One of the greatest opening sentences in all that has been written about nature was published in 1949 in Aldo Leopold's A Sand County Almanac. "There are some who can live without wild things," Leopold wrote, "and some who cannot."

Leopold was one who could not, and his collection of lyrical essays tells why.

"We abuse land," he says, using the word 'land' in its broadest sense to mean 'nature,' "because we regard it as a commodity belonging to us. When we see (it) as a community to which we belong, we may begin to use it with love and respect. There is no other way for (it) to survive...." The book is still available in paperback (Ballantine Books, $10.99).

Leopold's words made me think of the paradox that is our neighbour, Lee Baldwin.

Lee is the farmer who sells us hay for our horses. To make ends meet, he works at a factory in Gananoque. He's a broad, powerfully built man who cares passionately for the wild.

He also hunts, and for years he's been trying to bring down Mr. Majestic, the great, aging buck who is so big, whose rack of antlers is so awesome, that hunters from all around have been trying for years bag him.

Lee spends his summers planning ways to outwit Mr. Majestic, but so far he has always failed. Mr. Majestic is now very old and white chested, so big that a next-door neighbour mistook him last year for a steer, until Mr. Majestic raised his head.

A young couple that we know saw him this fall, a week before hunting season opened. They were passing a neighbour's field at night, saw the glint of headlights on eyes, and turned the car to light the field.

A bevy of does immediately scattered, and a couple of young bucks dallied for a moment before bounding off. Mr. Majestic didn't budge. He merely looked at the car, lowered his head, scratched his nose on his shin, and then slowly sauntered into the woods. With hunting season still a few days away, he obviously saw no cause for alarm. But once the season opened, he disappeared.

Lee, however, figured he had finally hit on the way to get Mr. Majestic. He took up bow hunting, and practiced all fall. He thought Mr. Majestic would become unwary once the regular season closed, and bow hunting season continued.

On his final day of bow hunting, after perching in a tree all day waiting for a glimpse of Mr. Majestic, Lee gave up and climbed down. As he started to leave, he glanced to the end of the field.

"There was a big, dead tree down there on the ground," he said, "and I thought, 'I don't remember seeing that.' Then the tree raised its head and I thought, 'Oh, my God.' The rack of antlers just went on forever."

Mr. Majestic simply stared at Lee. He probably knew all day long that Lee was in the tree getting cramped and cold. He was too far away from Lee for a bow shot, and no doubt knew it. He kept on browsing, and then ambled into the forest.

Lee isn't sorry he missed getting Mr. Majestic for the fifth or sixth year running. "It would be a shame for someone to shoot him now," he says.

But that's what he said last year, and the year before. And the year before that. Yet he keeps on trying.

I think hunting Mr. Majestic may be Lee's way of expressing respect, just as one top track star longs to test another in the 100-metre hurdles.

So maybe there's not such a paradox after all. Maybe Aldo Leopold would approve. Maybe Lee wouldn't kill Mr. Majestic, even if, next year, he finally were to win the contest.