View from the Mountain

[Western Hunter]

Say Cheese?Why I hate smiling for field photos

When I first started hunting way back around 1980 (and was packing the old C110 pop-in film cameras), I always felt awkward smiling with dead stuff. At first, it might have been attributed to being a shy kid in front of the lens. I mean, just try and get a 13-year-old boy to smile at anythingâ¦

As I got older and graduated both school and into 35mm, turning that frown upside down didnât seem to get any easier. In that stage of my life (my twenties), I donât know if I thought I was just being a Clint Eastwood tough guy, or if I even knew why, but the thought of smiling with dead stuff just didnât seem to be working for me.

With the digital age, and little more maturity by then, I began to manage an ever-so-slight upturn of the olâ mustache, but still, it just didnât seem natural. However, at this point, I was in the hunting industry â as an Editor no less â and it sort of seemed mandatory. Looks that could be characterized as smiles began to sneak into my photos, though I could never profess to have the amazing sparkling white grill as my colleague, Randy Ulmer, whose amazing smile seems as large as his incredible trophies.

Now, as a 41-year-old, I absolutely treasure my field photos, perhaps more than the headgear adorned by the animals in them. However, posing for those photos – to this day – makes me feel as awkward as a teenager posing with a girl for a âfirst-dateâ photo being taken by an overzealous mother.

All joking aside, during a long cold night in a tent a couple months ago I got to thinking about why I was so averse to flashing a big cheesy grin. Was I abnormal? Was I just a big olâ toughie? Or a jerk?

The more I thought about it, the more I came to a realization. We all react differently to different events, and we donât all even react the same way each time.

Hunting is pretty darn important to me, and I have a deep respect for the game I pursue. I try to keep from getting âtoo spiritual and over the topâ about it, but hunting is a big part of who I am, and I know I wouldnât be a hunter by definition without this game to pursue and eventually to kill. But the killing to me has always simply been necessary to complete the process. I get no joy out of the act.

As such, the act of smiling after a kill just doesnât seem to work well for me. My mind often drifts to everything it took to get to that point âthe actions of the immediate days as well as the years of effort â and I think I have conflicting emotions right then that leave me silent. I feel gratitude for the luck; good fortune of my success; some sadness that his life has ended and that the chase is over. Itâs equal parts happiness, sadness, relief, and gratefulness.

I see that mature buck or bull as the ultimate friend/foe/adversary/prize, and for whatever reason, I just often feel that smiling isnât appropriate for me. Thatâs not in any way to say itâs inappropriate for someone else. Again, we all react differently to different events.

Iâll give you an analogy. When Iâm watching football, Iâve always had a lot more respect for the guy who, when he scores the touchdown, immediately turns and hands the ball to the ref rather than the guy who makes a spectacle of himself. Iâve always admired it when they simply act like itâs time to prepare for the next play rather than dancing a jig in front of their opponent.

All this isnât some motto I dreamed up to live by; itâs just the way I naturally react to the situation. So, when someone says, âWhy donât you smile more in your field photos?â, I guess youâll know why. I should reiterate that just because this is how I feel doesnât mean I expect everyone else to feel that way. Iâll also say that Iâm perfectly happy to see other people smile, and it doesnât ever strike me as odd or inappropriate at all.

Now, Iâll say this. There are exceptions to every rule, and I can think of two for me. First, when my children take their first deer, I have a feeling you wonât be able to wipe that smile off my face with 40-grit sandpaper. Second, Iâve hunted my entire life with the hope of taking a truly exceptional mule deer; not just a nice big buck, but something amazing, like a 200-inch typical or a 240-inch monster. If that day ever comes, I may just lose control of my faculties for a moment and bare those pearly whites. Or not; who the heck knows.

 

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