Waterfowl hunting’s popularity soared while I attended college, with countless waterfowl hunters fueled by Duck Dynasty and social media welcoming the cold morning from a duck blind and snapping a few pictures. What began as an exciting way to share duck hunting adventures quickly morphed into an obsessive, dangerous game that prioritized all the wrong metrics.
I was not immune.
A group of buddies and I hunted every free morning, creating a camaraderie sports teams can only dream of. We usually brought home birds, often our limit. I managed a waterfowl hunting-focused social media profile, developing photography skills and a deeper understanding of social media, which led to significant platform growth. The profile featured gear tricks, hunting tips, and anything else that helped college-aged duck hunters be more successful in the field, but nothing performed as well as pile pics. Everyone loved images of the aftermath of a very successful hunt.
As my profile’s popularity grew, my identity became defined by my online waterfowl hunting persona. I dreamt about how well my next social media post would do and awoke obsessing about my next duck hunt. I existed to hunt ducks, really to kill as many ducks and geese as possible for the end-of-the-hunt pile pic so other waterfowlers would believe I was the real deal. If we failed to kill a bird, honestly, multiple birds, it meant the hunt was a failure; that I was a failure.
Waterfowl hunting was no longer about the thrill of the chase, enjoying time spent with my buddies in the blind, or experiencing the beauty of the created world. Shooting as many ducks as possible for giant piles and piling up likes on social media became my sole reason for the hunt. The game I once enjoyed began to erase my soul, little by little.
After playing this dangerous game for three seasons, it finally bested me, draining the joy from the hunt I once loved. I despised waking up on those cold mornings, so…I quit. I quit chasing ducks. I quit posting on social media for likes. Without duck hunting, I lost my identity.
Faced with two choices: forever give up on duck hunting or restart my identity, I chose to begin again, to recreate my identity. Older, wiser, and equipped with hard-won lessons, I eased back into duck hunting with a buddy and our kids. My focus was on them, not the kill, the likes, or social media popularity.
My joy returned after seeing their smiles and sharing the experiences, forsaking what the rest of the world thought about our hunt. I enjoyed the reemerging camaraderie, slowly restoring the soul of it all, piece by piece, hunt by hunt. Now, waterfowl hunting is once again about the thrill of the chase, enjoying time spent with good friends in the blind, and experiencing the beauty of the created world on a cold morning. The pictures snapped are taken only to preserve my memories, the metrics that matter most.
