Rustic Barn Outdoors

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deep sea fishing, watching him catch a massive shark.

The outdoors have called my name. It’s a way of life for me and my family. That love and excitement I now pass on to my own daughters.

The first time I met my husband to be he was dressed in camouflage. He had been hunting with his brother and dad. Now, fast forward a few years and two girls later, he was still hunting but this time I was left at home with two little girls while he hunted every weekend. He traveled out of town and the state returning home with all these exciting hunting stories. I decided just because I was a mother I didn’t have to be left at home, missing all the fun and excitement that I had grown up loving.

Kim Bryant: The difficulties/challenges or lack there-of, of being a female hunter.

Once my husband and I were at a sporting goods store. I walked up to the counter to look at a rifle. The male sales person turned around and looked at me then turned back around and continued his work. My husband was across the aisle looking at crossbows at the time. When my husband joined me at the counter the sales person turned back around and began talking to my husband, as if I didn’t exist. My husband told the man that I would like to look at a rifle for hunting. The first thing out of his mouth was, “Oh, she hunts?”

I’m the one who was purchasing the rifle not my husband but the sales person hands the rifle to him! My husband immediately hands it to me because he could see that I was becoming extremely frustrated and aggravated with this sales person. But I handed the rifle back to my husband and then looked the salesMAN dead in the eye and told him that I was not interested. To this day, I have never been back in that store.

I have been hunting since I was a teenager. I fell in love with hunting and became literally obsessed with it about 15 years ago. Why, you may ask? Well, the outdoors have been a part of my life, my entire life! Growing up camping with family and friends, swimming in the creek, grilling in the backyard, or fishing in the pond; to being with my dad, as a very young girl 4

After he left for another trip I borrowed his camouflage, got a rifle out of the gun safe, packed the girls and started my own hunting adventure! When the girls and I arrived at the farm the deer were standing in the field. Both of my daughters sat in their car seats curiously watching from the window of my Sequoia asI called my husband to ask a question. I chuckle now reminiscing the sound of his voice when I asked him “Can I shoot a buck?”. Needless to say he could not believe I had driven down with the girls and was about to join him hunting! SURPRISE!!! I didn’t kill a buck that afternoon but the girls and I have never missed another hunting trip!

Hunting wasn’t just for the guys anymore, where I was concerned! We were on every trip. My husband wasn’t exactly thrilled but after the shock wore off he was okay.

Deep down he was hoping that I would get tired of the work that goes into hunting with kids BUTwith patience, and at times leaving in the middle of a hunt, at prime time due to one of the girls being cold, tired, bored, hungry or needing to go to the potty, I met the challenge and earned by husband’s respect!

Hunting is definitely challenging in its own regards.

Another experience I had was earning the respect of anold timer who thought women and children should stay at a designated area of the hunting lodge while the men go hunting. Yes, I have been told that women were not meant to hunt; I was intruding on “guy time”.

Being a woman hunter tends to bring laughter to many.

Those nonbelievers don’t think I can track a deer, load or clean one much less go out on my own! Now I can proudly share my experiences I had on my solo African hunting trip!

Over the years, I feel, it has gotten a little better, for women hunters since more women are getting involved.

People are taking notice that women can; in fact hunt just as good if not better than some of the guys. But it is still a male dominated industry. I have felt the pressure to work harder, speak up and prove that I love the sport. I want it as bad, or worse, than some guys!

Women have had to adapt to this pressure so that we can prove that we can “hang with the big dogs!” I believe if we continue to educate, inspire, and encourage women, get involved and develop ladies groups, like the one I am an Alabama Chapter Leader for, create clothing that fit us properly, organize all ladies hunts and outdoor events we will continue to grow in numbers and make a mark in this industry! As well as earn the respect of those who do not think women can hunt! Through trials, blood, sweat and tears, I think I have learned to adapt.

My girls have grown up hunting now and are harvesting their own deer, my oldest is hunting solo and tracking her deer through the years I’ve witnessed growth from wearing camo that doesn’t fit properly to using guns that are too long, (youth models don’t fit either), too being able to say there are women’s camouflage in some stores, our selection may not be as big as the men’s but we are making headway. Women have guns and equipment geared toward us. I’m thankful to see growth, I look forward to continue seeing our young girls step up into this field and hunting brands take notice that we make up a huge majority of the hunting industry and get use to the sales manager behind the desk or the person on the other end of the call being a women and she’s just as knowledgeable as the guy’s about what stock you are looking for or what gun is right for you!

Kim Bryant Alabama Wildlife Women chapter leader

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Arielle takes on Bow Fishing! What a sport, let me tell you! You get to do a little hunting and fishing all at the same time!! Quin, my husband, was the first to take me out bow fishing; and I haven’t wanted to stop since! Back in the day, I didn’t have all the bells and whistles I do now; I stood in between the seats for balance with a head lamp on. I looked for fish hoping to get a shot in before they swam away into the dark. Now, in the new boat, we have the whole set up! A generator for the light bars, a good motor, a trolling motor, a wood platform to stand and sit on and so much more. This makes our trips safe and enjoyable. He even equipped me with a pole that I can hold onto if the waves start rolling in.

Once you launch the boat, start up that generator and get all the lights going! When you get them all on, the bottom becomes alive! It’s a whole new world from day light fishing! If you run the shorelines, like you are supposed to, you can see all the fish swimming around with not a care in the water. The coolest part for me is to finally be able to visualize how the bottom looks; you get to see where all the good deep holes are. I have found quite a few amazing catfishing spots while bow fishing. I digress. Within a few minutes you start seeing carp; you are now constantly trying to get a good shot in! The first thing I learned when bow fishing was once you aim at the fish; aim lower. I missed quite a few shots because I was aiming to high. After you get the idea of how to hold your arm as well as where to aim, it’s just a matter of time.

Ready, Aim low and shoot! BAMB, you hit one!!! One you have an arrow in, the fish will either take off like crazy, or just stop moving all together. Reel it in and claim you prize! Carp are invasive, and we pride ourselves on taking out as many of them as we can!

They are good fertilizer to boot! Some of my coolest

fish I have shoot were: a mere carp (pictured below) and some really big goldfish (pictured below). Gar are hard to shoot, so even shooting a small one is worth a high five! I had my biggest carp on last year and as I was hand reeling him in he almost pulled me out of the boat into the water! All you hear, as my husband is shooting another fish is, “he’s pulling me in!”

I get dirty as all get up, my clothes are full of blood and guts, I’m tired and my arms hurt but it is so fun much!

Everyone must try it once in their lives, even if just to help eliminate an invasive species. “How do you clean your lakes?”

Make sure to check us out on YouTube (ShaysSlayOutdoors) or on Instagram (ArielleQuinShay) to see more amazing content! Thank you and stay blessed.

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Drop Tine Rolling down the highway, headed to work at a Cabela’s ladies day out event, my blaring radio was interrupted with a call from my husband Adam, who was working with a custom crew chopping silage. Hello…oh really, well how big is he…well if you say I might shoot, I likely won’t, Ooooo a drop tine? But is he big?…I’d maybe shoot him…well that’s the second maybe so I probably wouldn’t, but it’s cool you got to see a nice one. Later that evening at home he told me a little more about the buck, and while I was slightly intrigued I really didn’t give it much more thought. Now before you go questioning my sanity and reasoning on not getting excited about a drop tine we need to back up a bit. A bow hunter of 22 years at this point and a rifle hunter prior to that I have absolutely no idea how many hours I have logged in the field chasing these beasts. It is most certainly in the thousands and had I spent that same amount of time working I could probably retire. I’ve taken beautiful mature bucks over the years and it is always my desire to better each one with an even bigger buck, so you can imagine by now it’s going to have to be an extraordinarily big buck for me to take a second look.

Couple that with the fact I’ve laid eyes on two of the most absolutely amazing whitetails most hunters have ever seen and one even ended up in the books as a shed record and well I’m kind of ruined in the way of just taking any old mature buck. With the crew still chopping in the same field the following weekend due to weather holding them up, a different chopper operator phoned Adam Sunday afternoon and was relaying how these bucks were going crazy and running in and out of the field as they neared the end of clearing it. And the “drop tine” was one of them. Adam asked, “are you sure you don’t want to at least try and give him a go? I felt my heart beat quicken at the thought of getting to put a stalk on a nice drop tine and thought if nothing else, it will be a good learning experience, so off I headed north to find the silage crew. When I arrived the crew was working on the south end of the field. The driver stopped and hurriedly met me half way to him with an 8

excited, did you see him? What? No I didn’t see anything. I don’t know how you couldn’t he just ran west up the road in front of you. Again what? I’m thinking I must be blind or losing my mind, how could I miss a beast everyone is drooling over? Yeah, yeah with excitement he said, he headed north across the field about the time you turned the corner, then turned and ran parallel to you up the road. Hold on! I didn’t come from the east I came from the west, but I met a pickup that had come from the east. Well that’s it then the chopper driver had seen him flank another pickup he thought was mine. My heart sank a little as I figured the “drop tine” was long since gone in the canyons to the west and I had missed him only by mere seconds. I decided to hang around anyway and the crew started back up. I was just sitting and glassing when my phone rang. Hello…what?…you never actually saw him leave the field?…and you think he headed towards the few rows you left in that mud hole last week? My heart pounding again and my spirit refreshed like I’d drank from the fountain of youth I knew the odds were pretty good as tight as he was wanting to stay in that field that those few rows were where he was. I headed back out to road, parked on the edge of the forage still standing, sat on the back of the pickup and waited. It may sound crazy to sit and watch on the back of my pickup but there wasn’t a whole lot else I could do at this point except watch which direction he went, if he was in fact hold up in this tiny little sliver of cover. There’s vast open ground to the north and south for hundreds of yards, and the same for a few hundreds yards east and west before every direction disappears in to other fields or canyons. Not a grand scenario for a bow hunter. As the crew worked there way into the first pass of this final piece of cover out he burst with a flurry headed east and my heart skipped a little. Whoa, this is a really nice buck! I watched and I knew immediately this was a worthy adversary and exactly which direction I prayed he would go. As I was watching him run my phone rang again, Hello…yes I see him…I can’t shoot him at 150 yards and running with a bow…yes I’ll watch and see where he goes and then make a plan. So I sat and watched and my heart sank as he turned back north and jumped the fence and crossed the road I was sitting on about 200 yards from me. Well that’s that, he’s gone now, nothing but miles of open ground in front of him, offering him freedom and a long life and me left broken hearted and wondering if there was something I could have done differently. And then he paused, for one tiny millisecond and for reasons I still can’t fathom he changed his mind and turned and came back across the road. He had just made his first mistake and one is all I needed. I could feel the adrenaline surging through my veins as I watched him head the one direction I needed and wanted him to go. Time to waltz big boy, and so the dance began. I waited and watched him cross a road to the east and disappear thru some trees as he entered an old abandoned farm yard, exactly where I prayed he would go and I figured as tight as he

and the other bucks were holding to that field he would bed down immediately. I got back in the pickup, followed east down the road, parked a few hundred yards north of the yard, grabbed my bow and headed east as quickly and quietly as I could. The wind coming from the west had everything playing into my favor if he had in fact held up in that yard. A few hundred yards later the abandoned farm yard opened up to pasture and I saw no sign of him. Crawling on my hands and knees around the corner of a shelter belt to get a line of sight into the yard and just in case he had come all the way thru I peered west and still no sign of him. The house and buildings long sense gone like a tumble weed on the plains the yard was pretty flat accept for some dips here and there and a few scrub trees. I stood and glassed and glassed. He has to be here, I know it in my bones, and then the tiniest glisten caught my eye and my head snapped back to see this beautiful rack shimmering off and on as he moved in and out of the beams of sunlight peaking through the trees. My heartbeat quickened once again and I felt my throat tighten as I watched him non nonchalantly milling around back on the west end of the yard. He was stunning with a crazy rack, the drop tine close to 9” long and pointed almost more backwards than it did down., and my mind said I will take this buck, keep moving. The only thing on my mind was closing the distance between him and I, a mere 240 yards separated me from that drop tine. The wind was not steady and the ground was dry and loud and made it difficult to move in on him, but every time a silage truck would rumble by and fill the valley with noise I moved as fast as I could and then slowed or stopped as the sound of the truck covering my movement rolled out of ear shot. He continued to just mill around his spot as I glassed every few feet. 90 yards in to my stalk, the unthinkable happened, as I was glassing he vanished. Like right before my eyes vanished. Shocked and frustrated I rubbed my eyes, adjusted the binoculars and strained to see what on earth I missed.

Where did he go? After several minutes I convinced myself he dropped down into one of the dips and just bedded. Telling myself this yard is fairly flat and there just couldn’t’ be anywhere else he could have gone while I was watching him. I waited for minutes that felt like hours and still nothing, glassing the only direction, south he could have maybe gone without me seeing him and still nothing. Sure he had bedded down I inched ever so slowly forward, crawling, tip toeing, glassing every foot or two. 47 yards from the spot I lost him now and I do see a little dip in the ground where I am certain he’s bedded down and my thoughts are running wild about how amazingly easy this shot will likely be, until the snap of a twig stops my heart and breathing mid beat and breath. Without looking I know the score is even as I have made my first mistake, a worthy adversary is never easy you silly girl, but I continue to think and instinctively bring the bow up

and start to draw as I turn to see this monster walking parallel to me not 4’ away. I know I gasped a full on mouth open gasp as hard as I tried not to. He wasn’t looking and didn’t even know I was there, but I knew that was about to change as he would get down wind but somehow I still could not make myself shoot him.

He was mesmerizing, the scars on his face and those long eye lashes I hadn‘t seen in the binoculars, his big brown eyes, the silky smooth movement he made with each step and the only sound this giant made was the tiny twig he’d just snapped. How do they do that? I’ve been this close to many smaller bucks and hundreds of does, but this animal captivated me. His body was insanely giant and plump like a fat steer, so much so his skin was tight and rumpled around his shoulders and tail head. In the 4 or 5 steps it took him to get by me it were as if time stood still as I stood in awe of this gorgeous beast and the proximity I had gotten myself to him. I watched his chest move as he breathed, in and out, in and out. While he had no idea death stood so near at this point, the next step would tell the tale and it did, but not like I thought it would. I figured he would wind me and bolt and I’d never see him again. What he did instead will be engrained in my mind like a tattoo the rest of my life. He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widened as he lifted his head, turned and looked me full in the eye as if to acknowledge he knew his life was either at the moment about to be over or he’d been sparred. I don’t know which, maybe neither. I shifted my eyes downward so as not to look him straight in the eye and we stood locked 5 feet apart for several minutes and what seemed like an eternity until he simply turned back and began walking east again. I held on to my bow as he gave me one last opportunity for a perfect shot at 18 yards, yet even now at full draw again I could not make myself release that arrow. After his last pause to see if he could cheat death one last time he continued north and east and melted into the shelter belt where he then turned and stood facing and watching me at 40 yards for several more minutes before continuing east and disappearing into the vastness of a sand hills pasture. An intense calm came over me and I realized something I’d probably already known, this is the hunter I have become, I live for the challenge and the joy of pushing myself to be able to experience something I likely never will again. To dance with my adversaries on their turf and to let a worthy one walk when he made a mistake he shouldn’t have. While I started the day just going to see this buck, and deciding at one point I would take him, to in the end when my heart said no, you’ve already accomplished what you really came to do and got to experience more than you ever could have imagined, I knew that was all I could ever ask for in a hunt. I got out of the pickup in such a hurry, I didn’t even take my phone for pictures and I’m not upset about it all. The image of this beautiful buck and the dance we shared will forever live in my mind, and taking a trophy home or letting him walk will without a doubt be engrained in my mind as one of my greatest hunts ever!

Angie AK Creations Tack & Trailer Sales 1-866-313-1752 http:// www.akcreations1.com

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Water by 8 a.m. both fishing whatever was biting. The weather was unusually hot for Northern Ontario and it made for hard fishing. Not much was caught although there were hours of fishing put in by the end of the day.

The lodge had set up a lovely shore dinner fish fry for us.

We ate, had a great fellowship, and some headed back out for some evening fishing.

Wednesday we all were more focused. We were also feeling a bit defeated. Here we were on a river famous for big fish and we were barely getting nibbles. We had the rods, the bait, and all the tackle you could possibly ever need BUT the darn weather was SO hot. However by the end of the day we had all caught something. Not the monsters we all wanted but that's the way it goes sometimes. Although one of the girls got herself her first muskie, but she had put the hours in. I think her and her fishing partner fished 37 out of 48 hours. They are very dedicated anglers and I tip my hat to them.

A Reel Canadian Adventure with Wildlife Women

By Heather LeBlanc Wildlife Woman Chapter Leader In late June of this year eight ladies made the track to Dokis Ontario to spend roughly two days fishing the famous French River with two days of travel. Wildlife women is an organization that educates, inspires, and encourages ladies to be confident in the outdoors.

Chapter leader Heather LeBlanc plan this event which included seven ladies from Kentucky and one from Ontario. We stayed in cabins at the tilted to Wilderness Lodge right on the French River. We rented two boats from Magise Marina and one of our ladies brought her own boat. We came ready to slay fish.

Everyone arrived by Monday afternoon. Some of the ladies flew to Toronto and drove the rest of the way, and the other ladies drove all the way from Kentucky. We all settled into our cabins. Took note of our surroundings and started to fish the banks. Not a lot of hanging out was done because we were all tired from travel and needed to set up our rods so we were ready to fish the next morning.

On Tuesday morning one group set off by 5 AM. That group was seriously hunting muskies. Another group headed out by 7:30 a m and the last group were on the 10

Thursday was our day to leave which meant most of us stayed up way too late on Wednesday night either fishing or enjoying the planned sunset river tour. Those activities were followed by late night chit chats in our cabins and green screening interviews for our reality TV show Wildlife Women airing locally in Eastern Kentucky on Hometown 24. A great time was had by all. We were not slaying monsters, but we were all learning or educating each other, we were all encouraging one another, and we were doing our best to inspire others to do the same. At the end of the day and our trip we knew the weather got the best of us as far as the fishing goes but we took the best things away from our experiences as we could.

By keeping positive attitudes and enjoying the little things we had an unforgettable once-in-a-lifetime experience/ trip. That is what Wildlife Women is all about. Our motto is something we all stand by. We all genuinely want to educate, inspire, and encourage. If we all take the time to encourage someone in the outdoors, inspire the next generation to get outside, and do everything we can to educate others so they feel confident with their own skills we can continue this outdoor way of life for many years to come. Please check out Wildlife Women and all our adventures at wildlife-women.com or on facebook.com/ wildlifewomen/.

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THE HUNTERS WORLD Twenty-nine years ago I married a hunter, my high school sweetheart. We married right out of high school at the tender age of 18. It has been an amazing journey. Did I know he was hunter when I married him. Sure, I knew he liked hunting but I never knew how serious, intense and even contagious it could be. I was quickly introduced to a whole new world-"his world, the Hunters World".

Being married to a hunter means you do things differently. Including your honeymoon. Where does the hunter go for his honeymoon? Hunting of course!

The wedding itself was actually your normal affair. Dress, cake, flowers, and even got him in a tux. Have no idea how we got him to agree to that.

Anyway, since we had an evening wedding, the plan was to head to the mountains the following morning. Rule #1 when married to a hunter-Plans can change at anytime and should not come as a surprise when they do.

After the wedding we went to the apartment we would be calling home for our first year together. After the normal wedding night activities my dear husband announced that he couldn't sleep so we should just leave town now. At 1:00am?!! Okay, welcome to his world. So we packed up and left for our 3 day deer hunt/honeymoon. At 3:30am we find ourselves an a rough, rocky road stuck on something. 4wd won't get us out and with little light, it is hard to see what needs to be done so my husband calls it quits for the night. I gratefully crawl into the back end of our pickup truck, with it's little camper shell and mattress, and quickly fall asleep. Unfortunately though, morning comes very early in his world. Morning sheds light on our situation and we were soon able to get on our way.

Our 3 day hunt comes to an end and though we didn't get a deer I had begun to see what makes this man tick. I had never spent so much time in the woods and the beauty is almost overwhelming. The cool crispness of the morning makes you thankful to be alive. The morning sun peeking over the mountains through the trees, brings anticipation for what the day may bring.

We head back home, but the honeymoon is not over yet. We now have a 3 day turkey hunt/honeymoon combo. This hunt took place on the opposite of the state as our deer hunt. We got home and actually spent a whole night in our home. We took showers, restocked our food and clothing supplies, and headed back out.

This half of our honeymoon opened my eyes even wider to this world of his. I had never seen a wild turkey before and here were 5 of them feeding in the early morning light. My husband shot one and for the first time I examine a turkey beard, spurs, and the different colors of the feathers as the sun shines on them. Our honeymoon took place in the month of Sept and the elk were beginning to rut. My ears perked up, as for the first time I heard the call of the majestic bull elk. I had heard one and now I longed to see one. We began the search and I smiled with wonder as my husband pointed to the top of a mountain where I got a glimpse of the bull elk moving through the trees.

But as we all know, all good things must come to an end. It was almost time for us to go home, so now I must tell you that not all went well in those final days of our trip. As I mentioned earlier, my husband and I were both 18. He had only had his drivers license for a few months and had

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very little experience driving off road. The day before we were to head home, we rolled our truck. He tried to make a turn too fast and we ended up upside down. Fortunately the Good Lord was watching over us and we both crawled out without a scratch. The tires of our truck pointed upward as we sat there on the ground stunned. With the help of his cousin, ( who was also there turkey hunting and camping next to us,) his cousins two friends, and a fellow passing by, we were able to roll our truck tires back onto the ground. The body of the truck had very little damage. The camper shell was smashed beyond repair, and the windshield was shattered. It could have been so much worse. Of course when my husband saw his shotgun he wasn't concerned about the truck. I guess that might be rule #2.The guns of a hunter are very important and may take priority over many other things. Somewhere along the way in the crash, the gun barrel had found it's way out the window and ended up bent at about a 45* angle. When someone mentioned shooting around corners with it, he was not amused.

Our time in the mountains was over and it was time for us to go home.

We cleaned out all the broken pieces of the wind shield and headed home. If you've never driven 70mph on a freeway with no windshield, you don't know what you're missing. Bugs smacking you in the face, eyes watering- a truly unforgettable experience.

Well, 29 yrs has gone by and I am no longer a stranger in his world. I have made myself at home here. I have found myself nearly frozen as I sit next to him calling coyotes on an early winter morning and I am the one holding the gun. He was by my side when I took my first deer with a bow. He grinned as he listened to me tell the story of my hunt to anyone who would listen. He was a couple of hills over when I killed my next two deer with a bow but he hurried over to help me drag them out. I have since had successful deer hunts with muzzleloader and rifle. I've taken turkey, elk, antelope, and javelina. All with my "hunter" by my side.

While being married to hunter does give you access to a wonderful world, it does have a couple of downsides. Such as he can remember when and where he has killed every single deer and turkey,(yours too), but can't remember where the coffee filters are kept. He knows every season opening and closing date, but has to to be reminded about birthdays and anniversaries. You get the idea. But I believe the good far out weighs the bad. There is something so peaceful about sitting in a mountain meadow watching deer feed in the early morning light. The birds are singing, the dew is glistening on the leaves, and at that moment in time, all is right in the world. I became a part of this world the day I got married. I can only pray that it will always be here and I will never have to leave it. If you are a part of the Hunters World, share it with someone. Show them what they are missing. Pass it on to the kids in your life. Let them get to know your world and they will make it their world too.

Melissa ThomasMelissa Thomas and her husband are currently making custom fishing tackle. You can find them at www.thomascustomlures.com

The next day my fiancée messed up his knee and was out, his son Adam and I took off. To chase them he bugled and the bull answered, we walked a bit farther and he bugled again , this time very close! Adam told me to walk to the fallen tree and be ready, he was going up high to call but when I turned around that old bull was standing 30 yards away!! He bolted and I never had a chance to even draw my bow back on him. By the time we made it all the way back to camp my feet were covered in blisters and I was completely exhausted. The next day we built a blind and i hunted out of it for a couple days, we had a bull answer our calls and was so mad he was almost growling, but wouldn’t come in bow range.

My First Public Land DIY Archery Elk Hunt Shannon Beck

The last evening hunt we spotted a bull on the other ridge and decided to go after him, we took off down the mountain and up the other side in record time. When we got up there the bull answered our bugle from the other side of the rock cliff, we went up the cliff and he answered almost behind us.

I ran to the edge of the cliff to get a shot but all I could see was the back of his horns, I went into full draw and quickly walked towards him but he winded us, barked and ran away.

He never seen me he was looking straight at the decoy the whole time. Even though I didn’t come home with a trophy bull I had the best experience of my life!! I can’t wait to try again next year.

We put in for the draw in New Mexico and hoped for the best, that awaited day arrived and I couldn’t believe I drew Unit 16D! The state of New Mexico only allows a small number of non-resident hunters in that area, i had less than a 2% chance and I got it!! In July me, my fiancé and his son and grandson went to scout! It was like being in a petting zoo for elk, they were everywhere!!!

September came and we packed up and took off for the mountains prepared for a 14 day hunt! Very primitive set up just cots and a tent and charcoal to cook on! The first morning of the hunt we took off and quickly heard two big bulls fighting once it got daylight we could see them, but they were down in a bottom with swirling wind and our thermals were going right down to them so no shot opportunities, but still very exciting. We took off and bugled and got an answer we had him coming straight to us 200 yards out and then the wind changed and he was gone!

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Epic Ladies Cow Elk Pack Trip Oct. 2019 Organized by The Sisterhood of The Outdoors Hosted by Boulder Basin Outfitters Cody, WY

By Victoria Tavares

I suppose every EPIC hunt story starts with the reason one decides to go on such a hunt. I started hunting 7 years ago at the age of 45, white tail deer, someone’s back woods, rifle. To say the least my hunting views, style, and desires have changed over the past 7 years and, like most people, I wanted more. Enter the Sisterhood of The Outdoors. While I was in North Dakota last winter I stumble across the Facebook group, through another group. I looked at the different hunts, read through some posts, and did this over and over. The EPIC Ladies Cow Elk Pack Trip kept catching my attention: Wyoming, Horseback, rifle, ladies only, time to save for the trip, time to prep. DONE! Deposit sent and the ball started rolling.

This EPIC hunt had been in the works since Feb. 2019 and it's now Oct. 2019 and I still had fears that plagued me. I had purchased a brand new Remington .270 rifle for this hunt and up until a week before the hunt I was still unable to get that rifle zeroed at 100 yards, regardless of ammo, the rifle had nothing consistent about its ability to hit paper. Not being new to rifles, but this rifle set-up being new to me, it was quiet possibly operator error. A friend offered to meet me at a gun range, bring a tried and trusted 30-06 rifle option and a lead sled. I ended up taking that 30-06 on this hunt, huge stressor overcome.

As I counted down the days to flying out to Cody, Wyoming on my final day I put into writing my greatest fears still surrounding the hunt: * My physical endurance. I had snowboarded Breckenridge two years ago so I was familiar with the effects of altitude for me-headaches and breathlessness. Ibuprofen was going to be a must * Missing a shot/having a bad shot causing additional work or possibly not finding an injured elk * Bear attack-in general or while harvesting/butchering an elk * Not taking a long-distance shot because of self-doubt * Not being able to sleep

Now if you haven’t been to Wyoming, you need to just GO! If you have been to Wyoming then you might understand how a 14 year old girl fell in love with the state when she visited the Grand Tetons and Lake Jenny! And that being said, there is something about Cody, Wyoming, possibly its Ol’ West feel or the proximity to Yellowstone National Park. Whatever your reason, Cody feels like America should, to me.

Day one. My flight from Philadelphia to Cody was completely uneventful and my ride, Jen, picked me up from the airport. Now Jen and I had become Facebook friends through the Sisterhood of The Outdoors Cow Elk hunt group page. Jen in herself has a story but that is her’s to tell but let’s just say, she’s lucky to be alive and her words not mine, “hunting saved me”.

So to say meeting Jen finally after all the months of stress over my rifle and understanding where she started and is standing today, I’m in awe and ready for our EPIC adventure together.

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Night one. Buffalo Bill’s Irma Hotel, built in 1902. The Irma also houses a restaurant and bar which is frequented by locals and travelers like us.

Let’s just say, I got to dance with a real cowboy, Justin, who ends up being my guide for the hunt. It was fun meeting a couple of the girls on the hunt, there were 4 of us in all that night, Tara, Sarah, Jen, and myself. We were all

strangers to each other but one common goal, have an EPIC Ladies Cow Elk trip and harvest an elk.

Day two. We had planned on going to a rifle range to make any necessary rifle/scope adjustments once the last two girls arrived. We headed out to a small, one target range in the middle of some state game lands outside Cody. One of the ladies had brought a rifle she needed to work with so I let her work all while mentally struggling with my rifle concerns at a different altitude with ammunition that I’d never fired through the 30-06 that replaced my .270.

Night two. Elk burger for dinner at the Irma and early to bed because tomorrow morning we head to the trailhead to begin the EPIC part of this trip.

Day three. Morning. I was dressed and packed and having breakfast as the other’s strolled in. Thankfully I had slept well. If I said it was cold outside at the end of October there in Cody, many of you wouldn’t comprehend that cold. Low temperatures and cold winds, exactly what Wyoming is know for. We packed out gear, double checked we each had all our gear, and double checked again. We drove out to meet Carl and the others from Boulder Basin Outfitters. That’s Tucker on that flat bed and part of the crew.

It was a good hours travel to the trailhead and along the way I was awestruck by the view of the Shoshone River which I had fished briefly a year prior.

When I say we saw herds of hundreds of mule deer, some elk, and some whitetail, I’m not exaggerating! At the trailhead the rest of the crew is hard at work prepping horse and mules and camp gear.

It’s now late morning and we are all saddled up and on our horses, I’m riding Poker Face who has one blue eye and one brown and the 3.5 hour trail ride up to camp at 8,500 feet begins. Poker Face was no where near as excited as I was to begin this journey, probably to conserve energy. I couldn’t help but be a bit anxious as Poker Face trekked up and traversed the numerous steep switchbacks up the mountain. I’ve ridden trail horses before but these equestrian beauties were far superior in their abilities than anything I’d ever experienced. That being said, this trip did not require you to be an experienced rider and that was completely true as 3 of the ladies had never ridden before and had zero issues during the entire trip. As we continue up the mountain I realized that this mode of transportation was exactly how early settlers and hunters got around. We were fortunate to see this group of rams pictured here along our journey.

Day three. Afternoon. We arrive at the creek just outside camp and let the horses drink. And as the theme continues, I’m in awe of the view around me.

We are oriented to camp, the out house, logistics of camp, and our sleeping quarters for the next three nights. We had two cots, gas lamp, wood stove, and a dirt floor, priceless! We are all excited to drop our gear and head out into the Wyoming wilderness with our bear spray of course.

My hunting partner, Mele, experienced hunter without any success of a harvest to date and a know altitude sickness sufferer. Our guide, my dancing cowboy, Justin. Our location for the afternoon was on an elevated ridge with an amazing 360 degree view. There is no picture of this view as it was so cold and windy, I could not bring myself to take out my phone to snap a picture. We all glassed the area and I spotted two orange dots, another third of our hunting group. I spotted two elk in their general area but unfortunately logistics weren’t in favor of them being able to approach the small group of elk.

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Radio silence was broken. Carl was advising that his hunting group, Sarah and Tara, was watching a migrating herd of about 300 elk coming up the “elevator” and they were going to get into position to shoot. We all sat there on the ridge, in that cold wind, waiting for more info.

How exciting! Then BANG! Justin asked if we wanted to wait out the last light or consider heading down shortly to possibly see if the shots had separated a small group out of the larger herd. Mele was cold and ready to go, I was ambivalent. We continued to glass and BANG, another shot fired.

By now I’m super excited and sure someone, or both, has harvested an elk.

The sun was starting to descend deeper and darkness was edging into the Wyoming wilderness. It was time to head back to camp.

Now I love a good trail ride but I’ve never done one in the dark wilderness so I kept my bear spray close but was reassured that a bear wouldn’t attack with us on the horses. Um, OK?! We walked our trusty steeds down the steep bank they had brought us up and it was quickly evident that my partner was struggling keeping up. As a nurse, you notice the little things, and I noticed she didn’t look great. I motioned to Justin to slow down and she regained some energy and we mounted our horses.

Day one was coming to a close as we arrived back at camp, dismounted our horses, and dropped our gear off. As we settled in the mess tent warming up, BANG! Then BANG! Then a radio call from Carl confirming two elk down and the request to bring some pack mules and for the other two guides to help. Mele and I settled in. I knew I needed water and Ibuprofen to combat my altitude issues so I inquired as to where to get water. Pictured here is our water source, straight from the creek, no Life Straw needed. Have I mentioned how I love Wyoming.

Day one. Night. Jen and Ellen, my orange dots from earlier, are now back at camp but it’s beginning to feel like eternity while we wait on Sarah and Tara and the guides. I knew that bear attacks were extremely likely at night with fresh meat down but then suddenly, cow bells! They are placed on the corralled mules and horses to alert camp but this time it meant that the group was back. I couldn’t contain my excitement for them and confirmation that this EPIC trip was definitely off to an amazing start with two tagged elk in less than 6 hours of arrival at camp. The elk was hung up on the bear rack and we adjourned to the mess tent to eat some amazing camp food by Kate. And I eagerly listened to them each tell their stories about their successful harvests.

Day one. Bedtime. I dreaded this part, knowing full well I wouldn’t sleep. It was exciting to see a fire in the stove and the lamp on, our guides work. We were informed we’d get a wake up call at 5 am with plans of heading out by 6ish. I settled into my “coffin” style sleeping bag, warm up to my neck, and struggled with the zipper and getting comfortable. The fire dwindled and I lay awake, tired and excited. If I slept at all it couldn’t have been for long.

Day two. Morning. Justin promptly arrived in our tent, lit the lantern and stove-HEAT is so underrated! I’m excited and dressed and in the mess tent for coffee and more fire. The plan will be for us to head out to the area where the migration herd had been seen the night before. We geared and saddled up, this time with Carl also. It was still dark but no worries, these horses/mules had our travel needs mastered.

The trail up was pretty steep and as it started to open up and level off, the Wyoming sunrise also showed up. Suddenly, the team stopped, glassed the area, and dismounted, I followed the leader. It was still too dark to shoot but there was a heard of about 40 elk and we were going to get into position. We approached a rock wall which was the perfect height for 16

shooting and only a 100 yard shot. Our instructions, once you both have an elk in your crosshairs-1,2,3 shoot. As easy as that sounds, it’s not. Animals move and in the mix of this herd were bulls, spikes, and calves, some still nursing. So what seemed like forever finally Mele and I were both ready to shoot- BANG! CLICK!. My safety leveler was not fully disengaged, operator error or just frozen. There’s a pretty good chance my partner hit her mark and an elk is down. The herd moved.

Then we did some hustling, at least that’s what I was trying to do but that altitude can slow you down. Back on our horses, up the ridge, there’s the herd. Breathlessness. Dismount. I’m told to use Carl’s shoulder to stabilize my rifle and shoot from there. Well, the Wyoming wind was unbelievable up there on that mountain ridge and was pushing me, my rifle, and that shoulder all over. I announced I cannot take a shot in those circumstances. He points at a small rock and tells me the plan. He lays over the rock and says to take the shot from there. Cow elk in my crosshairs, CLICK! Seriously?! At this point I’m sure Carl is thinking I have no clue what the heck I’m doing with my rifle. He gives it the once over and positions himself again. BANG! I’m pretty sure I shot high, herd clusters but doesn’t move from their feeding ground this time, whew.

We wait and nothing is spotted as downed. I explain my shot was at an elk in the middle of the herd because it was broadside and had two bulls on each side. The herd loosens and a cow moves to the left in front of the herd, this time, I’m told not to flinch. Again, Carl’s back and prone. BANG! And I watch that huge cow elk’s body move as if the bullet went right through her. She didn’t drop but did move into the herd then out of site. Justin and I were sure that was a direct hit but Carl not so much. We waited a few minutes and the herd moved off.

Carl advises he is going to try an locate my partner’s elk and see if mine went down too. Radio call is that one elk was found, most likely my partners. I was sad and disappointed. My fears were becoming reality: waves of altitude sickness, rifle issues causing unnecessary wasted time, and now possibly a bad shot. Radio call, TWO ELK! We do a quick relief celebration and head down to make thanks for our harvest.

And there she is, halfway down the hill. And my partner’s is stuck in one of the sole trees there, which was probably a good things since this area had a serious grade down to the bottom. I kneel and give thanks to the magnificent creature for her sacrifice and I promise to honor her every time she is served at a meal. My partner also gives thanks and we do our best to participate in the butchering while keeping watch for bears.

Carl makes the butchering look so easy and as I’m handed one of my quarters to move out of the way and I realize I can barely lift it off the ground. I’m thinking 50 pounds, but they say more like 75 pounds. Back straps and tenderloins out. Next elk, quick butchering. We started our hunt around 7:30 am and it was 9:30 when the elk was done being butchered. The elk meat was packed onto the horses and mule. Justin went to wrangle the horses that were out in the range and we began our walk back to camp with Carl as it started to snow.

I can’t say what happens to everyone else during their hunts but for me, I was overwhelmed with various emotions. It was snowing and I was leading a horse with elk meat I had just harvested back to camp in the Wyoming wilderness. Bears, cowboys, camp, breathlessness, excited, safety failure. It was an hour back to camp, so tons of time for thinking.

Back at camp we were greeted by the previous night’s harvesters and we dropped our gear at our tent. Mele and I had a quick moment were we looked at each other and basically said how grateful we were and how lucky we had gotten to harvest early and at close range. It was over, we TAGGED OUT! We hustled to the bear pole to complete our experience. Watching Carl work is nothing short of amazing and his many years of experience shows. Quarters went into game bags and up they went, all 8 of them, we each helped. My partner’s request was for her cow elk’s head to also join her at home, it was hoisted up too, all safely away from bears.

Day two. Breakfast. Kate, the camp cook, needs her own TV show.

Some may say it was just because we were cold and hungry but I’m here to say, Kate’s camp food was nothing short of amazing. I’m not sure if she is selftaught or Carl played a hand in her abilities to cook but anyone that can raise bread at that altitude and cook with wood gets major kudos from me. The final third of the hunting teams is back at camp now too and we share our stories together. Group 3, Jen and Ellen, did actually take a few shots but missed at far distances. It’s still snowing and beautiful.

Day two. Afternoon. Group 3 is heading back out, I am sure to be out and send them on their way. I’m envious that they are still getting to go out and ride their horses and hunt and explore the wilderness. I’m at camp, tired and excited to share with my friend, the gun loaner, that the rifle I used did it’s job.

Day two. Evening. Group 3 is back and looking tired. I encourage them both to eat and drink, one especially is looking more weary than I’d like, that’s the nurse in me. I provided Ibuprofen to whomever wanted it. I can’t remember what Kate made for dinner but I know it was amazing and she always made a dessert-cake, berry cobbler, brownies. Girl has skills!

Day two. Bedtime. Not a fan. I’m exhausted and determined to figure this sleeping bag and cold situation out. Fire going, hand warmers in my bag, hat on my head. Snuggled in. Nope, not a wink of sleep.

Day three. Morning. No lamp lighting, no fire started in the tent. I finally hear voices and I’m up and out to that mess tent to warm up and make sure I do not miss sending group #3 off into the wilderness. It has stopped snowing at camp with at least 6 inches of new snowfall. It’s cold outside. No one is up but me and the camp crew, of course. And I’m thinking how on earth can anyone sleep like this? I curl up by the back stove and relax. Group 3 meanders in ready to go at it again. I watch them ride out into the wilderness again, sending harvesting good wishes along with them. I’m sad and happy at the same time.

Day three. Breakfast. Group 3 is back still with two tags. They are exhausted. They tell about their morning on the ridge where their guide started a fire while they waited out the fog.

Day three. Afternoon. We send off group 3 again into the Wyoming wilderness. The rest of us relax at camp. Take some pictures of the scenery and 17

the bear pole again. This article really isn’t about group 3, and they really should write about their own story, but they didn’t have it the easiest either. They did get to see and experience some of the Wyoming wilderness that I did not, I was envious.

Day three. Evening. I was getting hungry and worried about group 3. We hadn’t heard any radio chatter. I thought I had heard a rifle shot far off but no confirmation either. It was getting super late then finally Justin asked if we are going to go great the returning ladies? Well of course we are, we always do.

I thought it was weird but got out there, helped gather some gear and Jen asks if someone can put her rifle in her tent so she can help put her meat up the bear pole. We were all blindsided!

There was no evidence of quarters as we had become accustomed too, hanging off the horse. Her quarters were neatly tucked inside pack bags.

Jen, my Facebook friend, could write her own story about her personal journey that got her to the mountain top camp in the Wyoming wilderness but this article isn’t about her either, but her impact on me and my success for this hunt is. When someone tells you that they think learning to hunt “saved them” you listen to what they have to say because I truly feel the same way, hunting has saved me. Not exactly in the same reference as my friend Jen’s but saved me just the same.

It’s mess tent time and dinner. Some cheers and toasts conclude the night. Tonight the camp crew is sleeping in the mess tent because tomorrow afternoon we head back down the mountain. And this makes me sad and excited, the ongoing mixed emotions I have had this trip are unbelievable.

Day three. Night. Mele and I discuss the fire situation because it is going to be the coldest night yet. We agree to do our best to keep that fire going but as with previous nights, it went out. This night, I know I slept but not for long.

Day four. Morning. As I have every morning, I’m up and in the mess tent for warmth and Cowboy Coffee. I’m exhausted and looking forward to heading back to The Irma to sleep. But there is one final lady who needs to tag out and she has decided to make that one last go of it, I’m impressed. Ellen, another lady who could write her own story, is suffering from altitude issues for sure, could hardly eat and was very tired. I send her off into the Wyoming wilderness with her guide.

The rest of us are packing our gear and piling it up so the crew can pack it on the mules. Carl, Justin, and Kate make all this look easy but I know it is not. The job they do, you have to love it. It’s cold, it’s hard work, and it’s close quarters. Even though I told them thank you many times, I hope they really believe how much I appreciate them and what they do. On that note, please make sure you plan on tipping any guides for any services, regardless of your ability to harvest, they still work really hard and are in no control over the wildlife you are in search of.

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Day four. Breakfast. It’s a breakfast burrito morning and as always Kate’s the rockstar. Ellen is back, tag in hand. Poker Face and Sante’ Fe, another horse, get into a tiff, Poker Face looses with a kick to the face. Even the horses are ready to leave this beautiful mountain top.

Day four. Afternoon. The trail ride begins and reality is that the EPIC Ladies Cow Elk trip is almost over. One night’s sleep at The Irma and I fly back to Philadelphia. Poker Face and the other horses made quick travel down the mountain but most of the time we had to lead them due to the steep trails. Since there was so much fresh snow we saw all kinds of animal tracks: wolf, bear, and elk.

Back at the trailhead the crew works its magic, our gear is piled up, we load up our vehicles. It’s over, just like that. The elk quarters are set out, those are also loaded into vehicles. Since I’m flying I have to take my meat to a processor and it’s almost 4 pm with a winter storm rolling in. Jen and I head over and drop our harvests off. I had already decided prior to dropping the elk off that I will never fly again to a hunt, I will drive and bring my harvest home with me.

Day four. Evening. Back at Buffalo Bill’s The Irma Hotel it’s hot showers and clean clothes for all. I’m thrilled to have my SWAG bag longsleeved Sisterhood of The Outdoors shirt. It’s dinner and off to bed for a good night’s sleep.

Day five. Morning. It’s a different morning, I’m warm and slept well.

I’m up and ready for Cowboy coffee and a breakfast by Kate that isn’t going to happen so I settle for an Irma breakfast and coffee. I have an early flight, check in with my ride Jen, who joins me at breakfast along with Tara.

Jen and I chat on the ride to the Cody airport, we say our goodbyes. At the check-in counter I’m informed that the winter storm that hit Denver yesterday has delayed flights that my flight is delayed. Additionally, I will miss my connection in Denver to Philadelphia. My only real option is to fly to Denver, layover, fly to San Francisco, layover, then to Philadelphia to arrive the next morning at 8:30 am. Done. I had forgotten my sleeping bag coffin in Jen’s truck, tell her what’s going on with flight delays and she’s back at the airport to pick me up. Thank God because Cody airport is beyond small. Jen and I tourist around Cody, have coffee, chat.

Back at the Cody airport and the coast to coast air trip in less than 24 hours is a success. And just like that, I miss Wyoming.

-- Victoria Tavares Co-founder of Sunshine Women on the Fly 772-301-8828

“You won’t miss if you NEVER take the shot” While the saying, you won’t miss if you never take the shot may be true, there is even more truth to the fact that while you won’t miss, you will also never MAKE the shot if you don’t learn to take it. And herein lies another very old saying of practice makes perfect. For years and years, probably 17 be exact I had this idea in my head that a bow shot over 40 yards was unfathomable. I mean who would attempt such a shot and risk wounding an animal, I for one was not going to be that person. As my years of shooting started adding up, the bows that were coming out were getting better and better and the idea of shooting farther began creeping into my head. I was starting to hear of other shooters doing it so why not try? Well I did and I was immediately both elated and disappointed. I could shoot past 40 yards but it wasn’t pretty. I found myself stepping back up time after time to the 20-40 yards where my shots were perfect and every so often I’d step back and think well crap I still stink from back here. In 2015 I was forced outside of my little 40 yard comfort zone when preparing for a caribou hunt. I had asked the outfitter what kind of shot I needed to be prepared for and he answered with, you should be comfortable out to 70 yards. My heart sank, but I dug my heels in and went to work From that day forward I have rarely practiced anything under 70 yards.

What I discovered is to be 100 percent comfortable at a certain distance, I have to be shooting beyond that distance. Practicing at 80, 90 and even 100 yards makes the 70 yard shot feel like the 40 yard shot used to, a walk in the park. The same can be said for weather elements. I used to try and shoot on perfect days, no wind, no rain etc.

Well guess what, I have rarely had a “perfect” day to hunt.

Now I shoot on the nastiest days I can and I make that harder by shooting when I am exhausted, like from fixing fence all day. I want my muscles aching and trembling to

resemble a nervous shot on a hunt. This paid off this past May while on a bear hunt in Canada, for 11 days it rained all but one day. I was exhausted and my bow and hand were soaked. While I never got a shot at a bear I have no doubt in my mind my shot would have still hit its mark. This kind of practice may sound torturous, but I promise it will make you a better shot, as it did me. I shot my caribou at 57 yards in a stiff wind and dropped him almost exactly where he stood. I push myself to “take” the crazy shots when practicing so when the opportunity presents itself I will be able to “make” that shot in the field. Going a bit further, have you ever heard someone say they tried to “thread the needle” on a shot in the field and it did not end well? I have, way to many times. My thought process here is if you’re in a stand, why aren’t your shooting lanes clear? And if they can’t be then once again you better be practicing the shot and know exactly what size of needle you can actually thread.

Practice can never rule out every possible scenario in hunting, but it sure can eliminate a bunch of them and save you a ton of heart ache down the road. Happy Shooting!

Angie AK Creations Tack & Trailer Sales 1-866-313-1752 http://www.akcreations1.com

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teach our 8 year old son Levi the tricks of the trade! He actually harvested his first buck last year, a beautiful 7 point, in front of dogs and he was only 7 years old. I have started a clothing brand called "Girls with Hounds" and also "Hunt with Hounds" for the guys.

This brand was started to just be among a few friends who love running hounds. Finding girls who love this sport as much as me is few and far between but when I met these girls, I knew we needed something to represent doing what we loved. What was started just for us, has grown substantially over the past year.

Praise be to God! I now have clients all across this Country and even some in Canada who have made multiple purchases with this brand. What I hope more than anything to get out of Girls with Hounds is to get more women and children involved in hunting hounds.

It's to teach others the love we have and the life we live with these hounds so that hopefully many future generations will fight to keep this tradition going! It has been around for far to long and means to much to so many people and families to just let it fade away. I am so blessed to have Girls with Hounds and be able to my name is Cora Parker and I'm from a little town meet so many incredible people and make lifelong called Riegelwood, NC. I begged my daddy from a friends. young age to take me hunting but it wasn't until I hit close to teen years that I finally got to go. We Yall be sure to check out my website at would still hunt for deer and it was the most www.girlswithhounds.com and see more of what it's memorable moments for me as a youth! Between all about. Happy hunting yall and God bless!• that, him taking me fishing and then him teaching me to drive my first vehicle which was an 88 Ford Bronco 5 speed. Yes, I've always been a daddy's girl and I've always been a tomboy. I had gotten to hunt with hounds a few times with friends growing up but it wasn't until I met my husband, at age 19, that I really got into it! I shot my first deer which was a doe in front of dogs when I was 22. We also coon hunt with hounds which will always be my favorite game to hunt! We have our own coonhound Ruger that has been hunting solo since he was about 2 years old and he is now going on 9.

We also have 2 black and tan puppies we are training and running with him on coon. We deer, coon and bear hunt with hounds but we only have our own coon dogs. My father in law has many deer dogs that he has trained himself and one of my husbands friends take us to run bear with his hounds. I hope to harvest my first black bear with dogs on November 11th with him and my husband!

My husband Josh has taught me everything I know about running dogs and now we are both able to 20

admired him for awhile and thanked God for such a blessing before field dressing.

After that my hunts consisted of looking out back since my husband and oldest son would go duck hunting on the weekends. I loved watching the deer run around and the young bucks sparing. There's just something beautiful about watching wildlife do what it's created to do. It was the last week of season and once again I was getting ready to take my son to school. I looked out back and there was a decent buck coming across the field. I rushed to the back with my son right behind me. He grabbed my camera, I grabbed the 7mm mag, and we got ready.

I had a Baby, is the Hunt Over?

Holly Overman, Doe Range

After missing twice yet again, I realized shooting long ranges is something I need to improve on. For some reason he remained out there at about 200 It was a new deer season with all new challenges for 2018. yards, so I braced myself for a third shot and pulled the trigger.

I had a baby this past Three shots must be my thing this season because he dropped in spring, is my hunt over or just limited? I knew I'd only get his tracks. In total shock, I looked back at my son who was also in to go on the weekends when my husband could take over shock and he goes, "You Dropped Him!". baby duty. Some folks would say, "Just take him with you".

I'd love to do that, but he's not quiet enough and the ticks I got my son to school and fed the baby then loaded up with were too bad. But one day he'll get to tag along and I can't straps to retrieve my buck. I stood there with the baby admiring wait. him and wondering how I'm going to do this. He was a younger buck but still a beautiful 10 point. I decided on a plan of action Every year we see some decent bucks to target on camera. and got him back. So with that, this Huntin' Momma Tags Out. This year I filmed a group of bachelors that had two nice ones I really liked. I wasn't What a season it turned out to be. I was truly blessed with two sure how big they were but I knew one was a mature stud. nice bucks and still got to see plenty of deer. Not the desired way, After season opened, I was able to go hunting a few times but my only way. Best of all, the meat went to feeding my family. but didn't see much. When I couldn't go, I'd look out back So, is the hunt over after having a baby? Absolutely NOT! for deer in the field. This one particular day I seen a big buck come out of the woods with some does, but he didn't stay out long.

On a chilly, November morning I was getting ready to take my son to school. Through tired eyes I looked out the back window and seen the elusive buck coming across the field. I got excited because he was after some does, so I figured this time I'd have a chance at him. I rushed to the back door, grabbed the .270 and stepped out to the backyard. With two missed shots, I felt discouraged but glad that he was focused more on the does and remained out there at 200 yards. So I braced myself better and took a third shot. He bucked and ran off into the woods. I was overcome by emotions because I knew I got him but didn't know how good.

After getting my son to school and feeding the baby, I went out there to look for blood. While walking in he field, I was amazed to see three does come out. I couldn't actually track the buck with the baby. Especially if he was still alive and needed a fatal shot. I looked for awhile but had to get back to the house. Thankfully our neighbor came over to track and retrieve him for me. When he brought him to the house, I was elated seeing this buck up close. He was a mature 9 point stud that I called The Backyard Buck. I

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Tips For An African Hunt Kim Bryant I did a solo trip/hunt last year! Loved it and I’m going back June of 2020. My tips for travel you’ll need African $ (Rand) for tipping, airport food, souvenirs you may see and other merchandise. I used Travelex, you can get the money delivered straight to your door step, very convenient you have to sign for it and show an ID for verification.

Do get travel insurance for assurance and peace of mind. Global rescue is a great one. Nomad is who I used. You’ll need a plug adapter for your phone & electronics. you can order three prong plug off amazon. You will also need to get international calling otherwise you’re phone bill will be crazy expensive another great app is WhatsApp it’s free, check with what area you’ll be hunting for your mandated vaccination, I didn’t have to have everything just updated a few that was recommended.

As far as safety, I never felt unsafe or scared! Just pay attention to your surroundings, don’t leave and go to unpopulated areas. I actually found that everyone was very helpful at the airport in Johannesburg, they’ll be baggage handlers coming up to you asking to help with luggage for a tip and I let them help me direct me to exactly were I was going. I never left the airport though so I didn’t explore the city other than when my PH picked me up and dropped me off. I did have crazy flight itinary and literally was the crazy women sitting on the isle seat and running through the airport making my flights! Thank God I didn’t miss one. Oh I hope I never have to fly Into JFK again that was stressful I ran up 7 levels or something, I couldn’t even tell you how I found my gate that day! Take tons of pictures, when you get there time just kinda stands still and I loved it because I was never rushed!! Enjoy every minute it’s by far my most favorite hunt and place I’ve ever traveled!! Do your research, find a reputable outfitter and PH, get referrals from previous hunters, the success of your trip depends on the trust, the knowledge and experience of the PH you are hunting with. Don’t be shy to ask questions I’m telling you people in Africa was more welcoming, friendly and helpful than any person at any of the American airports I stopped at! I fell in love with Africa!! I could move there I think!

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little too young to carry a gun while walking the woods, but they were just as excited as the adults to be going squirrel hunting.

SQUIRREL DOGS Written By, David Hoover Courtesy of Jess & Marc Gray

When I was growing up, my small-game hunting experiences mainly consisted of chasing rabbits and quail with dogs. My squirrel hunting excursions were more limited. They generally involved donning camo, quietly walking the woods near my house, and searching for an unwary squirrel given away by a subtle flicker of fur among the treetops. When the spot-and-stalk tactic didn’t work, I would find a big tree to sit against and do my best to imitate the sound of a squirrel eating a hickory nut, hoping to encourage any nearby squirrels to investigate and give up their cover. It had been a few years since I last chased any bushytails around the woods. So when Tom, a friend and quail-hunting buddy of mine, called and asked if I wanted to try my hand at squirrel hunting with dogs, I jumped at the opportunity.

A FAMILY TRADITION

Tom and his 14-year-old grandson, Austin, brought along Zip, a 2-year-old mountain feist, when we drove out to meet Tom’s friends on their family farm in north Missouri. Marcus, his wife, Jess, their two kids — and Zip’s mom, Daisy — had made the trek out from New Jersey, something they do twice a year to visit family and friends. Marcus, an avid squirrel hunter, had learned to hunt on this farm and had harvested his first squirrel in the very woods we were about to hunt. The kids, 5year-old Danielle and 3-year old Robert, were a 24

Until today, Tom and Austin were the only two hunters I knew who hunted squirrels using dogs, so I asked Marcus about the popularity of this tradition. He said that back when the countryside was dotted with small subsistence family farms, most farmsteads likely had a dog from one of the common squirrel dog breeds. Not only were they used to hunt squirrels to supply the family with meat, they were good at protecting the hen house. As time went on and these small farms disappeared from the landscape, the squirreldog hunting tradition began to decline. Marcus also said he sees this tradition starting to gain in popularity as more folks are finding out how enjoyable it is.

As Daisy and Zip were getting reacquainted, Marcus and Jess got their kids ready for the hunt.

It was obvious to me that the trips back to the family farm for Marcus and Jess were as much about instilling a love of the outdoors and conservation in their children as it was about hunting squirrels on the home place. Once the dogs were sufficiently reacquainted, they were ready for the hunt.

TIMBERING OUT

As we walked down the wooded fence line leading to the woods, Marcus and Austin kept close eye on Daisy and Zip’s every movement. We hadn’t yet reached the woods when suddenly both dogs stopped and cocked their ears toward the trees and looked back as if to say, “You guys hear that?"

“What are they listening for?” I asked Marcus. “It may be a squirrel timbering out.” Marcus went on to explain that “timbering out” is when a squirrel hops from treetop to treetop in an attempt to elude detection or escape after being treed. Both dogs made a beeline to the woods. Once there, they searched the treetops to detect the slightest bit of movement. Not seeing any, they moved on, putting their noses to the ground in hopes of picking up the scent of a squirrel, all the while keeping eyes and ears focused on the treetops.

Suddenly Daisy got very excited and began yipping. She ran toward a big oak tree on the edge of a ravine, staring at the treetops. She circled the tree once and put her front feet on the trunk and began to bark, much the same way a baying coonhound does with a treed raccoon. “Let’s go! They’re on the wood,” Marcus called to the group.

After a couple of steps, Marcus turned and said, “That means they have a squirrel treed.”

I picked up the pace, not wanting the squirrel to get away, or timber out. I looked back, hoping that Danielle and Robert would be able to keep up, and to my surprise they were right behind me. In fact, Jess was trying to keep up with them! As I reached the oak tree, Daisy was barking and leaning against the tree. Zip was close by, keeping an eye on the elusive squirrel. I heard Austin say, “I see him.” Marcus told Austin to go ahead if he had a clear shot. Austin aimed his shotgun and fired.

A TEACHABLE MOMENT

Both Daisy and Zip made a mad dash to retrieve the harvested fox squirrel lying on a pile of oak leaves. When Daisy brought the squirrel to Marcus, he showed it to Danielle and Robert and explained the difference between a fox squirrel and a gray squirrel.

He also took a moment to praise the dogs for their efforts, and we grown-ups discussed how keeping cattle out of the woods and selectively cutting trees can provide quality wildlife habitat, particularly for squirrels and other small-game species.

Marcus got the kids involved in this discussion, too. “Taking good care of the woods helps make sure we have lots of squirrels to hunt every year,” he said.

For their part, Danielle and Robert took the woods in stride. Neither complained much about the weeds and bushes they had to navigate through, all of which seemed to hit them at eye level. It was obvious they had, even at such a young age, spent many hours in the woods chasing squirrels behind Daisy.

They fully understood it was just part of the game.

We continued hunting and soon entered a large area of open woods with stately bur oak trees.

Austin harvested another squirrel, with the assistance of Daisy and Zip, of course. We had hunted for nearly an hour and had seen some pretty nifty dog work when we decided to take a break. Marcus told us about the time, as an 8-yearold boy, he harvested his first squirrel with his dad in these woods.

“I also found a yellow jacket nest,” he said, “but that wasn’t nearly as much fun as getting my first squirrel.” We laughed and, with legs rested and spirits high, continued on until Daisy and Zip were on another squirrel. This time the bushytail was able to retreat into a cavity high in the tree, likely its den. Knowing that the squirrel wouldn’t venture out until we were well out of sight, we moved on.

When temperatures started rising into the 50s and the winds picked up, we knew it was going to get more difficult for the dogs to find squirrels. We decided to cut across a harvested cornfield and make one last push through a wooded draw on our way back to the vehicles and a well-deserved lunch. About halfway down the draw, Daisy located a squirrel in a hard-to-reach tree along a deep ravine. With a little studying and careful navigation, Austin was able to bag his third squirrel of the morning, assisted by Daisy with a nice retrieve.

ENJOY TIME OUTDOORS WITH FAMILY AND FRIENDS

Back at the vehicles, we discussed the morning hunt and how well the dogs had performed.

Danielle and Robert were happy to get another break and play with the dogs, which were no longer in hunt mode and receptive to the affection the kids gave them. After seeing the kids and adults interact with the dogs, it was clear that the hunt was not about how many squirrels we harvested. Rather, it was about enjoying time spent outdoors with family and friends, passing on a love of the outdoors and the conservation of an abundant and renewable wildlife resource. Squirrel hunting with dogs does not ensure you will harvest more squirrels than with any other hunting method, but it does allow for greater interaction among 25

hunting clubs in Missouri.

PLENTY OF SQUIRRELS, A LONG SEASON, AND LOTS OF PLACES TO HUNT

Squirrel hunting has a rich history and remains popular among Missouri small-game hunters. It is also a great way to obtain locally sourced food while enjoying the outdoors and time spent with family and friends.

those in your hunting party. Instead of sitting motionless and quiet, you are afforded the opportunity to have lively conversations while hunting. This provides an excellent opportunity to teach firearm safety and hunting ethics to children and beginning hunters, discuss wildlife management, and life in general.

As Jess rounded up the kids for a photo with Daisy and Zip, I thanked Tom and Marcus for inviting me to accompany them on such an enjoyable and unique hunting experience. Once all the photos were taken, dogs rounded up, and gear put away, all that was left was for Austin to clean the squirrels. As we watched him perform this task with efficiency obtained only from years of practice, I again thanked Tom and Marcus for a wonderful day afield and told them I might just have to get one of these squirrel dogs. That way, I could invite them to join me sometime for a day of squirrel hunting.

Mountain feist is just one of the many squirrel dog breeds, several of which have been around for hundreds of years. The most common squirrel dogs generally come from one of three breed classifications: curs, feists, and terriers.

A quick internet search will help you find sources of squirrel dogs and squirrel 26

Tree squirrels are abundant throughout the state. Missouri is home to three species: the eastern gray squirrel, eastern fox squirrel, and the southern flying squirrel. Both the eastern gray squirrel and eastern fox squirrel are legal to hunt. With the exception of coyotes, squirrels have the longest season of Missouri’s small-game species.

Properly licensed hunters can legally harvest squirrels from the fourth Saturday in May to Feb. 15.

If you don’t have access to good squirrel hunting on private land, you can find plenty of conservation areas with good squirrel hunting statewide. Visit mdc.mo.gov/atlas, and use the activity menu to search for hunting.

Mule Deer from a Tree Jaimie Robinson

the perfect opportunity to draw. He was 13 yards at a 36degree angle and as I worked through my perfect shot sequence in my head, I saw him look at me through my sight housing.

That was the moment I knew I had to execute the shot.

As he ran off and I saw the arrow sticking out his side, I knew I made a good shot, but the arrow had hit his opposite shoulder blade and stuck. A few hours later, we started to trail my deer. We quickly found the broken arrow where I had seen him run and I heard the arrow hit as he ran by a tree. There was no blood other than great lung blood on the arrow. Luckily, I my friend was scouting for coyotes nearby and he saw a deer run out of the woods, run in a circle, and lie down in some thick brush. We tried to let the tracking dog, Lucy, a Standard Smooth European Dachshund find him but the lack of blood, high deer traffic, and up to 40 mile per hour winds at this point were too much for her until we got close.

In Colorado, we often just get one deer tag. After shooting my first mule deer doe with a bow a few years ago, I have passed on many does and small bucks because I wanted something more. This meant eating tag soup and being content with it. I became obsessed with the spot and stalk pursuit of mule deer. This is my favorite way to hunt.

This fall, I was invited to hunt in Western Nebraska. After a year of seeing trail camera pictures of giant mule deer, I could not wait. With a general archery tag, either sex, and an antlerless deer tag in my pocket, I had confidence that I was going to both fill my freezer and get that mule deer buck this year. Among the many great benefits of hunting in Nebraska, they give you a bonus antlerless whitetail tag with your antlerless tag. With whitetail does in mind, my friend resurrected an old treehouse stand.

We went to the area where my friend had seen a buck lie down. Lucy was able to pick up his trail as we got close and found him. Getting my first archery buck was everything that I hoped for, I learned that you must be ready for any hunting situation. I had planned for a spot and stalk mule deer or a treestand whitetail, I never thought I would shoot a mule deer from a tree but I am elated that I did.

One day he told me that there was a unique whitetail buck that was coming to that tree and the plan changed. I had spent the past 3 years obsessed with the idea of a mule deer buck and suddenly the shooting a whitetail buck became a new idea for this hunt. One Sunday morning, I woke at 2 am and drove the 150 miles to Nebraska to get to the spot at dawn. The howling wind helped me sneak into the stand 6:15, way later than I had anticipated arriving.

Dawn was at 7:10 and it was nearly light as I walked in. My treestand was in the river bottom in a copse of trees that protected me from the 20-30 mile per hour gusts. As I was watching the field off to my right, I saw antlers moving through the tall grass. I stood slowly and put myself in position to wait for him to walk by on the game trail. Those few seconds it takes for a deer to slowly walk, leg-by-leg, inch-by-inch of body to the right position are the slowest. He walked out in front of me and stopped to eat some grass, giving me 27

Well...a little doe yearling came out in front of the shooting house in the field. I just simply watch while the yearling is eating, and out of the corner of my eye, I see several black blobs (hogs) racing across the field. To my utter shock, they took the yearling by one of its hind legs and brit down. In that moment...I decided to start opening fire on them to get them off the yearling. They all eventually scattered. In the meantime, the yearling is bleating and screaming in the field and cannot get up. I was heartbroken. I waited a few minutes before I decided to go into the field just to make sure the hogs were gone.

An Invasive Issue In The U.S. By: Victoria Wilson (Loftis) Wild Hogs are known to be the most invasive and aggressive animals in the United States. You can harvest two of them, and usually four more will pop up in their place. Right now, in Alabama, they pose a serious threat to the native Wildlife. They cause serious damages to the habitat, crops, and even your own yards. They are known to be aggressive and volatile. Per the U.S. Department of Agriculture, feral hogs have caused an estimated $800 million dollars in damages to crops and habitats. They have even attacked people when threatened or because we have messed with one of their prey items. Wild Hogs are known to eat dead animals, carcasses, and live animals too.

I know from experience what happens first hand. In 2018, I went down to our family property, The Loftis Plantation, which is located in Butler, Alabama. I planned sit in one of the fields to hunt for Whitetails.

I got dressed, packed, and loaded up my grandparents John Deere Gator and proceeded to drive to the field. When I arrived, it was peaceful and quiet. I climbed into the shooting house like usual and sat there for an hour and a half before some does creeped out. So I decided that I was going to lay one of them down. Of course, I flinched and missed. Even if I missed, I walked out to just double check. Nothing turned up at all, so I got back in the house and sat for a little longer.

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I get in the field and there is no way the yearling could've been saved. So I dispatched it to end its pain and suffering. Right after, out of nowhere, I am knocked down and being attacked by wild pigs from behind. I scream and kick at them just to keep them off of me. I finally got my gun in the right position, and opened fire.

There were squeals, screams, and blood flying. They finally high tailed it out of the field. My back and legs were covered in blood. I couldn’t tell if it was from the pigs or myself. I quickly got up and headed towards the Gator. I drove it into the field. Picked up my stuff and the yearling. I finally got on the road out, and ran into one of the other hunters in the adjacent field from mine.

I was so shaken and in shock. I barely got the words out for them to call my mom, and my grandparents. They followed me out of the field and to the farmhouse. I got into the house and headed straight to the bathroom, my family proceeded to check to see if any of the blood on me was mine. Luckily, it was not mine. I only got out of attack with a bruised hip and back. Plus some very minor cuts where there was no blood.

I learned a very important lesson that day. That is to learn patience and even if there is an animal suffering, always wait. It is better to not put your life in danger for the life of your game even if the animal is still alive. Also if you can, carry a handgun. Rifles are way to long in the barrel to get an up and personal shot while handguns are easier to handle and pick up. Always keep a look out on your surroundings and be patient while hunting. You never know what is going to come out in the field and surprise you.

Let’s get me one.” He told me to get my tag and come down with my boyfriend Brady after the snow. Ty asked what I had for firearms; I listed my .45 pistol, 22-250, 7mm, and my grandma’s 30-30. When he asked if the 30-30 had open sights, I proudly replied, “Yes!” Ty said, “That’s the ideal one; bring it.” I was thrilled to know my first hunt with my grandma’s gun would be a lion.

Day 1: The sun was against us; tracks were melting left and right. Luckily, we found a promising track quickly; Ty put the dogs out, and they went to work. We found drag marks from a freshly killed deer, which indicated the lion was nearby. Naturally, the lion refused to tree since we were in a rocky, vertical, and treacherous location, and the cat could go places the hounds could not. I frequently handed my rifle off to Brady so that I could climb the rocks, not being a mountain goat myself. Not wanting to wear the dogs out, we pulled off the track and sought another. Although we searched for the rest of the day, we only found four more old cat tracks.

As dark approached, I spotted a coyote off the road by some timber and decided to take a shot. I had three bullets in the rifle; I took a 125-yard shot and missed an inch above him.

He ran off, but it was nice firing Grandma’s gun, an inauspicious end to my first day out with the 30-30. The forecast for the rest of the week called for even more sun, and we lost our snow fast. However, the next weekend, as I struggled to recover from a cold, new snow fell, and we decided to try again. Brady and I received the text to head to Wyoming because conditions looked great, so we prepared to hunt in the morning.

Day 2: After this fresh snow, we saw more bobcat than lion tracks. Again, we experienced lots of windshield time with no success and decided to go back out at dawn in a different area.

Tracking a Lion, Inheriting a Legacy Kelsey Loper (Revak) My grandma, Annabelle Revak, passed away on January 10, 2018. She was an outdoor enthusiast who grew up harvesting whitetail deer and taking part in predator control in Northern Wisconsin. She always processed her own meat and canned her own jelly, never afraid of hard work or adventure. When I inherited her Winchester 94 lever action 30-30 with open sights, I knew I needed to use it on an epic hunt. I just never imagined it would be the perfect gun for my once-in-a-lifetime mountain lion hunt. As soon as the snow started flying, my phone started buzzing with photos of cat tracks and treed lions from my hunting friend, Ty, in Wyoming. I would reply with texts: “Nice work.

Day 3: Now, we were bound and determined. After three days in the truck, the radio had started repeating the same 15 songs over and over, and after hearing “High Hopes” by Panic! at the Disco 48 times, I dubbed it my official lion hunting song. The wind was against us, but we put the miles on anyways. After finding six different sets of fresh wolf tracks, we headed to a new area where we could safely run the dogs. We immediately found a track by another fresh kill, a buried doe mule deer.

Ty collared the hounds and reached for the GPS, which refused to start. As it continued to stay stubbornly blank, my hopes of running this track began to fade. He changed the battery, nothing happened, and my hopes dimmed.

Still, Ty decides to turn one dog, Camo, on the track, which she followed to the river where the lion crossed.

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The lion went straight up a rock cliff, and even though Camo did her job, it was too dangerous for her or us to climb those cliffs. It was getting late in the evening, but I didn’t want to admit defeat. I asked if Ty would have time for one more day of hunting before we had to wait for another snow, and he was up for it. We would return in the morning, with a working GPS, and try for this lion again. Hopefully, it would be near the kill so that we could run it down the river instead of up the cliffs.

Day 4, November 27, 2018: Up early and heading back to the same spot, Brady and Ty went to check for fresh tracks near the kill while I stayed at the truck to get my pack and rifle ready. I zipped open the case and slung my 30-30 over my shoulder. As I took my first step, I felt the stock swing by my leg and thought that the leather sling had broken.

However, when I looked down, I was horrified to see that a screw, the one connecting the stock to the receiver, had come loose. Not only was it loose, it was lost. If it had fallen in the snow, there would be no finding it. I carefully searched the rifle case and truck until the guys returned, not having seen any fresh tracks. With the screw missing and the sign gone cold, my spirits sank once more.

With optimal snow conditions dwindling, we got back in the truck for one last drive up the road. We occasionally hiked up canyons looking to see if a cat crossed farther in only to find fresh grizzly tracks from a bear trying to find one last carcass before hibernation.

While “High Hopes” played for the third time that morning, we turned around to drive out, but suddenly, Brady and I simultaneously spotted cat tracks. Ty checked the track, and even though it was from yesterday, it was impressive; Ty decided to turn Baylor, a female Plott/Black and Tan cross, on it. She took the track like a champ and opened.

We followed her as she crossed the river and headed up a steep rockface. At that point, Ty turned Ruka, a Del Cameron Bluetick female, out with Baylor.

They both scrambled and climbed up ice and rock to continue the chase. Ty cautioned me to prepare for a long all-day race after this cat since the tracks were old and the animal had probably covered a fair distance already. I looked at the canyon and, with an optimistic attitude, suggested that the cat might have just hunkered down right there for the night, 30

staying close. Ty gave me an indulgent smile, doubting it would be that easy and knowing we would likely be pounding the mountains all day. I got my pack and rifle, grasping it with two hands to hold it together without the missing screw. I followed Ty and Brady up a steep snowy ridge, my lingering cold kicking my butt. During early elk season with my bow, I had dominated the mountains, running up them. Today, the mountains were winning, and I was doing my best just to put one foot in front of the other.

Then, Ty said something, and Brady relayed it to me: “Treed.” The best words in the world a houndsman wants to hear. We had barely hiked more than 20 minutes, and the hounds had the lion in a tree. Ty barked at me to “light a fire under it,” so I handed off my rifle, which was slowing me down holding it together, and kicked it up a notch. Brady spotted the lion in a dead tree about 200 yards at the top of the canyon. A glorious sight for any houndsman is a lion chilling in a tree. We slowly made our way to the lion, which perched in the tree calmly taking in everything. Brady instantly started filming while Ty gathered the hounds safely away from the tree and gave me the go ahead. I only had two rounds in the rifle, more in my pocket, so I needed to make my first shot count. I carefully lined the bead in the open sight, kept the stock tight against my shoulder to hold the rifle together, and fired. The cat fell a little but lunged in a death grab, climbed back up the tree, and left me with nothing but a head shot, not one I wanted to attempt with my fragmented rifle. Then, the lion turned to his right, opening up his vitals, and I fired the second and fatal shot.

my lion. After about 10 minutes of humoring them that I can’t get him by myself, Ty grabbed the lion so that I could get a better hold. Yes! I have my lion, I cheered internally even as I huffed out to Brady, “Quick, take a pic. He’s slipping!”

I won’t lie; it’s easier said than done getting a good full-body lion picture. My tom weighed 138 pounds but looks bigger in the pictures.

At that point, Ruka started looking over her shoulder and growling. Not knowing if wolves or a grizzly might be coming, we decided to head down the mountain and take more pictures at the truck. On the way, we passed a cave where the lion had slept the previous night, his tracks and bed dug into the gravel; he really did cross the river and hunker down for the night. It just goes to show you never know what will happen when it comes to hunting. My grandma would be proud that I used her rifle for predator control and that I didn’t give up.

Just like her whitetails, this lion meat, which is a lot like pork, will make many meals for my family. I am proud to have harvested this majestic animal, proud to continue my grandma’s hunting and providing legacy, proud to be a Hunter.

Ty gave us high fives, and I started crying. Never has anything meant more to me than this hunt. I couldn’t hold it in any longer: the years of making plans that didn’t work, the uncooperative weather, the hard work put into this expedition, the experience hunting with a great friend and boyfriend, and the lion shot with my grandma’s rifle. Tears of joy welled up as everything converged. I pulled myself together to go see my lion, a nice big tom. (Man, there is absolutely no ground shrinkage with cats.)

I notched my tag and started taking pictures. I had always imagined holding a mountain lion like hunters in pictures, holding it aloft with their whole bodies, but what they don’t tell you is how hard it is to get that pose. Initially, Brady and Ty let me try to pick him up by myself since it was 31

to the bathroom out in the canoe??

Hunting fanny pack filled with hand muff, snacks, gloves, and all of the things, wrapped around my waist, we’re headed to the marsh. There we unpack it all and organize in the skiffs for easy transport. Ok, easy may not be the correct word but it’s all packed tight and ready for the dragging of the skiffs to the water about two hundred yards out.

NOTE TO SELF (the story of a mom’s 1st duck hunt) By: Angie Gade For years I’ve listened to the shots ring out on opening day of duck season, from the warmth of my bed, nestled far beneath the blankets, with my pup snuggled close to me. Meanwhile my husband and our sons would wade out into the marsh by moonlight, to wait in the darkness for flocks of geese, teal, mallards, or gadwall to fall in from overhead.

Many mornings the boys arrive at lunchtime with tales of their marshy adventures, and big smiles on their faces.

Stories ranging from the process of getting through the marsh, wet up to their neck, adventures of the dog kind, or glimpses of rare ducks they saw along the way. Move over black lab, momma is coming in for the hunt!

My aim is pretty solid at an object standing still but those winged aerobatics can sure do a number on your security.

I just figured, how will we know unless we try, right? So this is how I imagined it was going to go…I planned to get up, have some coffee from the canoe, while taking in the peaceful marsh until sunrise, at which time the skies will open up to the most beautiful sunrise I’ve ever laid my eyes upon, and unique ducks from far and wide will buzz us from every direction. It went something like that. 3:30 a.m. I made my way down to make sure I have a cup of coffee in me before we start.

I help shuffle huge bags of decoys and skiffs into the truck. Wow, those babies are heavy. If I was told once I was told a million times, “Scuff the heads on those ducks and your days in the marsh are numbered.” They’re just kidding though… right? Time to layer up and get those waders on! Heading out the door yet? Nope… Oh, you just got your waders on?

Now you have to pee. So off come the layers again for a final potty break. Oh gosh… what happens if I have to go 32

“Watch those decoy heads!” rings out as I unpack the bags.

“Hurry… hurry, someone is trying to beat us to our spot!”

Drag the skiff, stop to sweat…. Drag the skiff further, stop and sweat a little more. Almost there! “Hey, where’s my gun?” … Go back to where we stopped to sweat, and get it. Whew that was close, they almost beat us.

Finally, time for a sip of coffee. What? I tipped my coffee over on the way and what’s left has some sort of marsh greens concoction in it. Ugh, that’s out.

NOTE TO SELF: Bring a thermos next time. At least I can warm my hands in my muff until it’s time to put out decoys! Umm… swamped as well.

NOTE TO SELF: Tuck hand muff INSIDE my waders next time.

Gloves? Yup, you guessed it, wet. The only dry thing was my lips… and looking for a sip of coffee! An hour before the season opens we’re legal to set up decoys which involved wading around in the darkness of the marsh, throwing those precious decoys into a pattern invisible to me. I watch as the boys make quick work of it. That’s quite the art if you ask me. “Make a pocket, the ducks love a pocket… “ I hear whispered in the darkness.

I’m still not exactly sure what that means but as if they have ESP, each of the boys displays their best spread with such precision. I’m learning, taking videos and pictures, every so often letting out a squeal as my boots get stuck in the muck, pulling me in. I glance to the east and see the first light of day… sunrise is coming. It’s time to crawl into the skiffs, ready our guns, and steady our hand. Will I know where to aim? How will I know what kind of duck it is? Will my aim be steady enough from inside this boat?

Here goes nothing… we’re about to find out. As if it were Christmas morning, my husband and son wait, wide eyed and watching for that first duck to appear. What I find out later on is that this look is more of a “We’re just HOPING that ducks appear” kind of look. This time of year the ducks are migrating south which means depending on the timing you could get lucky, or you could go home empty handed.

Gun in hand, face paint on in an antler patter. Maybe wing pattern would have been more appropriate. My eyes seesaw from side to side, in anticipation. “Coming straight at us, 6 ducks, feet down” I hear from my left.

I think to myself, Feet down? Yes, of course my feet are down, how else will I do this? “TAKE EM’” my husband

says. Shots ring out, and my head echoes like a chamber.

NOTE TO SELF: put earplugs in BEFORE the shooting starts.

When the dust settles, ducks lay amongst the fully flocked decoys, and cheers echo through the marsh.

NOTE TO SELF: I don’t have to be quiet like in the stand deer hunting. Love it! “Did you shoot?” he asks me. Laughing out loud and smiling from ear to ear. I didn’t even have a chance to pull up before it was all over, but I’m feeling the adrenaline and it’s amazing. I’m not sure who’s faster, those ducks, or these boys!

NOTE TO SELF: need to be faster next time.

Over and over ducks hover, cupped up, in an amazing display of aerobatics unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The sheer skill of calling ducks and convincing them to stop in for a look see, assuring them that it’s safe, is something unlike anything I’d ever heard. With the exception of them practicing in the kitchen of course, which drives the dogs bonkers.

Suddenly the boys hunch down behind the cattails.“Oh lord… big flock coming in hard.

Don’t look up”. Each time he says that I think to myself, how will I see them if I don’t look up?

Moments later he yells “TAKE EM!” Safety off, I lift my 12 gauge into the air, lining my site with a duck just in front of me. I see it’s a blue winged teal. BOOM… I launch that shot into the air! A duck falls from the sky, My duck!

The last shot rings out and we collect our harvests. I’d actually done it… balanced myself in the skiff, took aim with precision, and now officially have 1 duck under my belt. I stared at it for the next few minutes, thanking God for allowing me this amazing day, for an amazing family with patience to teach me, awarding me an amazing bird, and memories of this experience that will last a lifetime. As the sun rises just above the cat tails, I stand quietly to take it all in, my first duck resting in my lap.

What a blessing it is to share this moment with those I love.What a blessing it is to be called a hunter, and have the freedom to do so.

NOTE TO SELF: always be thankful, and remember this day forever.

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Trout fishing is something I have always done. I remember my dad taking me when I was a child.

His mother, my grandma, took him. Tradition passed down from generation to generation.

That's how things get branded in our blood.

Intertwined in our souls. Now my children are blessed with the same passion fueled by cold water streams in Iowa.

Trout hatcheries are where these things all begin. Brook, brown, and rainbow trout are bred in these hatcheries. The DNR takes great care in determining what amounts of fish to stock and their locations. Brown trout are released as fingerlings as they survive the best that way.

Rainbows and Brook trout are raised to adulthood. Brook trout are the only native trout to Iowa. As with hunting conservation is very important in all aspects of the outdoors. Trout trucks bring fish to the cold water streams and stock them (either announced or unannounced) and then all ages are allowed to enjoy them. The cold water streams are accessible all year long.

There are some special areas (catch and release only, artificial lures only) but for the most part you can keep what you catch if you would like.

My children enjoy eating fish they worked hard to land on shore. They understand that the life and death of fish is important. That if we don't keep the streams clean that they won't be able to enjoy it in the future. That if the hatcheries don't raise the fish they might not be sustainable.

They also know that it can be super 'boring' when the fish aren't biting. Being outdoors and spending time together is amazing. However, hearing them get excited and seeing them and my father land fish, that's where the memories are. They think we're just fishing.

Sarah Ann - Outdoor Medic

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Venison Lunch Meat

I recently realized I needed to start cleaning out the freezers to make room for game that would be coming in with the new seasons coming up. I decided to make some lunch meat from some of the deer roasts I still had in the freezer. I figured this would allow me to eat some wild game almost daily and make space at the same time. It’s also a great way to gift wild game to other people. And, with football season coming up, it would be great to use for sandwiches, wraps, or simple snacks at a football party you host or at a tailgating event.

The beauty of this recipe is that the venison comes out tasting like some of the best roast beef sandwich meat you’ve ever had.

You will want to shoot for medium rare-medium doneness on this to maintain tenderness and flavor. If you cook it too done, the meat will be tough and dry. You can also cook several roasts and freeze the meat after slicing in 2-3 serving bags for later use. I weigh out the meat into 8 ounce servings and vacuum seal the bags and freeze for later use. I find that if I freeze in 8 ounce servings I’m not thawing out more than I will eat in a couple days, and none gets wasted.

INGREDIENTS: 2 Venison Top Round Roasts (2-3 pounds each) 2 TBSP Kosher Salt 1 TBSP Fresh Ground Black Pepper

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2 TBSP Garlic Powder 1 TBSP Onion Powder ½ TBSP Smoked Paprika (regular paprika will work) DIRECTIONS: Start by removing as much silver skin as you can from each roast. This will help tremendously with tenderness in the final product. Insert the tip of a sharp fillet knife just under the surface of the silver skin and remove it in strips. Mix all the rub ingredients together in a bowl. Once you’ve removed as much silver skin as you can, coat each roast evenly with the rub. Preheat your oven to 475 degrees. Place the roasts in a baking dish or casserole dish. When the oven is hot, place the dish with the roasts in the oven and cook on 475 for 15 minutes, then reduce the heat to 250 degrees. Cook on 250 degrees until an instant read thermometer registers 135-145 degrees for medium to medium rare. 45 minutes to 1 hour should do the trick.

When the meat is to your desired temperature, remove it from the oven and transfer to a cutting board or cooling rack. Let the meat rest. I will even put it in the refrigerator overnight if I don’t have time to slice it right away. A meat slicer is great for this but if you don’t have one don’t worry too much. You can use a very sharp knife to slice the meat. It is definitely more labor intensive but it can be done. Just shave the meat as thinly as you can, remembering to cut against the grain. If you do have a meat slicer, simply follow the directions that go with your device and slice the meat as thin or thick as you prefer.

The sky is the limit as far as serving goes. You can make sandwiches with whatever condiments and fixings you want. Or low carb wraps may be the direction you want to go. Whatever you choose, I’m sure you will enjoy this simple and easy new way to use some of the game meat hiding out in your freezer. And don’t just stop at venison or deer meat here. I’ve used turkey breasts, turkey thighs, and goose breasts to make sandwich meat and they are all equally great!