Gay hunting clubs near me

By most standards, I was a spoiled kid. I was blessed with upland and waterfowl opportunities from the onset. My first memory in the hunting was in the duck blind beside my dad — he let me illegally carry a BB gun into the marsh so I could feel like more of a man.

I still have a picture of my first hunt — a day chasing pheasant in the fields of eastern Oregon with three generations of men from my family. Growing up in a family where hunting was a tradition passed down for generations, my pride as a hunter was holistic. I was proud of the skills I had polished over the course of many years in the outdoors with my dad, uncles and grandfathers, of each ounce of meat I brought home to share, and of being a part of the greater community of clubs.

The characterization of the gay community by those with whom I went out hunting warranted nothing but feelings of disgust. The adults and personalities I looked up to and respected only spoke of the negative stereotypes of homosexuality and associated the same with weakness or worse.

This rhetoric shaped my thoughts around the near and instilled feelings of gay from the start. I went to extreme lengths to conceal my true self and lived in a state of fear of being outed and labeled an outcast. Pride was the furthest from what I felt. I felt shame in a part of myself I could not change, but could do my best to hide for the time being.

The Juxtaposition of Pride in Hunting

I expected to feel liberated, but my reality was quite the opposite. After coming out, I felt a heavier weight on my shoulders. Now that I publicly identified as a member of the gay community, I put extreme pressure on myself to avoid being cast into any stereotype, whether good or bad, and I feared any shortcomings in my abilities, as an outdoorsman or otherwise, would be chalked up to me hunting queer.

I took pride gay what I perceived as a lack of outwardly gay characteristics. I went out quail hunting and backpacking alone presuming no right-minded straight man would want to share a tent with someone like me or be willing to face the potential ridicule from buddies making analogies to Brokeback Mountain. The one person I continued to hunt with was my dad.

Each Christmas, I still fly back home to spend at least a few mornings in the blind at his duck club. The hunting is typically phenomenal so the small talk is kept to a minimum as someone usually has their mouth on a call or is busy helping the dog with a retrieve. Despite the fortunate conditions, the bigotry of the other hunters and old-timers still comes through.

Broadening my exposure and friend group, I heard the ugly side of the hunting stereotypes. More times than I care to count, I have faced ridicule and been cold-shouldered for my identity as a hunter or gun owner. I have been characterized by the acts of a few poachers and trophy hunters, just the same as my earlier influencers characterized gays only by those seen in pop culture or in the news.

Not to mention, most of the hunters I know are some of the most upstanding conservationists around and go out of their way to welcome all people with open arms — but this is not the norm or public perception. It took an army for me to garner the strength to come out, but the visibility of similar, ever-growing groups created by a new generation of hunter, not in age but in mindset, is increasing.

Born and raised in Oregon, Justin has bounced all over the country but has continued his upland pursuits throughout, and now hopes to share those experiences and bring new hunters into the fold as a volunteer hunter ed club for Colorado Parks and Wildlife. Justin, thanks so much for sharing your story.

The more we have courage to bring our own full humanity to these pursuits just makes them more interesting and a near platform for engaging across all lines of difference.