So why DO you hunt? - General Hunter Discussion - Hunter Forums

I Hunt because I enjoy the teamwork that comes from taming a pet and being able to solo content others may not be able to. I too put a lot of thought into naming my pets and feel a strong connection with them. I feel bad for some who don't get as much action outside the Stable and try to rotate them from time to time.

I love the utility I bring to groups, being able to do many different things besides simply DPS. Yes, I check out the meters after a fight, but only to make sure I'm not doin something grossly wrong. Yes, I'm often at the top, but that's just an added bonus. I love that I can MD & execute a different pull, or pull a mob from traffic and CC it after a pull or CC multiple mobs at once or expertly kite adds while the boss goes down ETC.

See, we do a lot. I Hate hearing about how "easy" it is to play a Hunter. Yes, levelling can be faster. Sometimes we have our own personal tank to keep the mobs off us, who will even sacrifice his or her own life to allow us to escape a sticky situation (yes, I've done it!)

I like Hunting because it's rarely the same thing twice and I always have something to do, even if it's just Fishing up dinner.

Tad long and on the serious side but figured I'd share.

When I was young, very young, my biological parents moved to northern Canada for work. Inuvik in the Northwest Territories to be precise. At that time, Inuvik was a fly-in only destination and the road from the Airport to town was two miles, that was it for real roads aside from the 'ice highways' in the winter which lasted about 9-10 months. If any of you have watched that Iceroad trucker show that was pretty much what my father did. Though it's a long long time ago I recall travelling the ice highways and catching glimpses of arctic wolves. You didn't see them often, usually just a flash and they were gone but man they were something. Occasionally we'd stop late in the day or early morning and you could hear them howling in the distance. Was like a sad but defiant wail. Haunting sound. For that and much much more important reasons I fell in love with wolves. All you have to do is see how many I have stabled to figure that out.

When I was around three years old my folks were doing a run up the Mackenzie River ice highway to Richardson Island. It was a 28 hour round trip and mom would go to keep dad alert. Of course I went as well.

My father had done that run 100's of times but it was and still is a treacherous run. However on this particular trip he took a curve, either too fast or too hard and the rig lost control, careening off the highway, smashing over the banks and plunging into the wilderness. The rig flipped with a horrific groan of tearing metal and at that point I lost conciousness.

I woke to pain and pitch black, freezing and discombobulated only to find myself surrounded by glowing yellow eyes staring at me out of the blackness. I was terrified. Then, if possible, I became more terrified as one of the sets of eyes started moving towards me. I'm sure some of you can recall that type of terror from some incident when you were young.

No matter, even in my young mind I understood mortality and figured I was to perish.

As the eyes came closer the head of an enormous beautifully frightening black wolf head took shape. An incredible sight to see given that arctic wolves are typically white. At that time I of course didn't pay much attention to color. It came closer to me, I could feel its breath on my face. When I think back on it now I know I thought I was going to be eaten alive.

Instead the most incredible thing happened, this gigantic wolf started to nuzzle me and lick my face. The other wolves soon joined in, the big black obvioulsy the head of the pack. They surrounded me and enveloped me in their fur, preventing my freezing to death.

Then, the big black gently picked me up in his jaws by the back of my Bombastic Baby Bombadier jacket and carried me a fair distance, over a small rise and we came upon the remains of the rig; twisted, charred and smoldering, the steam rising into the bitter cold. The big black stood there, me dangling from its jaws for some time. Instinctively I knew my birthparents had not survived and the wolf was making me aware of their fate

It was the beginning of a new life. You see for three years I was to be raised by the wolves. The big black became my new father and I one of the pack.

In 1979 the Great Ptarmigan Wolf Wars erupted and my father brought all of the wolves into one pack to fight the bird scourge. However as with any war, eventually, no matter how great the opposing leader is, superior numbers will always prevail and at Gunkachee Point my father and most of my own pack were slaughterd in an avian ambush. To this day I recall in awe my father's bravery and incredible ferocity and leadership in the face of overwhelming odds. To the end he was incredible. One of the pack, wounded and dying grabbed me and ran. She dropped me in front of a trappers hut, let out a plaintive howl and limped back into the woods to pass from this world in solitary dignity.

The door opened. An old grizzled trapper who later I came to know simply as Uncle Ptarmigan Tooth Tom due to his prolific killing of Ptarmigans and keeping of their trophy teeth looked down upon me; his hard lined life worn weatherbeaten face breaking into an expression of sad kindness as he took me in to the cabin with its blazing fire and the safety it heralded.

I lack the eloquence to explain what all these events did to me but now many years later, after all are gone I play a hunter in World of Warcraft who runs with a beautiful black wolf to feel that kinship and remember my great adoped Father and Uncle and the things that might have been.