The things that represent the author’s trophies from a 2013 Texas hunt: three small sets of antlers and some turkey feathers on a Texas-shaped plaque. Photo courtesy of Steve Sorensen

Have you ever kept the antlers from a deer you shot? If you recovered a bullet while processing a deer, would you save it? Will you keep the beard and the spurs from the gobbler you shoot next month? Do you eat the meat you bring home? Your answers tell me — you’re a trophy hunter.

Ron Spomer posted the following words on Facebook on April 5: “Do you know that a hunting trophy can be anything to commemorate the hunt? Antlers, horns, claws, hides, feathers, a photograph, a rock from the location? That’s a trophy!” Spomer’s name might mean nothing to you, but I guarantee you’ve read his writing and liked it.

You’ve seen the debates over so-called “trophy hunting.” And always, someone will say, “It’s all about meat in the freezer,” as though nothing matters except what ends up on the dinner table. Someone else says, “You can’t eat the horns!” The debate is fruitless, so let’s take a step back. It’s not ALL about meat in the freezer. It’s about that–and everything else too.

A trophy has always been everything the hunter brought home. That was true before Europeans started settling Seneca Indian lands in western Pennsylvania and New York. It was true in 1830 when 17-year-old Arthur Young, a market hunter in McKean County, Pennsylvania, killed the buck that to this day is the oldest listing in any record book anywhere in the world.

It was true in 1967 when I killed my first buck, a puny 5-point, and his antlers fell off. And it has been true throughout the history of conservation hunting, right down to this day.

The use of the word trophy goes back more than a thousand years. In ancient Greece “tropaion” referred to the spoils or the prize of some conflict. We even have a saying, “to the victor go the spoils.” “Spoils” are what remains valuable after the conflict ends.

Historically in war, buildings and bridges and weaponry are destroyed, but land and treasure and people are captured. In sports, the spoils might be a shiny piece of hardware, or a tiny piece of string cut from a basketball net — worthless in itself, but a symbol of success. In a sense, “spoils” and “trophy” are synonymous.

Once, while hunting bears in Alaska, I found a fully intact set of moose antlers, 50″ wide. I didn’t get a bear, but those moose antlers came home to Pennsylvania as the trophy of an unsuccessful hunt. Every animal we harvest (and sometimes the remains we find) is a trophy.

How can that be true? Because in the end, it’s the hunt that counts, and everything about it. It’s not just the joyous days we spend in the woods looking for a buck with a bony crown on top of his head. It’s the total experience. It’s getting ready and sighting in. It’s cleaning the deer rifle and putting it away until next year. It’s the family gathering around the old round oak table with all the leaves in, eating with pride and joy.

Among critics of hunting (unfortunately some hunters too), few sentences are uttered more sanctimoniously than “I don’t believe in trophy hunting.” But the truth is we are all trophy hunters. When you legally harvest a squirrel, a rabbit, a pheasant, a turkey, a bear, an elk, a duck, a deer, or any other game animal, even a prowling predator such as a coyote–congratulations. In a real sense you’ve taken a trophy.

Theodore Roosevelt said, “Comparison is the thief of joy.” Apply that to hunting and it means the more we emphasize comparison of a single feature of the animal, the less joy we have. Why? Because comparison discourages gratitude and encourages coveting, and coveting robs us of joy. Mature hunters understand that we have more joy when we have less comparison, and that it costs nothing to be glad for someone else’s success. So, be happy for me. I’ll be happy for you.

And yes, the meat is a trophy too. The trophy is whatever is important to us, whatever brings memories back again and again. In every hunt we experience something unique, worth remembering, worth sharing. For all predators, including man, a trophy sustains physical life. For man, a trophy also sustains our spirits and gives us the opportunity for gratitude. It casts our glance both to the past and to the future. And the future offers your next trophy. Go get it.

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When “The Everyday Hunter” isn’t hunting, he’s thinking about hunting, talking about hunting, dreaming about hunting, writing about hunting, or wishing he were hunting. If you want to tell Steve exactly where your favorite hunting spot is, contact him through his website, www.EverydayHunter.com. He writes for top outdoor magazines, and won the 2015, 2018 and 2023 national “Pinnacle Award” for outdoor writing.