Holey Underwear, Sweaty Palms, Mountain Lions, Sketchy Bridges and Deflated Plans

When I took off for Montana this go around, I was more excited about Deer Camp, than apprehensive. I somewhat knew what I was getting myself into, and I knew a few of the women who would be there this time. While I was heading to a different part of Montana, I was very comfortable with the route I was taking to get there. I stayed over with friends in Spearfish, SD on Wednesday night after driving for roughly sixteen hours. I met Ashley and Jesse at the BHA Rendezvous in Boise this past May, and they were kind enough to offer me a spare bed and some good conversation before I continued on to Deer Camp the next morning. Thank goodness for a great night's sleep. I only had three hours left to travel after leaving Spearfish, and it was one hell of a gorgeous drive. I don't think I have ever seen so many deer or pronghorn, so many picture worthy sights, or had so little cell service for so long, as I did in southeastern Montana. It was just perfect.

When I arrived at the campsite, a BLM property on the Yellowstone River, I was the only one there, so I parked and walked down to the river's edge. It was a cold, blustery day, and the bite off the fast-flowing icy water stinging my cheeks and causing my eyes to instantly water, had me walking back to the truck in short order. As I sat with my heater running, I exchanged text messages with soon to be arriving campers, I started to feel my nerves kick in. Could I do this? Will I fit in? Will this year's camp meet the expectations that last year's camp left me with? I mean, after all, last year was one of the best experiences of my entire life, surely that can't be repeated.

Deer Camp

Campers started arriving, two to be exact, Lyndsey and Aubree, neither had I met in person, but both I had talked with on social, or via text, before this. We started setting up Lyndsey's tent then once we were done with that, we headed into town to pick up a few items. The three of us instantly clicked, which gave me a sense of relief. Seriously, I don't know why I do this to myself, I should know, much like last year, that these 21 other women who signed up to face the cold weather while sleeping in tents, and the rough terrain while hunting mule deer and pronghorn are not the type of women I need to be worried about "fitting in with" for this trip. When we got back from town, pizza in tow, along with a few groceries, more women started trickling in and getting themselves situated. After some steady work into the evening, all of the tents were set up, sleeping arrangements were finalized and introductions were mostly made. I think we were all ready to get some sleep and move on to hunting.

A good luck token from Chance.

I had done a ton of e-scouting with OnX Hunt prior to making the trek west, so I had several areas of BLM and state land marked on my phone. I partnered up with Aubree and Jen to venture into a huge piece of BLM ground just about 20 minutes east of town. We arrived in the dark, I suppose we left camp a little early due to my anxiousness about getting out there before any other hunters. So, we sat for about 25 minutes before it was light enough to see the trail head and where we were going. I got my gun case out of the back seat of my truck and opened it up only to find a pink, .22 caliber Cricket rifle, a zip lock baggie of .22 shells, my .270 with the bolt lying there next to it, and a pair of Chance's oldest, holiest underwear, with a note wishing me luck on my trip. It was hilarious, but I didn't fully enjoy the humor until later in the day, because in that moment, my hands were freezing, I couldn't get the bolt back in my gun and it was "go time". After a call to Chance and having him remind me that my rifle had a trick to getting the bolt in it, we got it handled and had a quick laugh, before heading up the trail.

The morning was spent hiking and glassing and really taking in the beauty of where we were. My legs felt strong and the weather wasn't too awful bad, with some snow flurries and a slight breeze. After getting eyes on a few Muley does, which Jen and I both had tags for, we set out to see if we could get around behind them to set up a shot. We misjudged how many ridges over they were, and ended up losing track of them, but it was a good morning getting a lay of the land. As we were walking out, Aubree and I went to check what would have been a shorter more direct path to the does we saw earlier in the morning, and sure enough, it would have been perfect, and well within range to get a good shot on them. That's is a prime example of over thinking the situation and then realizing after the fact that we made things harder on ourselves than necessary. But that is the beauty of going out hunting with other women in this situation, we are making the decisions, good or bad, and we are learning from each other, and about the thought processes that go into those decisions. We weren't being given "advice" or "direction" by a male counterpart, who may be a more experienced hunter or who may feel the need to guide us. This was all us, and whether we were successful or not, it felt good.

We headed into town around noon to get the proper credentials to hunt a large nearby piece of public land that required certain permissions. Once that was out of the way and we were back to camp getting a snack, we had a BLM officer show up to check who all the out-of-state plates belonged to in the parking lot. We chatted for a bit and told him about our Deer Camp, we talked about the fact that it was all women and how special it was. Then he gave us some great info on a few hunting spots I had marked on my phone. He checked our licenses, due diligence and all, and before he left gave us his number, and told us if we needed anything at all, to give him a call. By then it was time to head out to our next spot, one that he gave us some pretty valuable info on, along the Powder River. Jen decided to stay back, so Aubree and I piled into my truck and off we went. The evening hunt wasn't too eventful, although we joked that the head high clover we were fighting through as we walked along the river made us feel like we were in the African jungle. We saw some beautiful sights, a couple of Whitetail does and a sunset on the way back to camp that literally almost made me run off the road. The things we do for a picture of the that orange ball dropping below the horizon can sometimes make the best memories, and the best laughter.

Montana Sunset

Friday night we all ventured into town to meet up at a local bar, The Montana. We chatted and had some bar food, which was really pretty good after a long day of hunting. Some of the ladies chatted with a well-known local, and then, everyone was told by Nicole to circle up because she had something to say. From this point it all gets a little fuzzy. No, it wasn't the alcohol, because I don't drink, but it was more the anxiety I felt when Nicole made eye contact with me and flashed her ornery smile. She had a large cardboard box at her feet and as she started to speak, I felt my face get hot, my palms start to sweat, and the well-known feeling of wanting to make everyone focus their attention somewhere else. It felt very similar to that moment I heard my name at the beginning of the live MeatEater podcast in Boise, earlier this year. And strangely enough, one of the guys who was sitting on stage that night, was also here for this moment too. Poor guy is surely tired of hearing my name at this point.

A box full of surprises. Photo by Lindsey Mulcare

Nicole proceeded to say nice things about me, which I am embarrassed to say, I didn't hear the majority of, due to the loud ringing in my ears, but she wanted to gift me some amazing gear that she had acquired as part of her job with GearJunkie, as a thank you, and a token of appreciation, for the volunteer work I have been doing for various organizations. As I opened the box and lifted out piece after piece of gear that I could never afford, I was overwhelmed. This act of kindness will change my hunting experience for years to come. I will be warmer, I will have zippers that work, I will be waterproof if I choose, and I will be able to hunt longer and more comfortably than ever before. If you are a hunter, you know how critical that is to your overall experience. I could have kept hunting in the beat up, clearance rack gear I had bought almost seven years ago, let me be clear about that. I don't need high end camo with a specific name stitched into it to make me feel like I can be successful as a hunter. But I won't lie, it was like I had just won the lottery and I wasn't going to tell her I didn't want it, because deep down, I did. I think anyone would have, but there are days I still feel guilty about it. I'm working through that though, don't worry.

Aubree and I on Saturday morning, on BLM land

We regrouped at camp after we got back from town and decided who was going where, and with whom, on Saturday morning. Jen was feeling under the weather, so Aubree and I paired up again to take on the day. We decided to head back to that same BLM land near the Powder River as the evening before. On the way out there, as we crested the hill where near we had hunted the morning before, we saw a set of eyes on the side of the road getting ready to cross. We both assumed it was deer, but to our surprise, it was a massive mountain lion, who casually sauntered across the road as I slowed down. I wish I had pictures of the looks on our faces in that moment, because I'm sure we looked shocked. We drove on. We chose to go back to the river because we had seen about 20 Mule Deer just across the road from our spot, as we were leaving the night before. I assumed, they might come down and cross the road to bed in the tall clover for the night, and maybe we could catch them before they headed back across the road to higher elevation in the morning. I would be wrong in the end, and we ended up just seeing a few more Whitetail does. Every last one of those Mule Deer were in the same spot they had been in when we last saw them, the night before. Deer are funny that way, they often do what they want to do, not what you expect them to do. We decided to back out of there and head up the road to an enormous chunk of BLM land that had an easement and a two track that we could drive on, to get deep into the property. We ran into a man with his two kiddos, a son and a daughter as we were heading up the trail. His son had just killed his first deer! I was so excited for the kid, that I actually think he thought I was a little creepy. They drove out and we drove further in. The terrain was steep, and we got to thinking that I would have to be pretty careful about where it would, and wouldn't be smart, to shoot something, if given the opportunity. We hiked a good long way and climbed quite a bit but never laid eyes on anything other than some resident horses and a dozen or so pronghorn. We saw a little bit of deer sign, but not much. What got me all excited was the fact that we were seeing elk sign. that in my mind was worth the hike. Of course where there are elk, there are mountain lions, and I couldn't quite shake the feeling that the one we saw earlier that morning, was merely one of many in the area.

Sketchy at best.

After leaving there, we spent the much of the day driving. Normally that would make me crazy, not to be on the ground hunting, but the sights were cool, the laughs were many and just being there, in eastern Montana, made it all feel pretty great. We managed to drive up to Terry and then back down toward camp, following the Yellowstone. We ventured all the way back past camp, only to head north again, but this time on the other side of the river. We crossed some seriously sketchy bridges that surely should be condemned, or at the very least reinforced. In my mind, you shouldn't talk as you are are crossing them, or they might collapse. Don't ask me the logic behind that one, I've got nothing for you. We found a nice big piece of block management land that I strongly considered going back to the following day. So much so that I went ahead and filled the card out at the box to cover me for the next few days. It was getting dark, so we decided to get back to camp for our wild game potluck dinner before we missed out. Plus, I had some squirrel and noodles to get cooked up for everyone to try.

Saturday night in the tent we had massive amounts of food for everyone to try. Duck/jalapeno poppers, wild sheep sausage, squirrel and noodles, pronghorn loin, canned garden goods, elk borscht, summer sausage and cheese, trout and so much more. It was the best place to be on a Saturday night, if you want my opinion. We had a couple of game officers stop in to introduce themselves at one point during the evening. They said that the ladies down at the Game and Fish office were going on about all of the ladies who were holding deer camp just outside of town, and the officers wanted to stop by to say hello, and to drop off CWD testing kits for us. They had a little bit of food, and then told us that what we were doing was really a great thing, before leaving camp. Not long after the eating was wrapped up, the tables were moved and we spent some time as a group talking about who we were, and what made us want to come to Deer Camp. It was an intimate setting and a great way for everyone to share about their path as hunters. This time spent sitting on coolers, the ground and camp chairs, all in a circle, is what makes this camp so special. There were a few ladies there who were observing, there was photographer, who is also a non-hunter, who was there doing a project on different types of people who are hunters. There were new hunters who have never taken a shot at an animal, and there were a few who were hunters for much longer. We also had a young lady who was on her very first hunt. She attended Deer Camp last year and afterward, decided she would like to be a hunter. So, she completed her Hunter Education class earlier this year and was hunting right there with the rest of us, which was one of my favorite aspects of camp this year.

Saturday night conversations.

After we wrapped up our time as a group, we went back into hunter mode, and made plans for the next day before heading off to bed. Aubree didn't have a tag for this trip, she was there just as an observer and in my case, my shotgun rider this time, but she was a great partner to hike all over hell's half acre with, for those few days and I can't remember laughing that hard in ages.  Unfortunately, she was going home on Sunday morning, so I decided that I was going to venture out solo and then maybe meet up with Nicole, Sarah, Lindsey and Anna later in the morning. I asked a few ladies about where they had seen deer earlier on Friday and Saturday, and they told me what section I should go to, to start out. My plan was set, my gear was in my truck, and I knew what time I was going to wake up and what time I wanted to leave. I was ready. But first I needed to sleep. It was almost midnight; the time was changing overnight, and sunrise was coming way to soon.

Sunday was the day I needed to try and make something happen, because on Monday, I was making the long drive back to Indiana, and I wanted to take some meat back with me this year. Sunday morning I woke up, got dressed, brushed my teeth, grabbed my breakfast bars and walked out to my truck. I turned the key and as my truck started, my heart sank. I had an alert instantly appear on my dash, I had a flat tire. I could've went into full on panic mode, but I knew there were other people going out to the same area I was planning to hunt, so I was hoping one of them could give me a lift and just drop me off. What I would do if I shot a deer, or needed to get back to camp I would have to figure out later, right now, I just needed to get out there. Thank goodness for Elise.

Elise was at Deer Camp last year, so we were friends and I didn't feel awkward asking for a lift. She was going to look for pronghorn just beyond the area I wanted to hunt Mule Deer, so it worked out great. When we arrived at my drop off point, there was a Muley doe literally standing fifty yards off the parking area. Elise stopped and asked if I could get to my rifle, which was in the backseat of her car. I could, and after I had it, I eased out of the car to try and sneak up to the fence, all while keeping some fence row brush between the Muley and myself. It was still a little dark, but we were past legal shooting light, so I continued to creep closer to make certain that it was a legal deer for me to shoot. In the back of my head I knew it was a Muley, but just the day before I almost pulled up on a Whitetail doe down by the Powder River, thinking it might be a Mule Deer coming out of the brush. That made me hesitate in this situation, and it cost me. Just as I found her in the scope of my left-handed Savage .270, she bolted.

At this point, my heart was racing and I was full of disappointment all at the same time. But really, what fun would it be to shoot a deer in the damn parking lot? I would have lost a full day of hunting, a full day of fighting the elements, a full day of what I love the most, which is the "suck" of a DIY public land hunt. So I grabbed the rest of my gear out of Elise's car and wished her luck before she drove away. As I watched her taillights disappear, I realized that I was seriously alone, no vehicle, no one to help me if shit went south, spotty cell service and only myself to make or break this hunt. This place looked desolate, I had nowhere to get out of the weather, no to place to get warm and I wasn't even sure that anyone else would drive by. I figured I better get my head right pretty quick though and find a spot to start glassing. My intent was to find that doe that had eluded me earlier, and try to make a better, more successful stalk on her.

After hiking five miles, across coulees, up on the highest ridges I could climb, and looping back around in slick, eastern Montana mud, I couldn't seem to track her down. The wind was brisk up high, the mist came faster and heavier and it didn't appear it was going to quit. I climbed down from the rocky hillside I was perched on, dropped down into a deep coulee, and was hoping to find a place to sit for a few minutes to have a snack, some water, and a break from the breeze. After sitting out of the wind and getting the feeling back in my face, I remembered that I was originally going to hunt with Nicole, Lindsey and Anna this morning in this same general area, and I wondered if they were near by. I finished my last few iced animal crackers, put my pack back on, and started hiking back toward the direction of the road. Once I had cell service, I sent a text to Nicole and luckily, they were really close to where I was, and they were going to swing by and pick me up. I suddenly felt a shot of energy, maybe it was the animal crackers pumping sugar into my veins, or maybe it was the feeling of comfort I would find in the warm truck cab that I would soon be crawling into. Either way, I was hoofing it back to the parking area and I couldn't wait to see my friends. I saw the truck waiting, and as I opened the door and looked inside, I suddenly had a good feeling that the rest of the day was going to be incredibly meaningful, regardless of how the hunting went. Nicole, Lindsey, Anna, and a surprise guest I wasn't expecting to see, Sarah, all greeted me with smiles and I got a good doggie snuggle from Butch. After waking to a flat tire, deflated plans, and an early morning missed opportunity, my day was getting a whole lot better, little did I know, just how good it would be.

We followed the two track, checking the map as we went, we passed by a few other ladies from camp who were high above on a ridge, making their own way looking for mule deer, and then took the road as far as it would take us, before deciding it was here and now that we would try to make something happen. And we were going to do it together, even if the odds were against us being out as a group of five, plus a dog. More chances to get winded, more chances to be seen, more chances to go back to camp empty-handed, but the memories we were about to make on that Sunday, made all the chances worth taking. So we went hunting, together, and I can't wait for you to hear how it turned out.....

Photo by Lindsey Mulcare

The Element of Surprise

Expectations are a funny thing. Occasionally you won't set real high expectations for a given situation because it just doesn't sound that appealing to begin with, but then, out of nowhere, you are pleasantly surprised with the outcome. Sometimes you set expectations too high, and when things don't pan out, you are not only left disappointed, but you miss out on other opportunities because you only have one idea of what the success of that specific situation looks like. It happens to all of us, whether it be a vacation we had been looking forward to, and it ended up being a bust, or a dinner we were excited about, and you'd been better off with a bowl of cereal, or even a big party that had a real hype leading up to it, and it ended up being a train wreck. Expectations surrounding people can unfortunately be the same. You may follow someone on social and think they are the bee's knees, but when you meet them in person, they are rude, or nothing at all like their online persona. Thankfully, I haven't run across that specific issue, but it has happened with people I have hired that looked like great candidates in the interview but were the worst employees, or those I have met through Chance who he really talked up, but they ended up being serious douche-canoes once we got to know them better. I'm sure that I, myself, haven't met what someone else's expectations were of me, on numerous occasions, which kinda sucks, but it is what it is, right?

Back when I started hunting, I put out trail cameras to see what kind of deer were in the area that I hunted. I was a brand new hunter, trying to do what the more experienced hunters were doing, because I thought that was just what you did. I was just getting into social media and as a new hunter, I was extremely excited to learn "all the things". I followed every hunting account I could find and I watched what they were doing in the off season, things like moving stands or blinds, putting out mineral blocks or food piles for the deer, and of course, putting out cameras. People were posting pictures of the most amazing big bucks I had ever seen. It made me think about what might be out there and how cool would it be, if I could get pictures of deer like that and better yet, how cool it would be to post those photos for others to see. That way I could show people that I was doing the work too, I was checking my cameras and starting to pick and choose what deer I wanted to go after.

I would go out each spring, find some good trails, pick a good tree along that trail, and hang a camera. I figured that if I dumped a bag of "special formulated" deer feed in front of it, I would for sure increase my odds of getting some good pictures of whatever was out there. For the most part, we would get a lot of does on camera, a few spike bucks, and my favorite, new fawns. I had no idea that I would end up getting a picture of the biggest buck anyone had seen around there, nor did I understand how seeing that buck on camera would send me down a road of high expectations that could have really derailed my experience of being a hunter altogether.



Almost exactly six years ago, I walked up our driveway, crossed the county road, and walked across the bean field that is owned by Chance's dad. On the other side of that bean field, his property continues with a wooded area of about twenty to thirty acres. I had put a camera over on that field edge about two weeks prior and I was headed over to check it. I faced the camera to the west, essentially pointing right at our house. The deer like to hang out out in the field and feed on the soybeans, and sometimes, even bed down out in the field. I couldn't believe what I was seeing when I loaded the pictures onto my laptop.


The buck was the biggest thing I had personally ever seen, which probably wasn't saying a whole lot, because I had only been through one deer season prior to the one that would take place a few months later. But still, I knew what a big buck looked like and this dude qualified. I couldn't wait to get home and show Chance what was living in his dad's woods, the woods that we had permission to hunt, the woods that were simply a hop, skip and a jump from our front porch. I was so excited, and I knew that my sole purpose of hunting that year was going to be to kill that buck, nothing else mattered.

Chance was of course, in awe of the pictures I showed him. We ended up watching that buck the rest of the summer and into early fall. He eventually moved over to our side of the road, and we often saw him bedded in the hay field right behind our house, not one hundred yards from our bedroom window. He had a couple other smaller, but still nice by our standards, bucks that he traveled with, and they almost acted as his lookout, or security detail. When they would catch us watching them from the backyard, the two "little" fellas would stand up and get between us and the big guy, as he stayed put, enjoying his slumber.

Hunting season arrived on October 1st, and like always, the buck left his buddies and went into hiding. I was a new bow hunter, but it didn't keep me from dreaming of arrowing this buck. Chance had the same dreams, ironically. And almost in an instant, both of our dreams went up in smoke. On November 9th, 2013, the guy that lived around the corner from us, killed the buck we had been watching for the previous three months, and to make matters worse, he killed him about four hundred yards behind our house. I was devastated. And while I didn't know the guy who shot him, I was angry and I hated the guy for it. How could he? Why should I even bother going out now? The only deer I wanted was now hanging in his uncle's shop.

Chance, the more experienced hunter between the two of us, took the high road. Well actually, I think he was just curious, so he went to the guy's house and asked if we could see the deer. When I say guy, it was actually a young man in his mid-twenties, who was very polite,and oddly enough, a taxidermist. Chance told me that he was going to go to the next town over to see the deer and wanted to know if I wanted to ride along. I was adamant that there was no way I was going to look  at my dream hanging in someone else's garage. "Hell no, I won't go" I said. And five minutes later I was riding shotgun on our way to Coatesville. Apparently curiosity got the better of me, as well.

When we met the young man, Josh, along with his uncle Brian, they were the most humble, gracious guys you could hope to meet. They were both excited, but were very friendly and answered any questions we had about the deer, and how it all went down. We drove home that evening and I couldn't help but be embarrassed. Leading up to that visit, I was so mad, and had spiteful and hateful feelings toward someone I didn't know, because I used pictures from a trail camera as a way to set the expectations for my hunting season. My expectations had turned me into an asshole. And to be honest, while I was feeling better about not having a shot at that deer, and I was actually happy for Josh, now that I had met him, I was still pretty bent for the rest of that deer season.

I still chose to use trail cameras for a few years following that deer season, but I found myself enjoying the photos due to the neat opportunity of watching how the twin fawns would grow throughout the summer, or the funny pictures we would get of a doe taking what seemed like endless close-up selfies. It was always a thrill to see a buck show up, but I no longer bet my hunting season on one single deer that walked past the camera. I shared countless photos of does, and fawns and it didn't bother me that I didn't have that all important "big buck" picture to post on Instagram or Facebook. I found that the people I was truly friends with were mostly non-hunters anyway, and they loved the shots of the does and fawns more than anything else. It was a way for a lot of folks to see deer close-up for the first time, and I think that is pretty cool.



The last time I put a camera out was late summer of 2017. I wish I would have stopped a year sooner. Once again, a bigger than average buck showed up, at almost the same time in August as the one from four years earlier. I got an urge to once again be an idiot, to become obsessed with the giant. I hit the stand forty yards from where the picture was taken within two days of returning from our Wyoming trip. Chance was pissed because he had hung that stand specifically for Cianni. I told him I wasn't going to shoot anything, I just wanted to see if I could get eyes on him. But I still took my bow, because I was slowly inching towards, once again, those high expectations. I did get eyes on him, after an hour in the stand, I saw something move and it was him and a buddy bedding down on the other side of thick cover, about sixty yards from where I was perched. I had no shot, I never had a shot, but I was shaking like a leaf all the same. That deer was killed by a different neighbor, during the rut, about three quarters of a mile away. It was then that I decided I was done with trail cameras.

I haven't put one up since for deer hunting. I did put one out in our backyard last year, for fun, aimed at our garden because the deer were wearing a path through it. And I wanted to see how many coyotes were coming up into the backyard at night. But I didn't put one out last year for deer, and I haven't this year either. I also haven't put any type of mineral or feed out for the last two springs because I refuse to be a catalyst for the spread of CWD in my state.

Everything about hunting is a personal choice, except for the laws of course. I am getting ready to enter into my seventh hunting season and my perspective has evolved. I flew through those infamous five stages and have quickly, and happily, landed on the last one. I am out there for the experience. I don't want my hunt to have such high expectations due to what I saw on a camera, that I may miss out on the enjoyment altogether. I hunt because it is peaceful in the woods, I hunt because it is hard and I want the challenge of outwitting the game I pursue. But ultimately, I hunt because I want to eat the meat that I take home. I want to help provide for my family and share with my friends. It is important to me that I remember to respect each animal and avoid the mindset that if it isn't the biggest, it doesn't deserve my attention and gratitude. I am skipping the trail cameras because I want the element of surprise. I want to lose my breath, and I want to worry that my heart is going to jump out of my chest no matter what walks in front of me. I mean, if I lose that, I probably don't need to be out there anyway.

We will be going to Wyoming in less than two months for our mule deer hunt. This year however, there will be a couple of other guys we know, heading out from Indiana as well. Back in May, two of our really good friends asked if we would help them put in for tags in Wyoming. I do that for Chance and I, so of course I would do it for them. They came to the house, I got them in the system, put in for their tags, gave them the pertinent info, and essentially told them that we all just have to wait to see if any of us draw. I am happy to say that we all drew for mule deer in the same unit. So this year, we will be introducing Josh, and his Uncle Brian to hunting public land mule deer, in the great state of Wyoming. And you know what, nothing would make me happier, than if they were to find the two biggest bucks the unit has to offer, and bring them back home to Indiana. I won't even be mad about it.

Healing, Hunting and the Great Outdoors.

You often hear me say that hunting has changed my life, but I haven't gone into any kind of detail as to why, or how it has been such a game changer for me. People who know about my past and know the general details of the journey I have been on, might have a good idea of what I mean, but most folks don't know that story. It was a tough decision for me to write about it in this format, but I really try to keep things as real as possible, because there is nothing I hate more than disingenuous people, whether online, or in person. They are assholes. I am not an asshole (for the most part).

So, I have decided to give you the crash course of how I got to where I currently am, in life, as a hunter, and I suppose in my own head space. It's not pretty, some of you may just stop reading once I open this can of worms, and that's fine, it's not an easy subject. Some of you might even blame me, and say it's my fault, and let me tell you, if I had a dollar for every time I heard that, I'd be putting in for a Montana elk tag, like yesterday!! But it is my hope, that by dredging all of this up, and putting it out there, it could help someone in a very similar situation, make a life changing, and in some cases a life SAVING decision. So, buckle up Buttercup, shit's about to get real.

I was in a relationship with an abusive alcoholic for eleven years, ten of which we were married. Yep, you read that right, ELEVEN years. And this is where the finger pointing usually starts. The strange looks and the obvious question of "why didn't you just leave"? Well, in a nutshell, in the beginning, I thought I could change him. Dude, I was barely twenty-five years old, I could change the world, right? If I loved him enough, and I catered to him enough, he would see that he didn't need to drink so much, and therefore the abuse would subside. No, that's not how it works, I know that now, and really, I learned that about three years in to this mess. He hid the drinking in the beginning, wasn't getting drunk or violent, there's some term for this, but I just call it "the bullshit period". It worked because I fell for it, hook, line and sinker. We had some fun times, and the days he didn't drink always gave me a glimmer of hope. On those days, he was a decent guy, but there just weren't enough of those days. Once I figured out that things were getting ugly, I was about two years in and still trying like hell to make it stop. At the three-year mark, like I mentioned, I knew that I was wasting my time trying to change anything. Then it was just a daily challenge not to get my head knocked off.

When I say abusive, you might wonder what that entails, right? Well, I am not going to recount every scenario, or describe in detail every situation, but I will give you some examples, and then you can take those and put them in a random sequence, and much like the music on your iPhone, just put it on repeat. But for like, ten years.

"Verbal", "Physical", "Sexual", and "Mental" are all words that can describe abuse. I can put a check mark next to each one. The verbal abuse was daily, well, when he was home anyway. He was a firefighter, so he was at work three days a week for twenty-four hours at a time. His shift was a rotating shift, meaning he would work Monday, Wednesday and Friday, from 7 am to 7 am, be off work the days in-between, and then after those three work days, he was off four consecutive days, the schedule would repeat the next Wednesday, Friday, Sunday, and so on and so forth. Basically, it left an extraordinary amount of time to be drinking, whether at home, or in a bar. You'll soon realize that that didn't bode well for me, at all. The days he was at the firehouse, were the days I lived for.

Verbal beatings. He would start yelling at me the moment I walked in the door from work, on the days he was home. I was every curse word, every derogatory word, he was extra fond of the "C" word and if the windows were open, everyone within a city block would have heard about it, in detail. I never really knew what set him off from day to day. Some days it was because I didn't laugh at his drunken jokes. Other days it was because I might have to work late, and he was sure I was having an affair. And then other days he would scream and yell about how I didn't appreciate how "good I had it" and that no one would ever treat me as "good as he did". Those days I couldn't help but laugh, but of course, that seemed to make things worse. He would yell so loud and get so mad, the veins on his forehead would pop out, and I was sure he was going to drop dead, right there in front of me. I still have a hard time knowing that if he had, I would have been relieved.

Physical abuse is just as it sounds. I had anything in the house that wasn't nailed down thrown at me, his favorites were his cell phone, the TV remote and his glasses. But the list includes, full beer cans, plates of food, dog toys, books, newspapers, picture frames, and his wedding ring. He never did this quietly, so this was always mixed with screaming and borderline brain hemorrhaging, on his part. I was shoved, grabbed, kicked, and choked. One instance happened about three weeks after I had had shoulder surgery. He was screaming at me and shoving me, and then backed me into the laundry room, up against a door. I fell trying to get away from him and he shoved his foot into my ribs to hold me down so he could finish yelling. After he walked away, I got up and proceeded to make dinner, which we ate in silence, and then he yelled some more, then walked back to his office and passed out in his chair. I finished eating, watched some TV and went to bed, like nothing had happened. A few days later I couldn't figure out where the bruise came from on my side. I couldn't for the LIFE of me think of what I did. It finally dawned on me what had happened a few days prior. Seriously, I was in such a mindset of "just get through this" that I didn't think about how bad it had hurt at the time. I was reminded with some respectable shades of blue and purple down my right side, presumably from a size ten shoe.

Another doozey was the day I talked back to him. I was to the point that I had just listened to it enough, and I called him a stupid son-of-a-bitch. He was quite a bit older than me, but I will tell you what, he was spry when he spun around and came after me. He grabbed my throat and slammed my head against the front door, then went on to warn me that I better never call his dead mother a bitch ever again. I couldn't get any words out, but on the inside, I was pleading with him to let go. He did, and not a word was ever said about what had happened.

While I have a hard time saying the "R" word, I was in fact pressured to have sex with him a few different times during his drunken stupors. Basically, without going into detail, he tried, he couldn't, he'd get mad, then he would fall asleep. Usually on top of me, while I laid there and cried. It was tough to push the dead weight off of me, but I always managed. I'd shower, go fix dinner, eat, watch the news and go to bed, just like normal. That's more than I want to talk about, as far as that goes, as I'm sure you understand.

Mentally, he beat me down to almost nothing. Before him, I was a pretty good athlete, I was strong, confident, had a lot of friends, and felt like I knew where I was going in life. During the time with him, I pulled back from any friends I had, I hid what was going on from my parents, my confidence didn't exist anymore, I was afraid of going out in public, I was having anxiety attacks six to eight times a week, and I was scared to leave him. I would feel responsible for getting him home safely from the bars in the middle of the day, when I should have been at work. I protected him from getting pulled over, as I would follow him home as he drove, completely blasted. Then I would go back to work and finish my day. I was so mentally defunct, I was actually looking out for the one person who was destroying me. Don't ask me to explain it, I can't. But believe me, there was no "thanks for the help" on the days I got him home in one piece. By the time I would get home from work, the punishment was tenfold, mainly, he said, for embarrassing him by tracking him down, and telling him it was time to go home, in front of whatever derelict was sitting on the bar stool next to him.

He had sleep apnea. There were nights, while lying in bed next to him, I could hear when he would stop breathing. I knew that if I nudged him, he would move and therefore catch his breath. There were many nights that I just let him lay there, not making a sound, not taking a breath. I waited until my moral compass somehow found its true north, by no conscious effort on my part, and I would nudge him once again. What kind of person does that? Who lays there, thinking that their only option of sanity is for their spouse to lay beside them and suffocate in their sleep? I guess it proves that everyone reaches a point of desperation during the lowest points in their life. I was no different.

Finally, one day he was screaming at me, and I replied. I told him that it was a waste of time talking to a drunk because he wouldn't understand or remember anything I was saying anyway. He chased after me, stuck his finger in my face, and told me that I "didn't know what drunk was, but I would when he killed me". Now, that makes zero sense, obviously, but in that moment, a switch was flipped. I don't know why it took so long, or how it hadn't happened prior to that, but I decided right then and there, that I was leaving. It was over. It took a few months, I waited on my tax check, and I had another check, hidden in my desk, that I had received for compensation for an injury I had at work the year before, and I made a plan. On February 26th, 2011, I moved out while he was at the firehouse. I sobbed for days, not because I didn't want to leave, but because I was scared, I was relieved, I was tired, and I was letting go of a lot of emotion I had bottled up for eleven years. I filed for divorce a month later. He tormented me, he called, he promised me that he would change, and finally, I ignored his every word. The divorce was final on June 10th, 2011. I took nothing but my personal belongings and my dog. For the record, my dog, Scooby, and I, spent a lot of time hiding out in the bathroom together waiting for the idiot in the other room to pass out, that good boy went through everything with me. In hindsight, I wish I would have drained me ex for every penny he had, which wasn't much, but I didn't, because I just wanted it all to be over.

 About six months before I left, I had a yearly physical with my doctor, and my blood pressure was in the 160's over the low 100's. when my doctor, who was also my soon to be ex-husband's doctor asked why, I told him it was work stress. Although I am not certain he bought that excuse, he went with it, gave me suggestions on how to relieve stress, and put me on BP meds to get that under control, and then Paxil and Xanax for anxiety. It wasn't until just last year that I admitted to my nurse that the reason those meds were in my old charts, was because of what was happening at that time in my life, at home. It had been seven years since I left, and yet as soon as I opened my mouth to tell her the truth, the tears came, and they came uncontrollably. I was so embarrassed, much like I was when I told my dad that I was getting divorced, and why. I was off all meds within a year of leaving that marriage. Weird, huh?

For a few years after leaving, I struggled with loud noises, I would have an immediate "flight" response if anyone raised their voice around me or joked like they were going to grab me. My anxiety was still pretty intense, and I had no idea what my future looked like. I liked being alone, once I got used to it. I had a boyfriend of the "rebound" variety for a short time, that ended, and I flew solo for a while. Then I met Chance.

How does this have to do with hunting you might ask? Well, let me just tell ya.



After meeting Chance, we started hanging out, then dating, he introduced me to deer hunting. I was still unsure and uneasy most days, but having less anxiety attacks. I was feeling a little more in control of my life, stronger if you will, but not quite ready to take on the world, like I once was. I liked Chance and had a great time with him, so while reluctant at first, I agreed to give the hunting "thing" a whirl. It was then that I realized that this time spent in the woods, no matter how frustrating, or cold, no matter how many failures and disappointments, was the one thing that was going to make me whole again. I had something to focus on. I had something new to learn. I had a challenge. I am competitive to a fault, and I thought that I was going to prove to Chance and everyone else, that I could do this. I went to the woods every single moment I could. I would take days off work, I would leave work early, I would go on the weekends, sit in the evenings, even if it was for thirty minutes, I went. And without really noticing what was happening, I was gaining confidence. It wasn't because I was killing deer, it took a few years before I did that consistently. It was because I was going out there, doing something that not everyone has the will to do, and I was doing it on my own. I was sitting in silence, there was no one belittling me, no one yelling at me, and no one telling me I couldn't do it. I was finding peace, doing something I never would have imagined doing, in my lifetime. I wasn't proving to Chance I could do this, or anyone else for that matter, I was proving it to myself. That mattered more than anything.

As the years have come and gone, I have changed. Granted, that is part of life, we all go through it and sometimes it's for the better, sometimes not. But I have changed in a way that only a select few can relate to. I had to completely build myself back up from the ground, decide how I was going to move forward, figure out if I even COULD move forward, and then just fight like hell to find myself again. I had a pretty good childhood, and good years through my teens, but my twenties and half of my thirties were a disaster. I honestly feel like life started for me, and really started to be worthwhile, when I turned thirty-six. Most people have families and great careers by then, but I was just getting started, or getting my second chance, if you will. Not exactly what you dream of growing up, but I am damn well going to make the best of it now.

Obviously, Chance and Cianni have made my life amazing, and I love them both dearly, but I feel like we all need something specific to focus on at times, that is just for us, just for our personal well-being. I owe Chance everything, for nudging me in a direction I never knew I needed to go, but then I really grabbed on to it, and I have worked hard at it, for that I am proud of myself. Hunting is something that centers me, it gives me the quiet time I need, when life starts to get loud all around me. Being in the woods has taught me to be still, and it has given me a deep appreciation for every single living thing, that is in that woods with me, on any given day. I have a passion for protecting the wild places that I didn't have before, I have a passion for passing on the hunting heritage to others, the young and not so young alike, so that the outdoors can maybe impact their lives, the way it has mine, and they too, will pass it on to others, somewhere down the road.

Is every day a cakewalk? Nope. Do I still struggle at times? Absolutely. Trust will always be tough for me and I rarely feel loved, although I'm sure there are some who love me. The ordeal I went through has made me who I am today, good or bad. Next month, February 2019, marks eight years since I walked away. That seems like a long time, but I think the memories will linger, and the scars on my heart, and in my mind, will last for many years to come. Thankfully, I know where I can go to find some quiet time, the woods always seem to call me back, when I need it the most.

It seems that I am my happiest among nature. The trees, the creeks, the trails made by who knows what, leading to who knows where. The sounds of the squirrels and the birds and bugs who know nothing of me, nor do they care, so they carry on with their business. Tufts of hair left in fences, footprints left in the sand and bark rubbed off trees are of interest to me, but not to those who left them. No judgement by the plants or animals, no expectations or requirements to keep them on pace. It's a world unto itself, it's a shame that everyone isn't as lucky as I am to be so close to it, to listen to it, to appreciate it and to be allowed to feel it in my soul. ~ Cindy Stites, 2016

**If you or someone you know is in a dangerous relationship and need help, please reach out to someone, whether it be a friend, family member or shelter. It is the hardest thing you will ever do, but I believe you will never once regret making that decision. I am always here to listen, whether you know me or not.**