Photos in Bold: Hunting for Food, Shooting to Stay Grateful
Hunting For Food
Shooting to Stay Grateful
BY MASON BRAMADAT
Photography is an amazing tool for connecting with the natural environment. Yes, it’s distracting when your hiking partner stops every five minutes for a selfie, or when you’re asked to model for the ‘gram in all your sweaty glory. There’s certainly a time and place. But the viewfinder can also keep us grounded, refocusing our attention on the beauty of our surroundings.
I started taking photos on my iPhone when I was sixteen, to capture the amazing sights I came across while exploring Yukon Territory’s endless backcountry. I wanted to share the kaleidoscopic colours of the boreal forest and the immensity of Kluane National Park’s rugged mountains. To show these vast landscapes’ complexity within a single image, I carefully considered their details. I found myself tuning into the stability of ancient roots, the serenity of still tarns and the fluidity of talus slopes. Looking for compositions reminded me to pause, to cherish nature’s wonders.
This trick has proven itself to me time and time again in the backcountry, though nowhere as strongly as in hunting.
A windy boat ride into Dall’s sheep country at sunrise.
On the Traditional Territories of the Carcross/Tagish First Nation and the Champagne and Aishihik First Nations.
To my family, hunting is a very reverent practice. Every fall for over 30 years, my dad has gone into central Yukon’s expansive natural environment to get a moose. He floats down clear rivers with sweet water, tracing through thickly wooded hills over which sandhill cranes migrate. Wherever he walks, his bootprints mix with traces left by the area’s permanent residents, including beavers, black bears and wolves. He is grateful to be a guest in their wonderful home.
One moose nourishes our family of four for over a year, and the entire process, from buying bullets to roasting ribs, is done with respect and appreciation for the animal. For example, when Dad downs a moose, he takes a moment to thank it for giving its life. He carefully keeps the meat cold, dry and clean to ensure it doesn’t spoil before it reaches our freezer. Over the past few years, my sister and I have started hunting by his side, quietly learning his respect for nature and practicing the same duty of care.
Quietly learning from Dad’s 30+ years of moose hunting experience.
On the Traditional Territories of the First Nation of Na-Cho Nyak Dun, Selkirk First Nation and Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in First Nation.
I’ve now had the pleasure of experiencing seven hunts with family and friends, for both moose and Dall’s sheep. These animals live in very different landscapes and the experience of hunting them is worlds apart. For moose, you’ll likely find yourself trudging through muddy marshes in giant rubber boots, whereas you’ll probably end up scaling vertical boulder fields with a 60-pound pack to get a sheep. In both cases, you’ll be surrounded by some of the most beautiful scenery you’ve ever seen, determined to bring home the bacon.
Dad, like me, probably wished he had hooves.
On the Traditional Territories of the Carcross/Tagish First Nation and the Champagne and Aishihik First Nations.
Like with any meaningful pursuit, hunting can be overwhelming. After months in the gym doing split squats, weeks prepping gear and countless hours practicing shooting, it’s easy to put pressure on yourself once you’re out there. The healthy ambition that motivates you to step into your frozen boots before sunrise can sour into a feeling of stressful urgency if you become too concerned with getting an animal. Getting caught up in this way of thinking has caused me undue worry and frustration.
A smoky, moonlit first night at base camp.
On the Traditional Territory of the Champagne and Aishihik First Nations.
During my first moose hunt, I hyperventilated while lining up a shot, my crosshairs imitating a frightened rabbit. It wouldn’t have been ethical for me to pull the trigger then; I would’ve risked just wounding the animal. Two years ago, in pursuit of a distant herd of sheep, I hiked until sunset, then laid right down on the ground to sleep. In my ambition, away from base camp with insufficient gear, I got hypothermic and so tired that I could hardly walk the next morning. Just last summer, I rushed a sheep stalk, oblivious to the breeze blowing in its direction. It smelled us and made a beeline up the mountain, into impassable cliffs. After days in the backcountry, I knew I probably smelled bad, but that was just embarrassing!
Regaining our breath, and inner peace, after a blown stalk.
On the Traditional Territories of the Carcross/Tagish First Nation and the Champagne and Aishihik First Nations.
Most regrettably, getting caught up in the goal of a successful harvest undermines my appreciation for the natural wonders surrounding me. In these moments, I ignore the confident glow of golden autumn leaves, the wise expressions on weathered mountain faces or the soft tenacity of moss campion on alpine boulders. I forget how privileged I am just to be immersed in nature and my ability to meaningfully connect with it dissipates.
When I’ve been lost in this haste, photography has put me back on track. Guiding my lens through the scene, I refocus on the landscapes around me. The process of looking for shots holds me accountable, reminding me to smell autumn’s crisp air, feel the warmth of sunrise and listen to the wind’s music.
Soaking up the sun, eyes peeled for Dall’s sheep.
On the Traditional Territory of the Champagne and Aishihik First Nations.
My experience with hunting, as well as hiking, skiing, canoeing and a myriad of other outdoor activities, has shown me that photography is a grounding practice whenever you set an objective. A great reminder that the ultimate aim is not just the summit, a particular line or a personal best time. It’s also to deeply connect with the landscape. So whatever your outdoor adventure, if you find yourself overwhelmed by the goal, try picking up your camera.
Thank you for sharing. My grandfather was a hunter, and so is my uncle. I can hear echoes of their stories reflected in your piece. And I can definitely relate to using photography as a grounding practice and a way to connect with the surroundings.