3 Things I Want Anti-Hunters to Understand About Hunting & Fishing

I’m perched on the cool edge of southern Idaho’s Boise River on a hot August afternoon, at a rocky river spot I call Medicine Bank. Medicine Bank is named for the rich variety of medicinal summer plants I’ve found here on its shore: wild mint sun-warm to the touch on the water’s edge, St. John’s Wort glowing gold, and bright evening primrose opening and clasping shut in faithful rhythm with the light-play of each passing day. My husband Forrest stands beside me with our border heeler River. We’re after fish today.

“Fish on!” Forrest shouts into the silence. Before his voice can finish echoing across the valley, he reels in the rainbow trout du jour, a large mature fish with gorgeous markings.

This trout is our harvest, our “keeper”. We toast to our success with gratitude for the trout’s life, place him carefully on ice in our cooler, and spend some long hours fishing at that stony shore. We catch and release several smaller, less mature rainbows before heading homeward, gleefully quiet, sated by the river’s-edge memories and the promise of fresh-caught dinner.

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