Friday, November 23, 2018

The Long Journey Home



I said my goodbyes, and was on the road now, still wearing all of my hunting gear, muddy boots and all. This wasn't how I had planned to leave, nor was it when I had planned to leave, but since we had decided to tear down camp, this was the new plan. I had originally planned to get up early on Monday morning and drive throughout the day, stopping only when I just couldn't go any further. I figured I would make it home mid-day on Tuesday, after driving fifteen or sixteen hours the first day and finishing the trip off on Tuesday morning. But, like I mentioned,things didn't pan out that way, and I am thankful for that in hindsight.

I wanted to make it to Gillette, Wyoming sometime throughout the night on Sunday night, or at least to Sheridan, but I seriously miscalculated how tired I was, and I barely made it to Billings. I was concerned about having to add a hotel stay to my trip home, because I really only budgeted for one hotel stay each way. Leaving on Sunday night, added a second stay and really started to stress me about my finances and it took me back to the feelings of anxiety I had when this trip first became a topic of conversation, earlier in year. Things were a little tight anyway, so doing what I do, I tried to find an alternative. I pulled into a truck stop and called Chance, so I could talk with him before he went to bed. He convinced me to just get a hotel room and get a good night's sleep, because the next day would be a long one. I sat there for an hour, doing the math, checking my bank account, and telling myself that sleeping in my truck would totally be okay. But eventually, I caved and went to the Holiday Inn. Good choice, as I quickly discovered that a warm shower after camping in the snow and hunting in the rain all weekend, made me a brand-new person. I slept hard that night.

Monday morning, I was up at 5 am and out the door. I hit the gas station for a cold coffee beverage and quickly made my way on down the road. After driving for a while, I realized that my GPS was taking me home a different way than I wanted to go. I was heading across southern Montana on Interstate 94, which would take me into South Dakota, just north of Spearfish. I wanted to go the same way I had come, which was on Interstate 90, which would take me through the Bighorns, and on around the very northeast corner of Wyoming. I thought maybe I would try to see Devil's Tower as I was passing through. So, I quickly looked for a way to cut down through the country and jump back on Interstate 90. I stopped and found a cut-through. It certainly looked simple enough, but this unexpected detour, scared the living shit right out of me.

I made the right hand turn off of the interstate and made my way on to a road called West Arrow Creek Road, then quickly turned onto East Arrow Creek Road, which just happened to be gravel. That should have been my first red flag. This was a twenty-two mile cut through the country, it wasn't quite daylight yet, and the houses became fewer and fewer as I drove. As it started to get light out, I was taken by the views, this was prime mule deer country and I was hopeful I would see a few. I did see mule deer, and I even had a pheasant fly right in front of me while I was filming a few muleys on the side of the road. That was just the coolest thing. After that, the rest of this detour pretty much went to hell in a hand-basket. As I drove, I noticed that the road was getting a little sketchy, and almost immediately, it felt as though I was driving on a sheet of ice. This is not what I was used to as far as gravel roads go, I grew up on a gravel road and I had driven on them all of my life. This was very different. It was wet but didn't really look muddy. Before I knew it, I was sweating bullets, had both hands tightly gripped on the wheel, I was sitting up in my seat, my shoulders, which hurt all of the time anyway, were tight and cramping, and I was desperately looking for any sign of human habitat, in case I crashed and burned. There was not a house or barn in site for the entire stretch of road, I was on my own, and with no cell signal. I had to keep my foot on the gas to keep from getting stuck, but I couldn't really push very hard because the ass end of my truck was sliding around, and I would be completely sideways in the road before I could take my foot off the pedal. I am dead serious when I say, out of this whole trip, even after driving up and down that damn snow-covered mountain, I was really scared. This went on for eight miles, EIGHT!! Once I got through the worst of it, and the road seemed a little more stable, I saw a sign that you would read if you were heading the other direction, that said something to the effect of "Caution: Road is slick when wet". I rolled down my window and kindly flipped the universal sign of "F*** YOU", to the sign, then I almost threw up.


Back on Interstate 90, I was feeling a little better, but I wasn't out of the woods just yet. I made my way into Wyoming, and down through the Bighorns, where I made the quick assessment that the weather was totally different than it was on the way out, four days earlier. It was snowy and slushy and extremely slick in places. I have driven in snow, again all of my driving life, I live in Indiana, so it wasn't new to me, but I wasn't close to home, I was high in elevation and I was once again feeling a little uneasy. I made it through, and after a few more hours on the road and with Chance's encouragement, I took a left on highway 14 at Moorcroft. I followed it north until I was prompted to turn onto highway 24, and on to Devil's Tower. This was a pretty cool sight. I stopped on the side of the road and put my phone on the hood of my truck, propped it up against one of my bags, and set the timer. There was no way I wasn't getting pictures in front of this amazing place. After a few takes, I hopped back in my truck and headed back toward the interstate. So now I have been to two National Parks on this trip, which are the first two ever. I was kind of getting the feel of why people love these places so much and I felt an immense sense of appreciation for those people who came before us, namely Theodore Roosevelt, U.S. Senator Peter Norbeck, South Dakota homesteader Ben Millard, Galen Clark and John Muir, for working tirelessly to protect the amazing places, all over our country, for all time.






I talked to Chance again and mentioned in passing that I had considered stopping at Mt. Rushmore as I made my way through western South Dakota. He strongly encouraged me to do it, because I was already out there, and I might as well see everything I have always wanted to see. I was stoked! I quickly changed my GPS, yet again, and I was headed to see one of my heroes, T.R. carved in the side of a mountain. I can't count how many times I stopped on the side of the road, as I was moving through the Black Hills, to take pictures and videos of deer grazing off in a random field. No matter how many deer I see, no matter where I am, I always proclaim "DEER"!! each and every time I see them, whether I have anyone to hear me or not. I do the same for turkeys, it's like an uncontrollable reflex. I love these animals and I love watching them so much, I just don't think it will ever get old.



I finally made it to Keystone, South Dakota, and due to the time of year it was, it was like a ghost town, and I was perfectly fine with that.  I headed up the mountain and finally got eyes on the incredible sight, of four men on a mountainside. It was surreal. Once inside the actual park, and after asking a super nice fella, who was mature in age and sweet as can be, to take my picture, I walked up to the viewing deck. There were maybe fifteen people there, and all but one was with a group of a few other people. I was standing next to the lady, who was probably in her late twenties, maybe, and once again asked for a photo of me standing in front of Mt. Rushmore, only closer this time. She obliged, and then told me that she was out that way with a friend, who attending a conference, so she was on her own seeing some things in the meantime. I, of course, told her about deer camp. I think I would have told every person there, if they would have listened, because I was still on such a high, it was hard to stay quiet, and no, it didn't matter if I knew the person or not. As I got into what deer camp was, and how it came about, her reaction was genuinely one of happiness. She told me that she was from Nebraska, and that she grew up around her dad hunting, and while she wasn't much of a hunter herself, she was blown away about what I was telling her. She actually welled up with tears when I told her about all of the women who were there, all of the stories that were told and just the overall feeling of pure joy that we each took with us, when we left those mountains. So, I guess I was really enthusiastic in my story telling, to make a complete stranger cry, while standing in front of Mt. Rushmore, on a Monday morning in September.

After standing a staring at the incredible carving for a few more minutes, I headed for the truck. To my surprise, as I approached the gift shop, there were people taking pictures of an empty park bench. When I looked closer, I saw 5 small mule deer standing behind the bench, eating grass and scared of no one. Damn right I asked a stranger to take my picture again! The people I asked, just happened to be from my home state of Indiana, so that was a nice surprise also. Back in the truck, and back on the road, with a feeling of appreciation, happiness, inspiration, love and yes, a fair amount of exhaustion. But I needed to keep moving.

The rest of the trip had little excitement, I spent the day driving through South Dakota, which I still believed to be a beautiful drive. And one thing I noticed, and this is a major thumbs up to the state of South Dakota and their highway department, every deer that I saw dead in the road on my way to Montana, was gone. Picked up, cleaned up, and out of sight. I really thought I would make my way out of the state before having to stop for my last hotel stay, but it didn't happen. I ended up stopping for the last sleep break, in Sioux Falls.

Up again on Tuesday morning, this time at 4 am, I was back on the road, and now, very eager to get home. Tuesday was all about keeping the hammer down, stopping for gas and drive-thru food, and nothing else. I made my way down to just north of Omaha Nebraska, and onto Interstate 80 East, through Iowa and then Illinois, to get my happy ass home, hopefully before dark. The last stop of my trip was forty minutes from my house, to see my dad. I hadn't told either of my parents that I was going to Montana. I didn't want them to worry, and I didn't want them to talk me out of it. I was so excited to tell my dad all about my trip, but it was going to be an abbreviated version for now, because I was one tired pup, so very close to my house, and I just wanted to get home.

I headed south to Danville, from Crawfordsville, and made my way down my driveway to find my dog looking through the living room window, wagging her tail. Home, safe and sound. Chance pulled in the driveway a few minutes later, and while he probably won't ever admit that he missed me, or that he was relieved I was home, it seemed to show in his face. Unpacking of the truck was swift, and I laughed the whole time, because there was mud on every single thing, I took out of it. More than that, the outside of my truck was covered in a serious amount of Montana mud, from that scary ass drive down East Arrow Creek Road, out in the middle of absolutely nowhere. I haven't washed my truck yet, and most of the mud is gone from the rain we've had, but every time I open my doors, I catch a bit of mud under my fingernails, and I just can't help but smile and cuss that Montana county road a little.

This trip, this experience, it was all more than I could have ever hoped for, and I do mean EVER. The women, the stories, the sights, the friendships, they will stay with me until the end of time. And while there will be more deer camps, and I will try to go, if I can save enough pennies, there will never be anything as special, as the first one. For that, I am forever grateful, and my heart will be forever full.



Tuesday, November 20, 2018

Deer Camp Part 2: The Stories a Wall Tent Tells


So, I made it to camp, I saw two familiar faces now, as Nicole had made it back to camp and greeted me with a huge hug and kind words, I was starting to feel a little more at ease. That didn't last long.

As Michelle and I were starting to construct her wall tent, the mountains began to howl. Lindsey and Anna helped us get the frame together, and the canvas pulled over the frame, which was a chore in itself. But as we started to get the tent staked down, we faced a challenge that quickly left me wondering what in the hell I had gotten myself into. The ground was fairly soft and with every five stakes Michelle had beat into the ground, one big gale wind would swoop through the campsite and not only pull the stakes from the muddy ground but lift the entire tent as if it were a flimsy paper receipt, blowing across a grocery store parking lot. I wrapped both arms around the metal frame and used my entire body, to hold the tent down. Lindsey and Anna came back to help and did the same with every gust of wind. We got to where we could hear the wind coming, yell out a warning of "here it comes" and all brace ourselves firmly on an overhead pole, hanging on with all we had until the wind passed us by. I distinctly remember Michelle saying "Man, I don't know about this" and that if we couldn't get these stakes in the ground, she was going to pack it up and say forget it. But she didn't quit. She ran around feverishly trying to get stakes through the rivet holes and finally after switching to the outside, and the wind giving us a short reprieve, the stakes held. We quickly started moving our gear in and placing the heaviest items on the flap of the bottom of the tent. Less wind was coming in, and the stakes were staying put. We had a tarp that covered the majority of the ground, but we quickly realized that we would be living in a mud pit for the remainder of weekend.

What I didn't realize, is that while we were frantically trying to get our tent together and prevent it from blowing half way across Montana, the larger wall tent that was constructed a day before, was also trying to leave where it was planted. We couldn't figure out why no one was coming to help us, as we were getting our asses kicked by the wind, and it was because everyone else was getting their asses kicked as well. The stakes of the bigger tent were pulling loose from the saturated ground, the snow was blowing, and I think, quite possibly, we all collectively, and maybe only for a split second, questioned if this was all going to work out. We fought through it, the wind had started to lay down for the evening, and everyone seemed to have the situation under control. At that moment, I took a deep breath, and thought to myself, "I can do this, WE can do this".

Once we had moved into our tent, got the stove set up and split some firewood (that was all Michelle), we went "next door" to the larger tent, which housed the food, some camp stoves, and is the place we would come to realize by the end of this weekend, was a place that laughter was frequent, tears were occasional, and truths were powerful. Oh, and I would be remiss if I didn't mention the fact that there were dogs. Yes, if anything was going to ease my anxiety, it was the four-legged, wet nosed, furry critters I love so much. You have no idea how happy I was to see the dogs. Everyone gathered in the big wall tent after coming back from the day's hunt, to give a report of where they went, what the saw, or didn't see, and to have something to eat before settling in for the night. It was a place that you could put yourself out there, you could share your successes and your failures, and all while being surrounded by a group of 17 other women (and five dogs) who didn't know each other, but somehow understood it all.

Friday night, I wasn't nearly as social as I wished to be, but in all seriousness, I was exhausted from the two-day drive, I was exhausted from the nervousness of what was to come, and I was exhausted from almost being blown half way over the mountain, with a wall tent parachute.

I sat off to the side of everyone else during our dinner of elk tacos, not really knowing who anyone was, or what to say to anyone. I just observed and listened to what everyone else had to say, just to get a feel for the group. I slowly made my way into the circle of camp chairs, occupied by the other ladies, and we went around the tent, and told our names, where we were from, and what kind of hunting experience we had. I dread these exercises, I mean DREAD THEM. I did my thing and listened intently as the conversation made its way around the circle. I quickly realized that these ladies were cool as shit. I was impressed with how nice everyone was, and I say that only because I don't hang out with women that often, so right, wrong or indifferent, I'm often leery. I wanted to visit more, and suss everyone out, but I literally couldn't keep my eyes open. I glanced around for Michelle, and noticed she had left the tent, so I slipped out, and back over to our tent, thinking she may need help getting the fire going or whatever else you do, when camping in a wall tent. This was all new to me after all, I usually sleep in a five-man tent during the summer months of July and August in sweltering Indiana humidity, not in blowing snow, in the mountains of Montana. I really didn't know what the hell I was doing. I basically just went in the tent a crawled into my sleeping bag, she crawled into hers a short while later and we settled in for what would become a very cold, sleepless night.

Morning came, and we had a plan to wait until daylight before setting out to a piece of Block Management property, about 40 minutes away. We got up and moving, both feeling a little groggy after getting next to no sleep. We made the major mistake of letting the fire in the stove go out, and we paid for it, it was a cold night. We got all of our gear on and joked about how nice the heater in the truck was going to feel on the way to our hunting spot. We headed down the mountain and after a short drive, we found the sign in box, filled out our cards, and headed to find a place to glass. We climbed up on a ridge to see if we could spot any deer. We never saw any deer while sitting up there, but I was in awe of everything else I was looking at. I couldn't believe that I was sitting in this place, looking for whitetail, with the most beautiful snow-covered mountains in the back drop. I just couldn't get my head wrapped around the fact that I was there. We didn't hang out there for too awful long, because we weren't seeing any deer, and there were some guys that came in behind us who were bird hunting with some dogs. We packed up and headed into town, where some of the other ladies were meeting at the local store, to plan out the afternoon.

After a short break, and chat with the others, I broke away from Michelle to go with another pair of hunters in our group, so she could get some work done. She edits and manages the podcast and social media for MeatEater, and the podcast was to come out on Monday, so some final edits were in order. I moved all of my gear into a fully equipped, off road racing truck, owned and driven by a pretty bad ass chick in her own right, Elise. Along with Elise, who has been a hunter for a couple of years, was a woman who was along as an observer, who had never hunted, but was intensely curious and wanted to experience the process to see if she wanted to pursue hunting further. I would later find out that Charissa had the ability to physically whip each and every one of our asses, as a black belt in Karate. Her sweet disposition and soft-spoken approach left me a little caught off guard when I found out this little tid-bit about her. We followed Nicole into a piece of public ground near a river bottom, to look for some whitetail. She wished us luck, and was off to herd cats elsewhere. There were orange clad hunters all around, as it seemed like we had picked some fairly popular spots to look at for notching our tags.

We moved into the thick timber and looked for some deer sign, showing Charissa what we were looking at and why it might matter. A few different hunters told us on their way out, that they had each caught a glance of a small doe, on the other side of the river. We decided to split up and find a place to sit, close enough we could see each other, but far enough away that we were hunting separately. I went off solo and watched the other side of the river, they stayed deeper in the timber looking the other direction. We sat for probably an hour and a half or so, I saw one small buck running like his life depended on it, while Charissa and Elise didn't see anything other than more hunters. We moved out and headed back to the truck. As we walked back to the truck, we saw five other hunters going the same direction. To say these woods were dealing with heavy hunting pressure, would be an understatement. We all squeezed into Elise's truck to drive back to camp, which wasn't easy with three people and no back seats, But I squeezed in the back anyway. Nicole met us a short way down the road and offered to let me ride with her. I gladly peeled myself out from behind the seat of the truck I was in, and we started back up to camp.

It was nice to have a moment to talk with Nicole one-on-one, because we had only known each other via Instagram, prior to meeting in person, the day before. She was everything I expected and more. Super easy to talk to, smart, and so genuine. I know I keep mentioning that it was hard to accept the fact that I was in this place, with these people whom I either didn't know at all, or simply followed on social media, and held in very high regard, but it was surreal. I came into this sincerely wanting to like these people, who I created in my mind, to be so great, and they for sure didn't disappoint. You always run the risk of meeting someone that you think is better than sliced bread, only to discover that they are complete assholes in person. Well, Michelle and Nicole WERE better than sliced bread, they were like sliced bread that was toasted, covered in marinara sauce, mozzarella and pepperoni. What I mean is, they were the best kind of bread, and they weren't assholes.


After we arrived back at camp, we put our things back in our tents, I took a necessary pee break, which happened to be a fairly easy feat since we had a small building with outhouse style facilities. Look, I'm not too good to pee in the woods, by any means, I do it regularly, but a toilet seat to sit on with four walls around it, was a welcome campsite feature. Nicole's mom, Colette had arrived at camp and brought a bunch of split firewood, which was such a blessing, because the wood Michelle had brought was really dense and hard to split, and I forgot to bring any at all. Again, Michelle was a machine, and was out in the snow the night before with a maul, trying to get all of her wood split, this girl can hold her own, no doubt. But we for sure were happy to load up on wood that was already split. This way, we could keep the stove hot and happy all night, which meant we would be warm and semi-comfortable while trying to get some much-needed sleep. We all made our way to the bigger wall tent, to enjoy antelope steaks that Michelle brought from her husband's recent harvest, and then we had some elk stew, from Lindsey's first ever elk harvest, which took place earlier this fall. We ate like queens, and what made the food so good was the fact that it was meat acquired by a hunter.

A few new faces were at camp Saturday night, and after the last group of ladies returned from their hunt, well after dark, we circled back up, and reintroduced ourselves and talked about what our "high" was from the day, and then what our "low" was, if we had one. I knew my answer as soon as the question was posed, and I had a sneaky suspicion, I would have to fight back the tears to get it out. My high, in very simple terms, was all of it, the entire experience, being in Montana, the journey out there by myself, hunting alongside these women who were total strangers, just twenty-four hours prior. It was all so much to take in, and I fought back tears and a lump in my throat as I tried to relay that to everyone in that tent that night. Lindsey saved me by interjecting about her joy in the fact that I had even made the trip, and that she was so happy I did, even though she didn't know me. The follow along on social media kept everyone abreast of my travels, and they thought that was fun to follow. Secretly I was posting on social media as a bread trail in case I got lost, people would at least know the last place i had been and when. Yep, I'm always thinking.


The conversation continued around the tent, and I was so excited to hear what each and every person had to say. The things people chose as their highs were so good, some hilarious even. If you could have only witnessed the story from Laura about her super sophisticated form of sign language, when spotting a mule deer buck. I have never laughed so hard, at listening to someone's story about hunting muleys and elk. Amiste, who drove from Michigan, had a moment as she closed in on a doe, when she realized how close she was to actually shooting a deer in Montana, it was cool that she was acknowledging
the whole experience, while it was happening.

But her low quickly reminded us, that even though we were all here, doing this amazing thing as strong women, we were in fact, still women. Amiste was grabbed by a stranger, in the small-town bar she went into, to use the restroom. This man obviously hadn't put much thought into his actions or why what he did was not okay. She was quickly reminded that she had just walked into a bar, alone, not even considering a situation like that could even take place. It did turn out harmless, but it was a little bit of a shock to the system and proves that society isn't really where it needs to be. It was a moment that certainly caused us to pause.

As we moved from person to person, I was started to truly feel connected to these women, it was a foreign feeling for me, but I felt excited for them to tell their stories, as each one was as unique as the person telling it. My favorite high of the day had to do with Anna, who is 12. While she spoke of how it was cool to actually be out looking for the animals for the first time, Nicole followed up with the news that Anna had decided that day, that she wanted to take Hunters Education! That was a high for everyone in that tent, that you can be sure.The stories of hunting with women for the first time and how incredibly empowering it was for different people, was so significant. For some women, this was their first ever rifle hunt. These women were out there, making decisions on where to go, how to go, and what they were going to do once they got there. Some had only hunted with their husbands, or boyfriends or guy friends, or they had simply hunted alone, prior to coming to this deer camp. This experience was new to most of us, but it was a welcomed change and enjoyable experience.

When we made the second loop around the tent, we talked about what started out as, where we fall on the "badass scale of hunting abilities" which very quickly transitioned into simply describing our favorite hunting experience, since becoming a hunter. I spoke of my successful mule deer hunt that had just taken place a month earlier in Wyoming, and of the morning I doubled up on my ten-point buck and doe combo, a few years back. Anna, who was sitting next to me, piped up and said that I was definitely the word she wasn't allowed to say. He mom, Lindsey, laughed and gave her permission to say the word, on this special occasion of deer camp, and while it took some encouraging to get the words out, she suddenly threw her hands in the air and yelled "You're a badass"!!!

The tent erupted with laughter and the conversation moved on down the line. The stories of people who haven't killed an animal yet, were as equally inspiring as the ones that ended with a harvest. Nicole had to remind us that we should feel good about the things we have accomplished, and that we need to feel that it's OK to brag on ourselves and be proud of each other, and to own our badassery. She's right, we suck at being proud of ourselves, and owning when we are successful at something. Amitse's story of hunting with her son and passing on the tradition was awesome. McKenzie's story of hunting elk with her dad, and the experience of spending time with him, even though it was not a successful hunt, as far as notching a tag, resonated with me, and how I feel about my own dad. Michelle's story about Alaska was insane and it came with lessons about deferring to others, whether we are aware we do it or not. I can't think of a more heartwarming story, than that of Sarah. She is amazing, and her story is one that makes you realize that the worst-case scenario we often have in our heads, could very well be the exact opposite of reality. Her story is one of family, acceptance and being a kick ass person who knows who she is and owns it. And Pap-Pap's gun...are you serious?! So cool.

By the time we wrapped up, it was after 11, and we still all needed to formulate a plan for the next morning's hunt. We quickly decided who was going where and with whom and dispersed to our respective sleeping quarters. Michelle had started a fire earlier in the evening and stoked it back up before we crawled into our sleeping bags. We didn't want to freeze like the previous night, so we agreed to get up and add wood as we happened to wake up throughout the night. We did, and we slept in a warm tent, which made for a huge difference in our motivation the next morning.

Up at 5 am, in the truck and on our way. We were going to get to the sign in box early, hopefully before anyone else, so we could set up in a great spot, for a chance at filling our whitetail doe tags. However, we arrived to find two other trucks already there. We signed in and made our way up to "the bench". There were about 50 deer feeding in the private field just on the other side of the public land we were on, and they didn't seem too interested in coming our way. Michelle and I stayed on the bench, which was basically a long narrow ridge that overlooked a a bit of land, that ran parallel with the river, to one side, or a large ag field to the other. Sarah and Charissa moved deeper into the property to see if they could catch some deer on the move in a drainage.

After sitting in the rain for about two hours, and watching deer steadily move deeper into private land, Michelle and I headed back to camp, to get her tent broke down, and get her packed up and on the road. There were some ladies back at camp already, as we were scheduled to have brunch around 11 am, before people started to leave camp to head home. So, we grabbed a couple of ladies to help us break down the wall tent and fold it up, before enjoying some amazing biscuits and bear sausage gravy. After a momentary panic attack due to me thinking I had lost my truck keys, I went ahead and packed all of my belongings back into my truck, as I planned on sleeping in it Sunday night vs. setting everything back up in the bigger wall tent. After brunch, we ended up making the decision to go ahead and break down the entire campsite, while we still had a good-sized group of people. We figured that those who would be left, being Nicole, myself, Sarah who is a Montana resident, and the two Michigan girls, Amiste and Courtney, would hunt in the evening, find a place to crash in our vehicles, and then potentially hunt again in the morning, if tags were left unfilled.

Just before starting to break down the large wall tent, that held so many memories and will always hold the stories told by these amazing women, we heard a vehicle pull up. Nicole went out to see if it was the Michigan girls and whether or not they were successful. Those of us still in the tent heard what can only be described as a squeal of utter joy. We knew that a tag had finally been filled and our camp wasn't going to be skunked! Courtney, who is one of the coolest, most low key, funny women I have had the pleasure of meeting, had tagged out. She got herself a doe and was beaming. Her hunting partner Amiste was beaming. What you must realize, is that we were ALL beaming, just as bright, FOR her. We all felt like this was a success story for all 18 of us, because we were all pulling so hard for each other. I have never witnessed a group of women hunt so hard, with so much enthusiasm, who would leave before dawn, hunt all day in rotten weather, only to return to camp well after dark. We would anxiously await the last group to come back each evening, holding our breath that they were coming back with a heavy load.

There were tears shed, at Courtney's success, and honestly, relief was felt in some manner by all of us, because let's be real, we know that there are people who would expect us to leave those mountains empty handed. There are those who still believe that women cannot perform in the wilderness at the same level as men, and sadly there are probably some who wanted us to fail, just as a finger wag and an "I told you so". Courtney had just put that to bed. 

Breaking down camp and finding a place to put everything was quite a chore. Once again, we all worked together, laughter ensued, of course we lamented about the fact that this was all coming to an end. If you have never been part of a full-blown deer camp, let me tell you, it is a LOT of work. You are in the mountains, you have to take everything that you are going to need, to survive from day to day. You have to take all of your hunting gear, which is a LOT of stuff. And you have to work together with the people you are camping with, which becomes a whole different ball game when you are all complete strangers. But we did it. We set it up, we soaked in every minute of it, we told our stories, we laughed, we cried (well, I cried), we tore it all back down, and we kicked ass every second of this weekend spent together.

By the time everything was packed away, and all of the trucks were loaded, we were losing daylight pretty fast. Much to my disappointment, I was once again behind the wheel of my own vehicle, which meant that I had to drive back down that damn mountain, on that snow-covered forest service road, that I was pretty certain I would die on, before ever making it to the bottom. Strangely, the drive down was pretty easy, that kind goes back to the lesson we all learned from Sarah on Saturday night, sometimes what we fear the most in our heads, actually turns out far better than expected. We made our way back to Jacob's Bench, where Sarah, Amiste and I broke off from everyone else and headed up the trail to squeeze the last bit of shooting light out of our Sunday. I stayed close to the truck, but Sarah and Amiste ventured much further into the property. I watched about forty to fifty whitetails, in the same field that I had watched them earlier in the day, and they still seemed to be pretty content on private land. I lost my light, couldn't see the deer anymore, and made my way back to my truck.  I stuck around for a bit, waiting to see if the girls would show up, but after touching base with Nicole, decided to head into the little town that was close by, to meet up with her, Courtney and Elise. I found my way to the bar, and happily sat down to order a cheeseburger and french fries. I felt like a grade A jerk for ditching Sarah and Amiste. I was worried about being out there by myself, with no cell service, and truthfully, I wasn't even sure how to get to town. I panicked, and I left. I regret that. 

I ate my burger while sitting in the bar, fully decked out in my hunting gear, muddy boots and all. I was still soaked from the morning sit in the rain, and I made the decision to start my long journey home. I knew that if I hunted in the morning, and if I had the fortune of shooting a deer, it would mean that it would make my departure time way later in the day, which would make me even more tired, and the drive home much more difficult. So, I was leaving, and I would drive as far as I could, before stopping for the night. It was hard to drive away, it was hard to come to terms that I didn't know if or when I would ever see these women again. But it was time to start my drive back to Indiana, and go back to life as I know it, which happens to be pretty alright. Just like that, I was off, leaving with memories I will hold onto forever, and leaving a little bit of myself in the Crazy Mountains of Montana.     

Saying goodbye to these women, after experiencing this weekend, in those mountains, in Montana, was really difficult. I don't think anyone really knew what to expect when we all showed up to camp. I don't know exactly how everyone felt throughout the course of the weekend, but I bet I have a pretty good idea. The stories that were told, were told with sincerity. The laughter that was loud and often, was hearty and real. The emotions felt while telling, and listening to, how this experience was so amazing and meaningful to each one of us, because it was so different from anything we had ever done, was moving and inspirational. These women hunted their asses off, these women are strong, capable, unique, fierce and the type of women that ALL people, not just other women, but men too, should aspire to be. These women are hunters. They are women who I will remember for the rest of my life, and if I'm lucky, they are the same women I will see next November, in Montana, back at deer camp.
                                                                                                                                                                                         











                                                                                                         
 

  

                   
.....that drive home though, it was something.

To be continued one more time.....

Photography credit: Lindsey Mulcare and yours truly, but the good ones are Lindsey's! 


                                                                           







 








Deer Camp Part 1: How Much Do You Know About This Lady?


It's a strange thing, the internet. You can use it to look up facts, you can look up directions for where you are going, you can shop, and you can make plans to drive 23 hours over two days, to meet up with roughly twenty women you only know from Instagram or Facebook, who all just happen to have rifles with them.

So, I did a thing, and if you follow along on social media, you know this, but posting pictures and a few words of admiration for the thing I did, along with these other women, cannot possibly express the meaning or the emotion that resulted from a few days in the Crazy Mountains of Montana. 

This crazy adventure started back in May, when I finally met Michelle (Jorgenson) Chandler in person, in Columbus Ohio while attending the MeatEater Live Podcast. Michelle and I were social media friends, mainly due to me being a hardcore follower of all things MeatEater, her being employed by MeatEater, and learning about Michelle through that, but eventually just finding that we had similar interests and we kind of realized we could be friends, all MeatEater things aside. Michelle mentioned that Nicole Qualtieri might be putting together a deer camp for women in Montana, and that I should think about going. I laughed, because that seemed like something that wasn't realistic for me, for a lot of reasons.







I had been to Wisconsin in May to turkey hunt at Doug Duren's farm, I knew I would be getting back from our Wyoming hunting trip only a month before this "camp" might happen, so the expense of a third trip really worried me. It was in Montana for crying out loud, I had never been on a trip that far from home by myself, and while it sounded like a dream trip, it was a little scary. I told Michelle that I would have to talk it over with Chance and see if we could make it happen, but inside, I was pretty certain that it wasn't going to be a reality. 
         
A few months later, I received an invite to a group page on Facebook from Nicole. At that moment, I got butterflies in my stomach. I was excited but hit with instant disappointment. Once again, I didn't see this trip as a reality, I didn't think there was any way I could swing this, nor did I think that I deserved it. I have been hunting for six years prior to this fall, I feel like there are times that I really know what I am doing, and there are times I feel like it's my first day out. I suppose I suffer from a bit of "Impostor Syndrome". I have people tell me that they think I am some kind of badass, because I'm a woman and I hunt by myself, and because I have had some successful hunts. But in my mind, I don't feel accomplished, I fear that people will think I am a fraud. Going to this deer camp in Montana would make me vulnerable to being "found out", they will discover that I don't know shit about shit, and it will be awful. I was hesitant to even bring the camp up to Chance again, as I had laughed it off when I mentioned it to him after meeting Michelle in May. But I mentioned it, jokingly, and Chance responded, "You're going aren't you"? My jaw dropped. I explained the expense was something I didn't think we could deal with and he came back with "We'll figure it out, you can't pass this up, it may never happen again". At that moment, I realized that I was going to Montana. The butterflies were back in my stomach.

Let the planning begin! I started looking at possible routes to Bozeman, I started looking at non-resident deer license prices, I bought a AAA membership, I started looking for a hotel to stay at, on my way out there, I was checking things off the list that Nicole had provided, of items we might think about bringing...for the love of Pete, my mind was going twenty different directions. On top of that, Chance and I were trying to get ready for our annual Mule Deer hunt in Wyoming. Which brings up a funny part of this whole story. Dan and Denise, our Wyoming friends and hosts, had concerns. They were worried about me driving to Montana, a twenty-three-hour drive, alone. Dan had the atlas out, looking at my possible drive and sharing concerns about not just the drive, but also the bears in Montana. Denise even offered to pick me up at the Denver airport if I would fly there from Indianapolis, and then give me one of their trucks to drive the rest of the way to Bozeman. And finally, Dan asked the all-important question "how much do you really know about this lady putting this thing on"? And oddly, I could only say "Well, I don't really 'know' her per se, I just know her from Instagram". His look said it all, he gave me the concerned parent look. I insisted all would be fine, I could make the drive, I felt pretty comfortable about the lady putting the deer camp on and yes, I was taking bear spray.

I started packing a few days before I was scheduled to start my drive. I now had two lists of suggestions of what to bring, but I was still freaking out. I was to leave on Thursday morning, my goal was to be pulling out of the driveway by 4 am. If you think for a second, I wasn't excited, you should know that I packed my truck on Tuesday night, two days before I was to leave. Yeah, I was ready.

The alarm sounded on Thursday morning at 3:15 am, I got up, I showered, took the dog out, I woke Chance up and half-jokingly told him that if I was eaten by a bear, he needed to know that I loved him. Then I was out the door. This was the day I didn't think would be possible, this is the day I ventured out to head west, to drive 16 hours, to my first destination, Spearfish, South Dakota. And let me just say, South Dakota was beautiful. The only downside to the state that I can think of, was that I think I saw about 50 dead deer along the interstate, as I was driving through. I decided while approaching the west side of the state that maybe I would swing through the Badlands National Park.
I had made good time to that point, I had never been to a National Park in all of my 42 years, so why not? I hit the exit and committed.

As I entered the Park, I didn't even know what I would be looking at. I knew nothing about it other than what I had learned via documentaries on Amazon and Netflix. It didn't take long to discover what all the fuss was about. I was in awe, it was beautiful, and the light was perfect, as it was late in the day. I asked a nice young couple to take my picture, as I think we were three of the maybe five people in the whole park. They obliged, and I snapped a few of them in return. It was cold, and I wasn't exactly dressed for the weather, so I took a few more pictures and hopped back in my truck to keep rolling through the park. As I started to move on through the park, it started to get dark. I did get to see a Mule Deer buck chasing three does, right at dusk, and I warned the girls that he was up to no good. Shortly after my words of advice to the ladies, it was not just dark, but it was DARK dark, and I hadn't even made it a third of the way through the park, which really sucked because I missed a lot, but it was time to get the hell out of there. There was one other vehicle in the park, but I still had twenty-two miles to go to exit and I was feeling a little anxious. I made it out, I type this while laughing inside, because it's not like I was going to be trapped in there and eaten by Big Horn Sheep or anything, but let's remember, I was alone. Now I just had 106 miles to go to get to my hotel and a nap.


Friday morning, I started out around 5 am, in the dark, once again. I swung down through the northeast corner of Wyoming, following Interstate 90 through Gillette, and then up through Sheridan.  It was then that day started to break, and I caught my very first view of the mountains. I don't know where I really was, but there were mountains, and they had snow on them, and they were the biggest things I had ever seen. I really don't know what happened or where the emotion came from, but I was overwhelmed. I felt inspired, I felt joy, I felt strong, I felt independent and I felt some sense of redemption. I don't need to dive deep into this, but I spent eleven years in a marriage riddled with domestic violence. I had my ass handed to me regularly, I also took a verbal beating almost daily, but somehow, I made it out. It took me a long time to do it, but I survived, and I had to somehow get my life back. In a situation like that, the abuser leaves the abused feeling like dirt, worthless, insecure, with zero self-confidence or self-worth. It has been almost 8 years since I walked out of that house, and only in the last year, have I felt like I am returning to be the person I was once was, but very different at the same time. Different in that I am stronger because of the situation, different in that I am quicker to take chances now, and do things I would have never imagined myself doing prior, because I suppose I feel like I lost so many years that should have been the most exciting years of my life, and I can't afford to lose any more. So, in that moment, I felt like I had made it, I had survived and I was going to do some amazing things with the rest of my life. Damnit, I was in the midst of something amazing, right then and there.

I should mention that I made a phone call after I pulled myself together. It would be ridiculous to leave one very important factor out of this whole situation, and that is Chance. When we started dating a little over 6 years ago, he mentioned to me that I should learn how to hunt. I thought he was crazy, I had no desire to do so and yet, he persisted. Many have heard the story, so I'll keep this simple. He took me, I was intrigued, I became determined, and then pissed, and then frustrated, and then I killed my first deer, all in a matter of 6 weeks. I was a hunter. If Chance hadn't encouraged me, if he hadn't taught me (although through a very tough love method), I would have never found this passion that has changed my life. If he hadn't have encouraged me to hunt, I never would have experienced some of the most amazing moments of my life. And if he hadn't have encouraged me to hunt, just seven hunting seasons ago, I wouldn't be on the road to a deer camp in Montana, that would again, change my life. I called him and went from speaking in an intelligible fashion while thanking him for making all of this possible, to sobbing and then him telling me to get off the phone and pay attention to the road before I crashed. Funny side-story that hilariously ties to this whole bigger story about going to meet people whom I really don't know, is that Chance and I....we met online.

After hitting Billings, I shot out a text to yet another stranger. I had made plans to meet another Instagram friend whom I didn't really know, for lunch before heading to deer camp. This was going to be my litmus test, was I really going to put myself out there with a complete stranger? I have issues committing to lunch or ANY type of plans with my real-life friends for crying out loud. But it's not like I was going to turn around and head home, I was half way across the country, I was most definitely committed, no doubt. I met Jenn at Sportsman's Warehouse and we greeted each other with a big smile and a hug. Ok, this isn't so bad, she is as nice as I had hoped and super down to Earth. Perfect. We talked hunting over lunch at BW3's, and we laughed about how her husband felt weird about her meeting a "stranger" from the internet for lunch. I am so glad we had lunch, and I am so glad that I have a new friend in Montana. Now, if everyone at Deer Camp hates me, at least I came away with one win, right? Lunch went great and we probably could have talked for hours. We completely forgot to get a picture of the two of us, you know, to prove to our other halves that we each existed, so we had to meet back up a few blocks away from where we had lunch, in the Walmart parking lot, to snap a selfie.

I left Bozeman and followed Nicole's (and Jenn's) advice by taking the "scenic route" out highway 86, so I could get the full Montana experience as I headed toward the Crazy Mountains where camp was set up. It started a rainy/snowy mix not long after I let town and almost immediately, I lost cell service. Unfortunately, I forgot to download my maps on my onX Hunt app, so I had to go off of memory and the occasional forest service sign to find camp. Nicole had mentioned to me on Thursday afternoon, on a phone call that the roads up to camp were in great shape. After driving up the mountain in a slushy snow and mud, I considered having a serious conversation with her about what her definition of "great shape" was, and how my definition differed. I have to admit though, the scenery was stunning.



I grew concerned as I pulled into camp as there was one wall tent and one truck, but I didn't see any people. I pulled up behind the truck, nervous because I couldn't have called anyone had I wanted to, and I thought for a moment I was lost. Then a girl got out of the truck and smiled. I rolled down my window, and like a dork, said "Am I in the right place"? Jesus Cindy, how does this girl even know where you're supposed to be. Awkward moment number one, out of the way. She assured me I was, she introduced herself as Lauren and told me everyone was still out hunting. She told me she was sitting in her truck as to not burn through all the firewood in the tent while everyone was gone. I told her I'd stay in my truck too, to decompress from the drive for a bit. After a while we got out and went into the tent to start a fire in the stove. Another lady, Lindsey, and her daughter Anna, showed up soon after and activity picked up steadily after that. I heard a truck pull up and it was Michelle!! A friendly face made me take a deep sigh of relief. I don't know why, I have talked to her all of about 10 minutes EVER, but she made me feel at ease. We hugged, said we were happy to see each other and jumped right in to setting up her wall tent. Good God, that wall tent.

                                

                                                          TO BE CONTINUED.........................














Thursday, November 8, 2018

Wyoming, Once Again.






Wyoming, Once Again.

You can smell it as soon as you open the truck door. The sagebrush is everywhere and it’s a smell that tickles my nose and energizes my senses. This smell is commonplace to westerners, but for me it symbolizes something special, something that I wait an entire year for, it’s like a drug that clears my mind and makes me feel like I belong in this place, not just for a single week out of a long year, but for all time. Wyoming calls to me, it’s always there in the back of my mind, flashing images of the antelope laden grassland, the winding North Platte River, the rocky bluffs, the deep drainages and yes, the sagebrush.

Chance and I arrived in southeast Wyoming on Friday evening to the warm welcome of our dear friends Dan and Denise. Dan has known Chance since Chance was a wee little boy, and offered up their home about four years ago, in case we ever decided we wanted to give “western hunting” a go. They had moved to their Wyoming cattle ranch from Indiana and told us that we would fit in just fine out there based on how much we loved the outdoors and hunting lifestyle. The very next winter we were putting in for tags.


We had each found success with mule deer, Chance both years we have tried, and I got my first muley last year. This year Chance decided to put in for an Antelope tag and was successful. It was for a unit encompassed by our original mule deer unit, so it was going to be convenient as far as logistics were concerned. But we felt a fair amount of pressure knowing that we had 5 days to fill three tags. It seems that I am usually left hunting on the last day, right up to the last minute, trying to fill my tag. It’s a bitter feeling driving fifteen and a half hours back to Indiana with nothing to show for the expenditure of the non-resident tag, I really didn’t want to experience those feelings again.

We fine tuned our rifles on Saturday, and let me tell you, I wasn’t feeling too confident at 300 yards, I am never even comfortable at 300 yards. I think that we all must find a distance that works for us individually, and my “feel good” range is right around the 200-yard mark. I have a full understanding that my .270 caliber rifle is good far beyond that, but for me, I like things a little more personal when it comes down to me and the animal. So, after our typical bickering session we have when it comes to sighting in our guns, we finally called it good, and honestly hoped for the best as far as my shooting was concerned.



After sighting in the guns, we made our way up onto one of the three buttes that our hosts are blessed to have, basically in their backyard, so we could take in the sunset, the views of the countryside, and see if we couldn’t glass up a coyote. We never laid eyes on the coyote that had been "finding its way too close to the house", according to Dan, but we did find a bachelor group of mule deer that have been passing through the ranch periodically, especially during the later summer months. Dan and Denise both told us that if we wanted to shoot the two large bucks that were hanging around about every third day, we were welcomed to do so. After seeing them on Saturday evening, we were left stunned at their size and just their presence. However, we didn’t have to say a word to each other, we each already had our reasons for our individual desire to go elsewhere for our mule deer, despite was was on the ranch this year.

Chance knew that Tim, a neighbor and close friend to Dan and Denise, had been watching those deer and had even been out with his bow, hoping to have a shot at one of them. Tim has given us pointers the last few years on where some good public land was located, and this year, where to go and what to look for, for Chance’s attempt at his first antelope. Chance liked the idea of venturing out and exploring as well, but essentially left the monster bucks, out of respect for Tim. My reasons were a little different. While I also have respect for Tim and his pursuit of one of these two massive deer, I already had it in my mind that public land was the only option for me, when in Wyoming.

For me, there is a certain appreciation for the “suck” that comes with hiking eight or ten miles a day, through rough rocky terrain littered with sage, yucca and cactus, while trying to locate a deer, that you may or not ever even get a shot at. I love the possibility of what could be just on the other side of the next ridge. The silence of daybreak is almost loud in the way that you are listening so hard but hearing absolutely nothing. You can almost hear the static of white noise. It takes a morning or two to relax and settle in to the exquisite quietness of these lands that all of us own, but so very few will ever step foot on. We live around 840 feet above sea level back home in Indiana, we hunt, hike and climb in an area of Wyoming that is roughly 4,800 feet above sea level. While that may seem minor to the mountain dwellers, I am most certainly a flat lander and part of the “suck” I mentioned previously, is when you are gasping for air, and feel your heartbeat in your head as you are pulling that loaded game cart up the monster hill, on the way back to the truck. You feel like you are going to die, and you question why in the hell you do this every fall, knowing that you are going to suffer great discomfort. But you do it because those public lands keep calling you back, they make you believe that anything is possible, they mesmerize you with their beauty, they hold on to you with their mystery. Some people think I’m crazy for passing up an opportunity at a buck of a lifetime, right there, just waiting for me on our hosts ranch, but I say you’d be crazy to pass up the sights, smells and “suck” of hunting on public land. 

By Sunday we finally felt somewhat recovered from Friday’s long drive, so we ventured out to that public land that Tim told us might be good for some decent antelope bucks. He wasn’t lying, there was a group of about 20 does and two or three bucks or various sizes. There was one however, that got our attention, he was a larger black faced buck that looked to be the leader of the group. It was a quick scouting trip, once Chance saw that buck, he had made up his mind, which is great if the buck is still there when we went back, but a gamble at the same time because that buck could very well take his ladies and split. We headed back to the ranch after driving around taking in some gorgeous views, so we could get all our gear ready to go for the next morning’s mule deer hunt.

Monday morning came fast, and Chance notching his muley tag happened just as quick. We ventured down into the abyss of this piece of public land that we have hunted the last two Octobers, with the excitement of what could be, but the dread of returning to the truck with an extremely heavy game cart behind us. Yes, that is the “suck” that we have a love/hate relationship with but makes for great stories. There was a thick fog hanging over the entire country side and as we reached our separate spots that we had previously chosen to start our day, we quickly realized that we wouldn’t be seeing anything, anytime soon. We sat about an hour and a half with very little visibility, but when the fog started to burn off, it was gone almost instantly. Chance was on the move, deeper into the piece of land we were on, and I had also decided to get up and climb the ridge behind me and work my way around to the back of the property. Within 10 minutes of hiking, a shot rang out. I sent Chance a text, hoping I had a signal, and he responded that he had filled his tag. It took quite a while, but I finally located him and his muley, and we started the process of getting his deer out. I didn’t see the first buck on Monday, but was wishing I had a doe tag, as I would have most likely tagged out as well. But that wasn’t the case, I had the option of either a Mule Deer buck, or any Whitetail. So, my muley hunt would continue.

We made a serious mistake of not having any extra water with us, other than what was in my Yeti rambler, and Chance drank that when he returned with the game cart. We completely forgot to throw a few bottles in the truck before leaving the ranch that morning. We paid dearly for that mistake. The elevation is tough for us, and it’s not exactly something you can train for in central Indiana, so being dehydrated, was adding insult to injury. By the time we had climbed the final hill to get back to the truck, I was nauseous, Chance was cramping up and we still had a 25-minute drive to the closest gas station. Some mistakes teach you hard lessons, that one taught us enough that we will never make it again.  We found time to laugh about the fact that we were getting older and this process wasn’t going to get any easier down the road, but we were too stubborn to not come back again.

After an eventful Monday, we set out again on Tuesday morning, before dawn to the walk-in area that we had scouted on Sunday, and where the antelope was spotted in all his glory. The sunrise was epic, Chance even stopped on a county road to get out and take a picture, and that NEVER happens, because when it’s time to hunt, it’s GO TIME! We were seeing mule deer all around as we got closer to the area we were going to hunt that morning. No bucks were sighted, but we figured that where there were does, there would most likely be bucks nearby. So, Chance was focused on antelope and I was focused on getting my muley. Wouldn’t you know it, as we drove past the grassy field, the same antelope were standing in almost the same spot, as two days before. We couldn’t believe it. We drove on down the road about 500 yards and parked the truck in what looked like a spot you would park, if you were going to walk in to this hunting area. Being out-of-towners, I always feel a little apprehensive as we walk away from the truck, as it sits on the side of a road, in a ditch. We crested a small rolling hill and almost instantly, there was an antelope squawking at us. I thought we were toast. But then, the unthinkable happened. The entire herd of antelope walked right toward the lone doe that was causing a ruckus, and when they did, the black-faced buck that Chance had his heart set on, led the pack and stopped in a broadside position. I told Chance that his buck was coming, and he was trying to find the buck in his scope, but he was getting hung up in cactus as he was trying to get down into the prone position. Once he was down and ready, his knee firmly planted in the most vicious cactus we had ever seen, he found his target, he squeezed the trigger. I looked on through my binos, and his buck took about three steps, stumbled, and fell to the ground. Chance looked back at me in disbelief. It was over. He had taken his very first antelope, on his very first attempt. It took all of five minutes. He was a little overcome with emotion and even teared up. He had the shakes and said that it felt like the first time he took his first whitetail buck. His reaction was one of relief, and genuine gratitude. We approached and admired the buck, then I headed back to the truck to get the game cart, while Chance field dressed his animal.

  


Once again, I knew I was going to be delayed in my own hunt, because I knew how important it would be to get Chance’s antelope cooled down and back to the ranch. So, we loaded up, and drove the 45-minute trip back to get his antelope hung, and packed with ice, and I also made a wardrobe change due to the warm temperatures. We set back out, me now in my lucky old Wrangler jeans, a t-shirt and fittingly, my public land owner hoodie, to see if I couldn’t maybe notch my tag as well. There wasn’t a lot of pressure, but once again, Chance was done before me, and if this was anything like the two previous years, I was going to take it to the last hour of the last day. Nobody wanted that, believe me.

We went right back to that same area where we just loaded up Chance’s antelope, parked in the same spot, and started back the same edge of the county road, along the walk-in area. We got out of the truck and the wind was blowing right in our faces. It was a soft, comfortable breeze, but it was strong with the scent of sage brush. That familiar smell that made me feel like I was free and more than that, made me feel like I was home. We walked in about two miles and Chance stopped me and said he spotted a doe. We looked closer and realized that there was also a buck bedded down, and it never noticed us. Or if it did, it didn’t seem to care. We ranged the deer and it was a little over 300 yards. My .270 rifle would easily handle that, and I had even sighted it in to that yardage, but I knew that I wasn’t comfortable or confident shooting at that distance. My mind drifted back to Saturday and the uneasy feeling I had as I walked away from the paper targets. I knew I needed to be close to 200 yards to feel good about my shot. I feel it’s important that if we set realistic goals for ourselves, and we have a plan with good reasoning, we shouldn’t abandon that plan due to a little excitement of any given situation. So, I was firm with Chance that this wasn’t the shot I wanted to take. We backtracked about 40 yards and ducked into the field behind the slightest rolling hill and slowly raised up to get the buck in our sights again. We found him quickly, he was still bedded with zero cares in the world. Distance was just under 260 yards.

I had a decision to make. Do I sit at a distance I knew I didn’t like, or do I do something I have never done before and set out on a stalk of this mule deer? There really wasn’t much hesitation, I told Chance to stay put, I shed my binos, and I started crawling on my stomach. The grass was tall, and my rifle felt heavy, but there was a slight breeze in our face, so I felt somewhat safe to be on the move. Then I noticed two other muleys, off to the right of my bedded buck. They were standing just around the bend from the deer I had my eye on, and they were looking right at me. I stopped and waited. Every time they looked away, I moved. Every time they homed in on me, I froze. They started to look concerned and began to move around a little more than I wanted, but thankfully they were out of the direct line of sight of my buck, so he wasn’t alerted to their nervousness. The original doe that we saw in the beginning had calmly walked over the hill, straight away, and out of view. One less deer on the lookout, that I no longer need to worry about. The other two, suddenly got spooked and took off hopping over the opposite hill, but thankfully my buck was still calm and noticed nothing that was happening around him, just around the bend.

It was time for me to get moving again. I belly crawled, I did the side stroke as if I was swimming, I dodged cactus, and fire ants, all while keeping my eyes on the deer that was still in the same spot. Then suddenly, a different buck stood up. I was stunned, because I never even noticed he was there this whole time. He stood broadside, I could hear Chance behind me telling me to “shoot” and then “what are you waiting for”? Well, I was waiting for the buck that I had been watching to stand up, not this dude. This was not the buck I was stalking, but apparently it WAS the one Chance had his eyes on in that moment. After getting slightly frustrated with the chatter from the peanut gallery behind me, and then Chance realizing there was a different buck in the same area, I calmed down and regained my focus. Soon, I was on the move again. I had managed to move not only closer in distance, but I changed the angle that I was approaching from so that if this guy stood up, I was more in line with a broadside shot, as he was positioned quartering away, as he lay there. To this point, having him looking slightly away was good as it kept me safe, but now I was getting close enough that I needed to get lined up a little better. I sat patiently for about ten minutes, constantly watching him. He nodded off, he flinched much like I would when I lay down after a long, hard day, drifting in and out of sleep. He would flick his ears, and look around, but not commit to standing up. But just as I was ready to inch my bi-pod out and scoot my rear up one last time, through the sagebrush and the dirt, he made his move. He stood up and after taking one and a half steps, it was time for me to trust my gun, but more importantly trust myself and squeeze the trigger. I had no idea what my range was, I had no range finder, no binoculars, I was down to just a gray hoodie, jeans and zero camo, as I had shed items along the way, in my stalk.

I looked on as this beautiful animal jumped at the moment of impact, I followed him in my scope as he ran, and I panicked. I quickly pulled back my bolt and ejected the spent round and put another one in the chamber in case I would need to fire again. But almost as quickly as I loaded another round, he fell to the ground. I looked back at Chance, who I hadn’t put eyes on for a while, and he gave me the thumbs up after taking his binos down from his face. I was elated, I felt bad, I was exhausted, I felt proud, I was thankful. Never have I pulled the trigger and watched an animal fall to the ground that I am not mixed with a confusing feeling of sadness and great happiness, all at the same time. I had just taken another life, I made a conscious decision to end this animal’s life to provide amazing meals for my family for the next several months, and it’s not something I take lightly. We looked back to where I had started crawling and then where the deer was standing at the time I fired my rifle, and I had made it up to a 215-yard shot. I had no idea how close I was, when it all went down, but I knew it felt good, and knew I felt good about taking the shot. I stuck with my plan, I followed through and I had a beautiful Wyoming mule deer to show for it. I took a few pictures, keeping in mind that success isn’t measured by who has the best “grip and grin” photo, and a picture will never tell the story of the stalk, or describe the emotion or the effort. The photos are for me and when I look at them I will fondly remember the sights, smells and sounds of that day when I worked my tail off, for almost two hours, testing my patience, sliding through a field of cactus and grass and being enveloped in the intoxicating smell of the sagebrush that I have come to love so much. 

We had ended our Tuesday, with no tags left to fill. When we got back to the ranch, the adrenaline had started to dissipate, and we were exhausted. We once again climbed one of three large buttes back behind the ranch house, to spend some time decompressing. Chance took a gun, in case we saw that pesky coyote, but there was never any real effort trying to find it. There wasn’t much said, and there was a whole lot or beauty to look at, so we just sat and looked off at the sunset, compiling our thoughts of the day, and feeling relieved that the pressure was off, long before the last day of our trip.

The following day, on Wednesday, we started the process of butchering our animals. This is where you put in the time and the hard work that quickly reminds you of the biggest reason you are a hunter. We hunt for the food that it provides, and we have a personal connection to this food. We share this meat with our friends and family, and occasionally strangers. We relive the hunt and tell the stories over meals that these beautiful animals have provided. Hunting isn’t the act of going out and killing an animal just because you can. For us, hunting is a process, it is an experience that connects us to our food and brings us closer to nature. Telling the stories in a way that inspires others, whether non-hunters or new hunters, to maybe venture out and explore the possibilities of what the out of doors is all about, is important to me, and I feel it is crucial to help others open their minds to something they may not be familiar with in the present. We hunt for the challenge, we hunt for the opportunity to explore this country’s public lands, and most importantly we hunt for the food it provides us throughout the year. 




We went out to hunt public land not knowing what we might find. We not only embraced the “suck”, but we endured it. Our friend Tim went out on Thursday night and shot one of those monster bucks behind the buttes at the ranch. We helped him drag it out, I took his photos for him, and I held a leg while he dressed it out. This buck was magnificent, it was stout, it still had velvet clinging to the tips of his antlers. He was everything you dream of, when you think of a Wyoming mule deer.

         
But he wasn’t the deer for me. The deer for me, was the deer I stalked and waited for, for so long on Tuesday. I couldn’t be more proud of our Wyoming hunt this year. I am thankful for the animals, thankful for our dear friends and their hospitality, and thankful for the public lands that made all of it possible. Maybe in a weird way, I am most thankful for the smell of the sagebrush, and the year long wait I endure before I can open that truck door, to that familiar smell that lets me know that we are back in Wyoming, once again.