The reason a man picks up a gun and enters the woods each fall will never be found in the number of birds bagged or discovered in the number of points on a Whitetail's rack.  After all the words and arguments and psychoanalytical discussions have been made, the truth about hunting remains the same: it is not so much a matter of blood, as it is a matter of soul.  And that, perhaps is the only reason any man would choose to hunt; because it is the sounds and silences of wild solitude where he can still touch that part of his soul that all men once had, but which most men long ago chose to abandon.