I'll start the thread since no one else wanted to. Though, I do know it has been discussed at length before.
Yes, hunters kill. And, killers kill.
My dad was a killer, my grandpa was a hunter.
My grandpa, the hunter, killed thousands upon thousands of more animals than did my dad.
But, between the two of them, the killer was Dad.
My father placed about as much sentiment into killing as he did for his family. He had no respect or heart for either one.
Conversely, my grandfather respected both man and nature.
Of the two, I consider myself to be of the hunter variety. My joy is in the pursuit of game... but, I do feel a wind of remorse when my bullet finds it's mark.
These are the last two paragraphs from an article on my grandpa from 1978:
"As for his trusty rifle, well suffice to say this modern-day 'Deerslayer' has more or less hung it up for good."
"I don't hunt any more," he says, simply. "When you get older, you see, well... it just seems like you begin to enjoy things more alive."
Shelton-Mason County Journal, Thursday March 23, 1978.