Some so-called ‘sportsmen’ are trash-tossin’ lowlifes
I just got done collecting beer and pop cans – mostly beer –
that the litter-pigs tossed from their car and truck windows during
the winter along the rural lanes where I take my daily
My hike-route for years has covered three familiar miles’ worth of
roadside ditches. And just since the first snows covered the
landscape the first week of December – and didn’t go away basically
’till early March –172 cans had been, ahem, deposited.
They were a disgusting, unsightly blight on a picturebook northwest
Ohio countryside. And that’s not all. Before the snow flew, I had
collected another 115 cans in October and November. Think of that:
297 cans from three road-miles of ditches.
You can’t multiply out the universe from my experience, but there
must be millions of the damn things lying about across these United
States. When you think about all the wasted aluminum, it’s
criminal. It is tons more efficient, energy- and pollution-wise, to
recycle aluminum than make it in the first place.
It all makes a mockery of our teary, lump-in-your-throat embrace of
the familiar song, “America the Beautiful.” And I’m not even
talking about the fast-food trash, plastic bottles, glass beer
bottles, and more.
As anglers and hunters, we’re supposed to be on the front line of
conservation, of caring for the planet we live on. We like to break
our arms, patting ourselves on the back, about our stellar,
Then we leave cans, candy bar wrappers, plastic bags, unburied
toilet paper, and more in field and stream. Not to mention miles of
mindlessly discarded monofilament fishing line. These kinds of
throwaway messages do more to smear our image than is offset by all
the good we do. Too many segments of the public, especially the
squeaky crybabies who say we don’t belong out there anymore, try to
cast us as knuckle-dragging lowlifes. Well, some of us are.
(For more of this story, see the April 15 issue of Ohio Outdoor