The Obnoxious Hunter: A Cautionary Tale

If you’ve been hunting long enough, you’ve probably run into one of these guys. On the surface, the obnoxious hunter seems like a solid guy—family man, clean-cut, talks a big game about everything from sports to hunting. Over time, you and your regular hunting buddies might decide to give him a shot at joining the “big hunting trip.” This is the trip you take time off work for, the one where you’ve honed a private, prime spot for the game you’re after. You know the area like the back of your hand—your secret spots, the gear, the food, the booze, and the gas needed. It’s where memories are made, stories are born, and your buddies will one day reminisce at your funeral about the epic times you shared.

Inviting a new guy into this sacred space is a big decision. It requires a group discussion, and everyone must agree. If the obnoxious hunter plays his cards right, he might, after much deliberation, get the green light to join.

But here’s where it goes south—sometimes as early as day one. You can spot the signs of an obnoxious hunter right away. Some show up with every gizmo known to man, hauling so much gear it’s a pain to load. Their stuff is brand-new, shiny, and clearly never field-tested, despite your explicit advice to “pack light.” The only thing they skimp on is the booze and food. Not every obnoxious hunter is the same, but their behavior always reveals itself early.

You can cut a newbie some slack if they don’t know how camp works, but that’s no excuse for dodging the grunt work—hauling gear, doing the heavy lifting—while the experienced guys set up shop. The real red flags start flying around the campfire that first night. If he’s lecturing you about hunting in an area he’s never been to—an area you’ve spent years mastering—that’s a dead giveaway. Worse yet, he might try to take charge, planning the morning hunt for everyone and insisting on using his fancy gizmos, acting like he’s the new camp leader.

Another warning sign? The phone-picture guy. If the obnoxious hunter is snapping too many photos and, heaven forbid, you’ve got cell service or Starlink, you might catch him sending pics to random friends or—worse—posting them on social media. That’s a problem. If you pull him aside and explain that this is a secret spot and photos are only for harvested animals, he might shape up temporarily. But after a few more of your beers or shots of rum, his phone addiction creeps back. He’s glued to the screen, chasing likes and broadcasting to the world that he’s finally been invited on a real hunting trip.

By day two or three, when the obnoxious hunter feels at home, you’ll hear the dreaded line: “I can’t wait for next year!” or “Man, I’m bringing Dad and so-and-so next year—they’re gonna love this place.” At that moment, restrain yourself, but resolve right then and there: this guy is never coming back. You’ve got to own this mistake. You vouched for him, sold him to your regular hunting buddies as a normal guy because it seemed like a good idea at the time. Soak in the embarrassment, put on a brave face, and don’t let your buddies bear the burden of dealing with him—that’s on you. Apologize to your crew in private.

When the trip’s over, shake the obnoxious hunter’s hand, flash a smile, and stay friends. But never, ever bring him back. In my experience, obnoxious hunters are unfixable. Heed my warning: if you don’t cut them loose and make the mistake of inviting them again, you might find yourself wondering why you’ve been replaced on your own big hunting trip.

Lyman Miller