I am inquiring about hunting.

I arrange a day to go visit. My uncle opens his gun safe and walks me through his collection. He also shows me the basic parts of a firearm and how to load it.

Once show-and-tell is over, we step outside. My uncle wedges some old political signs in the frozen ground to use as target practice.

I start with a .22 long-rifle, then move on to a revolver, and finally, a 12-gauge shotgun. They’re all a lot heavier than I expect them to be. Squeezing the trigger for the first time is exhilarating, but also scary. I’m holding a tool that can instantly kill something on impact with hardly any effort. I don’t like it.

Gobble Gobble

According to the Iowa Department of Natural Resources, the main hunting season that coincides with my deadline is for male turkeys. I enjoyed watching turkeys poke around in my backyard as a kid, so it’s hard for me to think about killing one.

Turkey hunting, like all hunting, is a balance of skill and luck. While I’m in Wisconsin visiting my uncle, I meet with John Dohmen, a hunting enthusiast. He introduces me to all of the different strategies hunters use to entice turkeys.

Dohmen also shows me how to properly hold a shotgun. “It’s all about building muscle memory,” Dohmen says as he helps me position the butt of the gun in the pocket of my shoulder.  

We walk out to a corner of his property and Dohmen attaches two paper turkey targets to an old fence. I’m aiming for the head and the neck. Not only is it the most effective way to kill the bird, it’s also the cleanest. If you intend to eat your game, you don’t want to be picking shotgun pellets out of its flesh.

For the second time that day, I get in position to squeeze the trigger. I stop after two shots—mainly because on the second try I’m not holding the gun tight enough to my body. I experience major kickback that goes on to leave a nasty bruise on my shoulder.

I put the gun down and unload the remaining rounds as Dohmen retrieves the targets. I hit them both in the neck. Had those been real birds, they’d be dead. That realization triggers a twang of guilt in the pit of my stomach. Poor turkeys.  

Law and Order

Before I started this project, I vilified hunters. I only saw them as the bad guys in “Bambi.” But the more hunters I get to know, the more I realize that’s not the case.  

I met up with Ross Baxter. He’s the Land Projects Director for the Iowa Natural Heritage Foundation (INHF)—a local conservation organization—and he’s an avid turkey hunter.

Baxter started hunting when he was five. His dad was a conservation officer and introduced him to the sport. He, like many hunters, enjoys exploring the outdoors and spending time with friends and family. Just like any sport, hunting is an escape and means of relaxation or fun. And, just like any sport, there are rules.  

“Once you get your hunter safety certificate, you can then get your hunters license,” Baxter says. “And with turkeys and deer you have to get a certain tag. Even if you’re not successful.” You also have to pay a habitat fee. Altogether, the combo costs around $60—not bad for an entire weekend’s entertainment. Plus, that money goes towards land conservation and habitat work.

“Hunting and fishing fees put more into conservation than any other entity,” Baxter says. “I don’t want to discredit other conservation groups…they do a lot of habitat work. But financially, they don’t hold a candle to what the hunters and anglers bring to the table.”

Baxter’s right. In 2015, there were nearly 15 million paid hunting license holders in the U.S. And it doesn’t stop there. There’s also an 11 percent federal excise tax on sporting arms, ammunition, and archery equipment and a 10 percent tax on handguns. It’s called the Pittman-Robertson Act. Half of the collected tax goes towards funding hunter education programs and target ranges, while the other half goes toward wildlife habitat.

Funds are distributed on a state-by-state basis, and they vary from year to year. “With President Obama in office, there was always this perceived threat that he was going to take away firearms,” Baxter says. “So the second amendment guys got really active in buying firearms and ammunition because they were afraid that he was going to take away their ability to do that. That caused a giant boom in the Pittman-Robertson Act, and it allowed more money to come into the state for habitat work.”

Honestly, I’m impressed. I had no idea hunting was such an important part of conservation. To some degree, killing a few animals ends up helping many others.

The Hunt

Baxter agreed to take me out in late April for the second season of turkey hunting. I learned in hunter safety class that in order to be a safe and ethical hunter, you need strong marksmanship. Considering I’ve only fired a shotgun twice, I decide just to try the hunting experience without actively participating.

The night before the hunt, I’m already dreading it. I have to be up, dressed, and in Prairie City—which is roughly 30 minutes from Des Moines—by 5 a.m. Plus, I’m a little anxious. What if something goes wrong? What if another hunter mistakes me for a turkey and shoots? What if I come across a mountain lion? I took a shot of brandy to help me fall asleep, but it doesn’t do much to calm my nerves.

After a few restless hours of sleep, my alarm goes off and I drag myself out of bed. Since I don’t own any camo, I opt for an all-black ensemble instead. I get in my car and head east.

I meet up with Baxter in the parking lot of a gas station. We get in his car and head to a private, INHF-owned property about 10 minutes away. We grab our gear and start walking. He picks a spot, and starts to set up the blind—a large, tent-like contraption that helps to keep our movements hidden from the turkeys. When everything’s set up, we head inside the blind and wait.

At about 5:40 a.m. we hear our first gobble. Then another. Soon it feels like I’m surrounded by turkeys, but I can’t see a single one.

Baxter starts to communicate with them using a slate turkey call. He makes small movements on the call’s surface to imitate a female turkey’s yelp. We’re trying to lure the tom in, but so far he hasn’t taken the bait.

By 7 a.m., the turkeys have settled down a bit. They aren’t gobbling as much anymore.

After another hour, Baxter suggests we get up and walk around for a bit. I’m ready to get my blood pumping again and feel the sunshine on my frozen toes. We start walking down the hill. A hen hears us and flies up from her roost—she’s the only turkey we see all day.

After our walk, Baxter and I start packing up the chairs and the blind. I think he can sense I’ve had enough.

The Verdict

Sometimes I really miss meat. Cravings are usually limited to when I’ve had too much to drink or my boyfriend orders McDonald’s, but they still pop up every now and then.

Even though I have the occasional hankering, vegetarianism is just my way of life. And I don’t want to change it. Going hunting only reinforced my love for nature and animals. When I was out in the field, I loved hearing the turkeys gobble and seeing birds fly overhead. Why would I want to take one away?

Plus, being out with Baxter made me realize I couldn’t have taken a kill shot. I just don’t have it in me. Turkeys—and all animals for that matter—are too cool or cute for me to warrant killing them. I’m the type of girl who hesitates before killing a moth, so there’s no way I have shooting a real animal in me.

Instead of eating meat, I made other changes to improve my health, like tracking what I eat to ensure I get all of my nutrients and switching out pasta for protein-rich quinoa. And nearly a year later, I can say that it’s working. I feel much more in control of what my body needs.

And even though I decided to stick with veggie burgers, I will say that my perception of hunters has changed. After hanging out with guys like Dohmen and Baxter, I’ve realized that hunters are not bad people. Most of them are just looking to hang out with their friends, enjoy time in nature, and bring home dinner.

Looks like my hunter instructor and the Indians are right. I am a vegetarian. And I plan to keep it that way.