Michigan’s hunting culture is still loud in the fall – orange vests, camp stories, trucks on two-tracks – but a new report out of Northern Michigan says the actual number of hunters has quietly been shrinking for decades, and the slide is now hard to ignore.
In a segment for UpNorthLive, reporter Marc Schollett said the state’s hunting participation is down roughly 30% over the last 30 years, a trend he described as “not a good” one for Northern Michigan, especially when so much of the region’s outdoor economy and wildlife management system depends on people actually buying licenses, spending time in the woods, and staying invested in conservation.
Schollett’s reporting frames this as more than nostalgia or tradition. Fewer hunters can mean fewer dollars for wildlife programs, fewer people advocating for habitat, and a bigger political fight over who gets to shape the rules – because when one group shrinks, other voices tend to fill the space.
And that’s where his story goes next: some lawmakers and hunting advocates believe the problem isn’t just “kids these days,” or changing lifestyles, or weather, or deer numbers. They believe part of the decline is tied to how Michigan makes its wildlife decisions in the first place.
A Generational Tradition That’s Losing People
Schollett introduces State Rep. Parker Fairbairn as one of those “dedicated and long-standing Michigan hunters,” a guy who talks about hunting like it’s a family language.
Fairbairn says his family has been hunting in Northern Michigan for five generations, and he describes it as an all-season lifestyle – he, his brother, and his dad hunting “all year long for all sorts of different species,” not just showing up for a single weekend.
That’s what makes the larger trend feel personal. This isn’t a hobby that only exists on weekends. In a lot of towns, hunting is tied to family land, seasonal rhythms, and a whole local economy of gas stations, diners, sporting goods, guides, processors, and mom-and-pop shops.
But Schollett says this “army” of hunters is “dropping in ranks,” and he frames it as a noticeable shift: hundreds of thousands fewer hunters than a couple decades ago, which is the kind of drop you don’t hide behind a “bad year” excuse.
Fairbairn adds a detail that hits like a sign on the side of the road: Michigan used to draw out-of-state hunters from places like Ohio and Kentucky, people who would travel up to the Upper Peninsula to hunt deer, and he says you “do not see that anymore.”
That’s not just a stat. That’s a picture of fewer plates in camp, fewer motel rooms filled, fewer licenses sold, fewer small businesses getting their seasonal bump – and fewer people with skin in the game when policy debates get heated.
“Success” Is The Hook That Keeps People Coming Back
Schollett doesn’t pretend there’s one clean cause behind the decline. He calls reversing the trend “complex,” and that’s fair – hunting participation can be influenced by everything from demographics to land access to costs to social attitudes.
But in his report, one theme keeps resurfacing: hunter success. Not just whether people buy a license, but whether they feel they’re getting a real experience for their time and effort.
At TCH Gear in Interlochen, Schollett talks with owner Gary Jurkovich, who outfits hunters and anglers year-round and hears the same complaint over and over: the “numbers aren’t there anymore,” or they’re “smaller,” and people are frustrated.
Jurkovich’s point is blunt and practical. If you want young people to hunt, you first have to get them off screens, which is already a battle. But then you have to reward the effort, because nothing kills momentum like a miserable day where a kid sits cold and wet and sees nothing.
His quote lands because it’s so real it almost hurts: you get a youngster out there, they sit all day, they don’t see anything, and then you have to wonder how you’re going to convince them to do it again.
That’s the part of hunting nobody wants to sugarcoat. A kid doesn’t fall in love with a tradition just because adults say it matters. They fall in love because something happens—because they see deer, because they learn tracks, because they feel part of the woods, because the experience rewards their patience.
And Schollett’s report suggests that when that “success” isn’t happening as often, people stop trying, and the numbers slowly bleed out year after year.
Where Policy Enters The Conversation
This is where the story shifts from “hunter turnout” to “who’s running the show.”
Schollett explains that many in the hunting community see the Michigan Natural Resources Commission – the NRC – as a central lever in all of this, because it oversees policies regulating the taking of fish and game.
In the report, the NRC is described as a seven-member panel appointed by the governor for three-year terms. That structure matters. It’s not a local board elected by rural counties. It’s not a rotating committee of regional wildlife experts. It’s a governor-appointed commission, which means it lives in politics whether people want it to or not.
Fairbairn doesn’t accuse the NRC of being useless. In fact, he says it does “a very good job” for the most part. But he also suggests the process can be too insider-driven, saying he believes “political insiders” end up getting these positions, and he argues that’s not how it should work – especially for a commission that sets rules affecting the entire state.
Schollett ties that frustration to another concern: representation. Michigan isn’t one uniform landscape. The U.P. isn’t Metro Detroit. Northern forests aren’t farmland counties. Deer pressures, winters, predators, access issues, and local attitudes vary dramatically.
And when people feel policies don’t reflect those differences, they stop trusting the system, and a lack of trust has consequences – less engagement, less participation, and fewer new hunters willing to buy into a tradition that feels like it’s being managed by distant decision-makers.
The Push For Transparency And Regional Control
Schollett reports that Fairbairn is pushing reforms that aim to make the NRC more visible and, in his view, more accountable to regular people.
One of the most concrete steps he highlights is Fairbairn’s push for the NRC to livestream its monthly meetings. Fairbairn’s reasoning is simple: “We’re in the 21st century,” and people should have the ability to view these meetings online.
That might sound small, but it’s not. Public access changes behavior. When meetings are easy to watch, more people pay attention. When more people pay attention, decisions become harder to wave through with vague explanations. Transparency doesn’t fix every problem, but it reduces the sense that decisions are made behind closed doors for people who don’t live with the consequences.
Schollett says the commission agreed, and the next livestreamed meeting is scheduled for March 11.
Fairbairn also introduced bills aimed at creating a separate NRC for the Upper Peninsula, arguing that the U.P. has unique challenges that could be better addressed with a commission closer to the region.
Jurkovich supports the broader idea of regionality in decision-making. In Schollett’s telling, he argues the state should be “broken up into districts” so that policies can be shaped by local feedback – through hometown-style meetings where hunters and anglers can weigh in on rules designed for their terrain, their conditions, and their actual wildlife populations.
The logic behind that approach is easy to understand: the deer don’t live on statewide averages. Neither do hunters.
“Biology” Versus Everything Else
One of the most revealing moments in Schollett’s report is when Jurkovich says wildlife decisions should be based on “100% biology,” and that “special interests” and “social science” should keep their “hands off.”
That line carries a lot of weight, and it also shows how deep the frustration runs. When hunters talk like that, it usually means they feel decisions are being influenced by politics, public pressure, and competing priorities that don’t match what they see in the field.
To be clear, wildlife management is never only biology – because people live in these ecosystems, and public lands and private landowners, tourism, safety, and public opinion all shape what’s possible.
Even so, Jurkovich’s argument reflects a common belief in hunting communities: if the rules stop aligning with real-world conditions, participation collapses because people don’t want to spend their time and money on an experience that feels stacked against them.
Schollett doesn’t present this as a conspiracy theory. He presents it as a debate about governance: who gets the final word, how decisions are justified, and whether the system is flexible enough to handle a diverse state without treating it like one giant, uniform map.
What A 30% Decline Really Means For Michigan
Here’s the uncomfortable part that sits underneath Schollett’s story: a decline like this doesn’t just change deer season. It changes influence.
When fewer people hunt, fewer people show up to meetings. Fewer people call their lawmakers. Fewer people donate to conservation groups. Fewer young adults grow up seeing hunting as normal. And over time, that can shift the political center of gravity toward people who don’t hunt but still want a say in wildlife policy.
That’s not automatically “bad,” but it does change the conversation. Policies can become less about hunter recruitment and more about conflict avoidance. They can become more reactive, more cautious, and in some cases, more disconnected from the rural realities that hunting families are talking about.
There’s also a dollars-and-cents angle that’s hard to ignore. Hunting participation is tied to license revenue, and in many states, that revenue supports habitat work, enforcement, research, and broader conservation programs that benefit everyone, including non-hunters. If participation drops, funding pressure grows, and then policymakers have to make choices about who pays and what gets prioritized.
Schollett’s report doesn’t say Michigan is at a breaking point today, but it strongly suggests this is the kind of slow-motion trend that becomes a crisis if it’s ignored long enough.
A Hopeful Claim, And A Narrow Window
Despite the frustration, Schollett ends the report on something close to cautious optimism.
Fairbairn says he’s hopeful that within the next year or two, Michigan will see policies enacted that make the deer population “much more healthy” while also helping new hunters enjoy the outdoors again.
That’s the goal in one sentence: healthier wildlife and a better on-the-ground experience, especially for newcomers. It’s not about making everything easier. It’s about making it worth it again – worth the cold mornings, the time off work, the gear costs, the land access hassles, and the learning curve.
And if the NRC livestreams its meetings and the public actually watches, that alone may change the tone of the debate. Not because a livestream magically creates deer, but because visibility forces clarity, and clarity forces better arguments.
A Cultural Signal, Not Just A Participation Stat
Marc Schollett’s reporting for UpNorthLive treats Michigan’s 30% decline in hunters as a warning light, not a trivia fact.
It’s a signal that something is shifting – about recruitment, success in the field, trust in decision-making, and whether statewide policy tools like the Natural Resources Commission are built for the realities of a big, diverse state.
If the reforms being discussed lead to more transparency and more region-specific policy thinking, it could help rebuild confidence, which is the first step toward rebuilding participation.
But if the drop continues, the bigger risk isn’t just fewer hunters – it’s a future where fewer people feel connected to the outdoors in the first place, and wildlife policy becomes something done to communities rather than shaped with them.
Mark grew up in the heart of Texas, where tornadoes and extreme weather were a part of life. His early experiences sparked a fascination with emergency preparedness and homesteading. A father of three, Mark is dedicated to teaching families how to be self-sufficient, with a focus on food storage, DIY projects, and energy independence. His writing empowers everyday people to take small steps toward greater self-reliance without feeling overwhelmed.
