Whenever people ask me what I do for a living, I generally know what's coming after my answer.
When I tell people that I write stories and take pictures for hunting and fishing magazines, their visible response varies on a spectrum from admiration to thinly covered disdain, but the unifying thread of the spectrum seems to be envy.
They almost always say, "Must be nice."
Well, as a matter of fact, it is nice.
Clearly we outdoor writers must think so, or else we would not suffer the job's starvation wages or the suspicion it inspires among our in-laws.
Read also: The Life of Chad Everett Harris
In the interest of full disclosure, I hope to elucidate the truth about outdoor writing in what follows.
With any luck, the truth will save from financial ruin all those who fear it, and inspire those who don't to bravely misspend the best years of their lives as I have unremorsefully done.
Many people dream of becoming an outdoor writer.
How Often Does an Outdoor Writer Actually Go Hunting?
First, let us tackle the question of how often an outdoor writer actually goes hunting.
During the 2007 calendar year I hunted 22 days.
Read also: "Married to Evil": Chad Graves
In truth it might be better to say 22 outings, because some of my "days" in the field lasted barely more than an hour.
Perhaps the average is three or four hours.
Hunting Statistics for 2007
- Waterfowl: Two days in Saskatchewan, four days here in Iowa; 20 ducks and 19 geese bagged. (Canadian limits are generous.)
- Pheasants: Five days in Iowa; six pheasants bagged.
- Quail: Two days in Georgia; 16 quail bagged.
- Turkeys: Two days in Iowa; one gobbler bagged.
- Deer: Seven days in Iowa; two deer bagged (one buck, one doe).
Except for the four days in Georgia and Canada, all hunts were unguided local affairs for which I obtained unpaid access and did my own scouting.
I hunted public land only five days last year.
Two revelations occur to me as I recount these numbers.
Read also: Vallow-Daybell Trial: Key Evidence
The first is that I had a pretty good year, and am deeply thankful.
The second is that my dogs only got out nine times.
That's something I need to change this year.
Many of you are probably stunned by these numbers, because you are suddenly realizing that you hunt considerably more often than some of us who "hunt for a living."
This fact should prove to the reader what writers already know, namely, that we do not hunt for a living, we write for a living.
In a year's time I'll shoot 60 critters and write 60,000 published words, comprising 40 to 50 articles.
The Financial Realities of Outdoor Writing
Next, how much does an outdoor writer get paid?
The answers vary widely.
I know one chap with the Midas touch who self-published a book that sold 10,000 copies at a net profit of $15 apiece in only two years' time.
That reminds me to extend my thanks to all 762 of you who purchased copies of my book over the past six years.
Only 2,238 copies of the First (and obviously last) Edition remain in the publisher's warehouse, so act fast.
Thanks to the royalty of $1.29 per copy, there is one more shotgun in my cabinet.
Clearly, my book writing falls under the tax category of Charitable Contributions.
Magazine articles (barely) pay the bills, producing about the same hourly remuneration that a starting kindergarten teacher might expect.
The above figures need some qualifying comments.
First, I am a half-time outdoor writer who works another part-time job.
Full-time outdoor writers (like "Shotgunner's Notebook" columnist Layne Simpson) hunt considerably more than I do, and perhaps more prosperously.
I've hunted with Layne several times and am in awe of both the acumen with which he handles a gun and the sheer amount of time he spends in the field.
Must be nice.
Second, I do at least as much fishing as hunting, and fishing time was not listed above.
The fly rod is as important to my life--and my bottom line--as the shotgun.
My dogs do like to fish, by the way.
Hunting Skills: The Author's Experience
Exactly how good are outdoor writers at hunting?
In order to avoid gossip and a vain attempt to quantify the unquantifiable, I will answer this question autobiographically.
On my trip to Saskatchewan I killed 32 ducks and geese with about 40 rounds of ammunition.
Two of these unfortunate birds fell to a single shot.
They were a pair of mallard drakes crossing over the decoys left-to-right, like a Station 4 high-house at skeet.
Due to the overwhelming abundance of birds, five of us were taking turns on the gun in a pea stubble field, and it was my turn.
I flipped the lid on my layout blind, rose to my buttocks, and dumped both birds with one blast from an old Beretta A390.
Then, back home in Iowa, I missed five consecutive straightaway pheasants in the same afternoon, killing only one and not surprising my daughters in the least.
My least debonair move of the entire season, however, was a complete miss on a standing whitetail doe at 35 yards--with a scoped muzzleloader.
Duck hunting is a popular activity for outdoor writers.
In other words, I suspect I'm about like you.
Biographies are made great by careful selection.
Freelance Outdoor Writer
The Reality Check: Entrepreneurship and Outdoor Writing
Finally, the following anecdote typifies the inflated glamour attributed to the outdoor writing life, and how it typically bursts upon contact with the truth.
One of my wife's coworkers is married to an instructor at a local business college.
Popular articles:
tags: #Chad
