All I wanted was to be out of the situation.

I was chest down in the Wyoming dirt on a hillcrest. I had stunning 360-degree ranch views, but my stomach was in knots.

A hunting guide was coaching, but his voice was muffled. All I could hear was my heartbeat thundering in my ears, a wince escaping my own throat. Despite the urge to run, my pack was on the ground in front of me with my borrowed rifle situated atop. Through the scope: a clear shot of a momma doe – fawn in tow – about 300-yards away.

The guide was talking but I wasn’t listening. I knew what he was doing. He is an experienced guide with the tall task of helping a group of novice hunters fill tags in two days and encouraging them through their journey. And this sure had been a journey. The one thing I had hoped wouldn’t happen was playing out perfectly. I couldn’t move. I stayed still, rifle in hand, feeling crushed with tension and silently shaming myself for notoriously getting into deadlock dilemmas where the only way through is by way of an extremely difficult choice.

The next decision came after years of deliberation, debate, and education.

Blooming Curiosity
Travel back with me to the fall of 2020 when my company invited me to attend the Wyoming Women’s Foundation annual Antelope Hunt, an event set in northeast Wyoming catering to female hunters. It was a great opportunity to learn the ropes of hunting with loads of support, fellowship, and fun.

Perfect for me, besides the fact that killing an animal with a rifle felt somber. Hunting was a far stretch for someone who grew up in an animal-loving, non-hunting home. But I was curious about hunting. I had tagged along on a few bow hunting excursions with my boyfriend, Minnesota Apprenticeship license in hand, mostly for more time outdoors with him.

But if I’m being honest, I spent most of my time in the blind praying deer would stay out of range. Though my wishes were counterintuitive, our outings were important for my hunting exploration, with enough education and conversation to entertain the idea of hunting myself.

So when asked to attend the group hunting event in 2020, I recognized it was a good opportunity but opted to carry my Canon camera instead of a gun. I returned grateful for the experience and wrote an article focused on the barriers adults face when entering the hunting world.

When they invited me back in 2021 – to hunt – conflict brewed again. Saying ‘yes’ did not mean I felt ready, and my family’s response heightened my angst. Some suggested I purposely aim off the mark. Others reminded me that they would never do it because they loved animals. One fired questions until finally peering at me with a concerned expression. Another feigned deafness.

I couldn’t expect the family to understand. I had done the work to learn about the positive elements of hunting. I understood the conservation and population management components, the nutrition aspect of the meat, and the memories formed in hunting experiences. The real struggle came with battling what I felt was disapproval from the people closest to me. Recognizing this sparked a realization: Seeking approval. This trip could get me over that hurdle.

The night before the trip to Wyoming, Dad called as I finished packing. I shared my recent revelation, expressing I felt a lack of support. I felt brave to share those emotions, and for a moment braced myself for a negative response. But what he shared was about a minute’s worth of encouragement in the way Dad does: eloquently, purposefully, and comically. He reminded me that my employer was providing a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Noting that I’m not one to take a half-hearted approach to anything, Dad encouraged me to give it my all.

Hunting Weekend Kickoff
I arrived at the Ranch at Ucross around midday the following day. Having left my camera behind, I wielded only my rifle through the field training, the drills, and the sight-in. At dinner that evening, I met my guides Mike (the experienced one) and Caitlin (the aspiring one) before finishing the evening chatting with my hunting partner, Donna.

Donna was entertaining, thoughtful, kind, and encouraging. She grew up hunting with her dad and had many stories to share. We shared goals for the following day: both of us were setting out for a buck. She was more eager to watch me experience my inaugural hunt and insisted I go first. Though I wished to continue my everlasting research and preferred to spend the next day watching another hunt, she was confident and reassuring. It was clear: I needed to be ready in the morning.

I’ll never forget how the next morning piqued my senses. Hearing laughter spilling from the big glowing tent as hunters and guides prepared for opening day; packing my equipment to the tune of a sputtering old diesel truck, the smell of its exhaust triggering memories of hauling wood as a youth; endlessly checking my pockets for my tags and ammo; and alternating between sips of hot coffee and looking up to the western stars with a hope I’ve never felt for a day ahead.

Before long, we arrived at the Michelena Ranch in our old Ford truck. We had one thing to do before the hunt began: cross the river. Mike drove slowly toward the river and eventually drove into it as each of us held our breath. He knew something we didn’t, and cracked wit about “Fording” the river in a Ford.

On the other side of the river, Donna and I pursued those cagey pronghorns – Donna spotting most of them – from one side of the Ranch to the other. Early in the day, she glassed a buck at a gated watering hole. We decided to use a few hills to our left to block his view of us and make the day’s first stalk. As our group was about to corner a bend, the buck we were stalking came around the same bend.

Mike fell to the ground and feigned death. The rest of us froze. The buck froze. We stood 20 yards apart with eyes locked.

After life’s most gripping game of peek-a-boo, that buck should have been five miles away in as many seconds. On the contrary, he gave me a shooting opportunity. Mike instructed me to take a standing shot, offering his shoulder as a rest.

“What?!” I looked at him like he was playing a trick.

I’ve done some crazy things but firing a rifle two inches away from my guide’s ears was one of the worst ideas anyone has ever had in the history of, well… anything. Confused by my hesitation, and likely wishing Donna had chosen to be first up, he dropped my pack on the ground and urged me to (quickly!) get in position and shoot.

The buck was gone before I could calm myself enough to pull the trigger.

An Afternoon of Patience
I spent the next few hours registering the missed opportunity. I wondered whether I robbed Donna of her chance, as an experienced hunter could have found a shot. I made a note to work on being accurate faster – an obvious concept I only then realized was important.

Seeing my dismay and knowing the antelope were spooked, the guides suggested we head to the river to reset and wait for the animals to water. Some of us took a nap under the trees, some admired a beaver’s work, some reclined in the truck to reflect. I sat next to my rifle, processing the morning, and waiting for a herd to move in.

They never moved in.

I looked at my watch. We were well into the afternoon on the first day of a two-day hunt. Finally, Mike offered up a walk. Feeling stir crazy, I accepted the offer. We hiked for over a mile before I spotted a doe and fawn headed toward water. We tucked into a sage bush to let them pass before relocating to a hillcrest over a well-traveled trail.

Mike said he anticipated that doe and fawn would come back after watering. He then questioned my goal of harvesting a buck; reminding me the population wasn’t exactly ‘abundant’ that year, the meat tastes the same, I can’t eat the horns, and I have a hunting partner who would like a chance to hunt too.

I wanted to be patient and put in the work. But that reminder was particularly bothersome.

Harvesting a doe with her fawn was not anything I wanted to do. ​​​​​​​I could only envision a fawn reacting to a rifle blast and finding itself alone before the echoes ceased. The thought was revolting. When I expressed how I was feeling, my guide explained the fawn would be fine.

“It is time for the fawn to be weaned off. It will find another herd. Donna needs a chance at this too, you know.”

Yeah. I knew – and I am a people pleaser, so I wouldn’t have a chance to forget, either.

I pulled out the ‘ole deer blind trick and started praying for the doe and fawn to stay out of range or hit up any other path. As they made their way back on the anticipated path, I was pleased to see my prayer was answered.

They took a route behind a hill. This produced great relief for me and maddening frustration for Mike. But then they came out the other side. I lined up a shot at the guide’s encouragement but felt very weak. They were 300-plus yards out and showed signs of coming closer.

As the doe and fawn dilly-dallied, I closed my eyes, took a breath, and told myself the universe would provide what I needed: either the courage to turn down the shot and pass the baton to Donna, or the confidence and patience to wait it out for what I wanted.

I opened my eyes and looked behind me and to the sides, in search of what I wanted. Nothing.

A Turn of Events
Tensions were rising. We had been on the hill for over an hour. The sun was lowering, shadows stretching. The doe and fawn were getting closer. Then, out from the hill the doe and fawn had traveled behind – a lone buck!

“Heyyyy!” I said, scooting to scope the newly revealed target. I started asking questions. “Is that too far? Do you think he’ll head in closer?”

His responses gave me facts but no predictions: “He’s at about 300 yards, Laura.”​​​​​​​

We watched and I began pushing for guidance, but I had already learned that an antelope’s antics were unpredictable. Instead, Mike asked whether I felt confident. I told him I consistently hit the metal gong at 200 yards with my 6.5 Creedmoor when shooting prone at the range. But I was learning how dynamic hunting is in comparison. I had ample time but was quivering. I was battling distance, a downward shot, wind, pressure, and nerves from the first few times seeing a live animal through the scope. A new problem had also surfaced: I only saw black when I zoomed in with my scope – like tunnel vision creeping in. There are few things in life that have felt so involved. I second-guessed… would this be an ethical shot?

When the antelope turned broadside, I asked one more time, this time pleading for guidance. “Do I shoot, or do I wait?”

“If you feel confident Laura, you go ahead and shoot,” he said.

I did feel confident. 

With that simple affirmation, I took my first shot and clearly connected. Unfortunately, my aspirations of only needing one shot weren’t to be – another aspect of hunting I had not practiced. The next few minutes were an emotional blur, but my second shot left no doubt. I experienced a surge of relief and a stir of excitement. I had done it. Years of learning, pausing, reflecting, wishing, thinking, fearing, and working through perplexed feelings led me to that very brave moment. A juncture where I felt proud of where I had been, what I had overcome, and what I had to show for it.

From that point, I learned aspects of hunting I could never have conceptualized without experiencing it. Mike got a hug he wasn’t expecting. I was elated to see Donna and Caitlin afterward and celebrate with others who understood my journey. Upon returning to the ranch, I felt grateful to gather in the big glowing tent and see the beaming smiles of other hunters with stories to tell. Interacting with that rare assembly of people helped me maneuver through my emotions. I’d never experienced electricity like that before, and I’ll never forget it.

I was downright giddy to hash through my story with the select few back home who would want to hear it, but my 5G network proved worthless at the ranch. This gave me time to process the weekend and discern what I would share with my family. I would tell them the trip was indeed a great opportunity and I have no regrets. I’d give them weather reports and talk about the bonding experiences with co-workers. But I would not share details of the hunt unless they asked and I also would not show them photos unless requested.

To my surprise, the support from a few of them brought me to tears. It seemed they had changed over the weekend as well: one was curious to try the meat and offered a spare freezer. Another said he was glad I broke through my fears and was captivated by my joy. Others listened and asked questions, trying to be supportive and looking to understand. Another just knows I had a great trip with good weather and great people. None of them have seen photos.

But the hunt wasn’t about my family’s approval. It was time to soak in nature, bond with my team, and observe the allure of Wyoming. It was about exploration; turning my own new leaf among the changing autumn leaves, going my own direction, facing a lasting fear, and knocking down a barrier.

Continuing the Journey
My journey is perplexing, twisted, and, admittedly, lengthy – one I’ve referred to it as “more voluptuous than your longbow.” Looking back, I think my approach to hunting has been healthy: one decision at a time; learning and exploring along the way; figuring out the next steps when I’m ready to take them; and simply savoring the journey – even if the quest brought conflict.

After returning home, I opened a bag of tea. As the tea steeped, I reflected on the weekend and noticed the joy I felt. I pressed that little piece of paper at the end of the tea bag string between my fingers and turned it around.​​​​​​​

“Even a journey of a thousand miles starts with a first step.” A perfectly fitting quote for that moment.

Weeks later, I received my meat. I’ve always taken a liking to wild game, feeling fortunate when others share. For the first time in my life, I had my own to enjoy and share, along with tales of the hunt. It’s been rewarding and gratifying – two feelings I never imagined when I started my journey to hunt.  

My antelope hunt was nearly a year ago and the meat supply is running low, which has me thinking about how I’ll feel when I’m back in the deer blind this fall, bow in hand. I suspect I’ll be sending up some prayers that blind has never heard.

Shootin’ the Wit is a sporadic blog about everyday life that should never, ever be taken too seriously.