Now I build sculptures out of beaver pelts; deer, coyote, and fox hides; turkey feathers; and assorted skulls, combined with decaying household items. If there's any relationship between my art and traditional wildlife art or taxidermy, it's that mine is the opposite. While they're out to make dead animals look alive, I'm trying to capture their spirit. Even though sometimes it just looks like a pile of bones.

Meanwhile, my passion for hunting is back. Strip away all the intellectualization and what you have is a 43-year-old man sitting in the cold pre-dawn, a rifle in his lap, trying not to move or freeze to death. The allure of this is difficult to convey to someone who has never experienced the adrenaline rush that accompanies the first glimpse of an approaching animal that is unaware of your presence. There is a combination of light-headedness and intense concentration that puts you outside the normal time frame. You want it to be over yet hope it lasts forever. It's not better than sex, but it's right up there.

Of course, it's a totally different experience to kill dead a turkey at 20 yards than it is to wring a wounded bird's neck as he attempts to free himself, ripping at your arm with his spurs. But once you pull your trigger or release your arrow, you commit to an all-out effort to administer the deadly blow. There is no way to put any philosophical distance between yourself and the very basic fact that you are killing something.