![]() “These days it’s all about dog chews,” says antler buyer Don Schaufler. It’s a complicated business, made more so by the emotional reaction we all have when faced with a nice set of antlers. And like any lucrative enterprise, the antler market also has its dark side. Yet over the past few decades for a few dedicated enthusiasts, antler hunting has evolved from beer-money hobby to a thriving business. ![]() And if you’re an antler buyer cruising the auctions or advertising in the local Mini-Nickel, a big antler is maybe $10 or $15 worth of profit. At today’s (highly variable) prices, the biggest antler will flirt with a few hundred bucks. If you’re a shed hunter, if every spring you’re out combing the south-facing slopes for that glimpse of white and brown, they’re $13 or $14 a pound worth of gas in the truck. “Wish I’d seen this guy during hunting season.” But antlers are also a business. Every shed antler feels like a privileged glimpse behind the curtain. They’re also the end of a story that we may have only caught in glimpses, a flash through the trees, an illusion ducking over the horizon. They’re faint echoes of last fall’s hunt, proof that a given bull made it through the season, that he was zigging even while we were zagging. ![]() Photo Courtesy: Sarah Ingledue If you’re a dedicated sportsman, and if you’ve come out of hunting season with an empty freezer, shed antlers can be the runners’ up award: they’re a kind of participation trophy.
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