The Hunter
Words and Images by Ryan Youngblood
My son,
In the dark of man, a fire burns. A truth. Its embers flare from Eden, indeed the line of man dwells within you. Around its flame sit stone, blade, and bullet like pen and paper. And upon your ribs the light shines, reflecting scrawls of man and beast. An exhaustive dance between two creations. Man calls it the hunt, yet to call it only as such would be as if to clean and quarter truth, leaving nothing but bones. And that which is true is always at risk of being lost. So my boy, paint upon your ribs and leave something behind, for I urge you to keep the truth and always shield the light.
Take in the beauty of nature, and let it in turn take in you. It’s alive. I have found that the bush provokes our thoughts and evokes questions. Don't look for answers to your questions, but rather questions to your questions. It's an irony of nature's counsel that gives returns far after you've left this place. And cradled within its arms are you and the beast. Like brothers. And like brothers, one leads the other. Every track you spot or piece of hair you find is not a result of your pursuit, rather it’s his guidance; taking you further away from your evolved self, relying only upon your senses. And now you’re ready. The hunt asks of you to become pure and that which you truly are. Like the snake that sheds his skin, he doesn’t become a new snake, he becomes that which he always was.
The beast senses your nearness. As you chase his death he chases his life, and somewhere in the middle becomes the crucible of the hunt. It's a test of wills. It's you against the beast, it's you against nature, and the most formidable of foes, it's you against you. This is his environment and with it he'll command the elements upon you. The rain his bullets, the sun his fire, the forest his shield, and a dry river to cotton your mouth. You, well all you have my boy is your gut. The pain will clench your bones, enticing your relent. The vultures know your plight and sit atop the leafless trees like death ornaments ready to fall, circle, and feast. You'll ask yourself, "Is he worth it?" Remember these moments, they remind you that becoming a man takes a lifetime, and it is good.
The day's crescendoing noise of the hunt quickly turns to silence. It's a treaty between man and beast. Neither cares for the other until the light breaks it again. The night is a thief of color. The green of the trees, the red of the dirt, everything vanishes so that you will turn your focus from below to above, from without to within. And in the evening, the silence is actually no silence at all. Absolute silence might make a man go insane, so nature offers you a song. The forest becomes a canvas for nature’s voice, filling the air with calm, with beauty, with terror; an insomnia within creation that plays out like a drama. The lion, with no truce, continues to hunt in the night. The hyenas like bandits shadow the lion in hopes for his crumbs and to reap from his sow. And the impala, at the center of wild’s crosshairs, looking to survive another night. All running across the land like actors upon a stage. The insects with their own language, a nighttime static that acts as a clock, with each waning sound revealing morning’s nearness. I hear it all and I grip to my own humanity and wonder what part I play. My son, it is in the night that I ponder existence, speaking to the heavens, letting the stars catch my thoughts and see if they send back the answers. And no matter the answers for now, because around you sit brothers lit by a fire. Like warriors from a tribe, you share stories of the day’s hunt and hopes of tomorrow. The night is the foundation of the hunt and a mystic place for man to talk. Every evening is different than the last and every lesson a new. Our soul cries out amongst the silence and joins nature’s voice.
When you draw your rifle, hold steady. As men we must always hold steady. Slow down time, command time. The moment will become yours and all of nature awaits. And as the beast falls, fall with him. Know the gift that was given to you and keep it within your heart. Let the good sorrow pass and know that the beast runs again, and so again you will follow.
Behind the Project
The Hunter is a philosophical and poetic approach to explore the innate desire in man to hunt. Tito West and myself spent 10 days in Zulu Land, South Africa hunting buffalo and in turn inspecting our own spirits and what drives us to hunt; to hunt in its most allegorical contexts.