for the love of nums
Ok, I’m just gonna come in guns blazing here. When I posted about my first hunt last year, I definitely received some “pushback” – and not from militant vegans, mind you. From people who had no problem displaying Instagram photos of the burger they enjoyed at a restaurant in the city, but clearly prefer to remain blissfully ignorant to the realities of how that burger went from pasture to plate. And I wholeheartedly understand that the dirty details aren’t for everyone, but there’s a difference between not having the stomach to see how the sausage gets made (totally valid), and angrily berating those who have chosen to participate more intimately in the procurement of their sustenance – and refuse to be ashamed for it. Call me woo-woo, but there are few times in my life I’ve ever felt more connected to Big Mama Nature or more pride in myself and what I’m capable of as a human, than I have after a successful harvest. And I can assure you that you’ve never felt a deeper gratitude or respect for your food than when you’ve grown, raised, or hunted it yourself and have earned full and comprehensive awareness of all the dedication and hard work that went into it.
If you’re already a hunter, you know exactly what I’m talking about, so you’ve probably already experienced everything I’m about to recount…times a hundred. But maybe it’ll be fun to relive those eager, early days vicariously through the eyes of a novice hunter.
If you’re a non-hunter who’s become more curious about where your food comes from, I urge you to keep reading. Maybe you’ll feel a spark that compels you to try something new. My inbox is always open if you need a fellow newbie to help steer you in the right direction.
If you’re a non-hunter who has zero interest in hunting, but consider yourself open-minded and inclusive, maybe you’ll at least emerge from these paragraphs with a deeper understanding of hunters in general.
However, if you’re a non-hunter who eats meat, or buys pet food, or bops around town in a car with leather seats, or a vegan who believes that everyone should subscribe to your particular diet-dogma regardless of individual needs or preferences, and you’re only here looking to attack, you’re barking up the wrong tree-stand. I love being outside, and I love good meat, and I love knowing where my food comes from, so this is what makes sense for me.
Now that we’ve gotten the disclaimers out of the way, on to the hunt…
Know what I love about hunters? They never stop studying. Contrary to the caricaturesque picture many non-hunters might have painted in their minds, all the hunters I know – while each wildly different people – have this in common. They’ve spent their lives learning about the animals they seek, tending to the land on which they hunt, watching, observing, honing. They go out there into the woods prepared each season, because they never stopped doing their homework, because the privilege of the harvest is something they don’t take for granted. And they know it’s never a given. They know where they should sit based on which way the wind is blowing. They know the name of every plant, tree and animal that calls those woods home. They know where the bucks have been, because they’ve spent hours scouting the woods, looking for signs of scraping and putting up wildlife cams, and they can age ’em on the spot with nothing more than a quick glance at their necks and their bellies. They know which animals they need to pass up in order to continue building a healthy population, and which ones to cull, because they’ve earned years of experience regarding such things. They know where to aim for the most humane shot, and they know enough about wildlife anatomy to gut and quarter an animal right out there in the field, with as little waste as humanly possible. Who among us can say as much about any other hobby?
I didn’t grow up hunting. Don’t know of anyone in my family who’s hunted, for at least the couple of generations that preceded me. I initially felt drawn to hunting for one simple reason: the meat. Good food has always been my North Star, but nothing motivates a woman to learn more about the quality of her food quite like becoming a mother. So for the past 14 years, I’ve made sourcing the best food I possibly could for my family a top priority. I want to know what’s in it, how it was raised, where it was grown. I want to support the producers and systems that are prioritizing these things as well and “doing it the right way.” I began gardening and shopping local farmers markets and touring food-production facilities and visiting farms and ranches, learning everything I possibly could about how the food I’m feeding my family goes from dirt to dinner table.
Then a couple years ago, I felt a pull to become even more connected to everything I consume – food and otherwise. It was 2020, the world was upside-down, elbow-deep in COVID, and I, like many others, was re-evaluating my life, my values, my priorities. I was sick of all the superficiality and fighting and filters and constant consumption and overstimulation that is the inevitable result of a culture that lives on social-media. I was craving simplicity and perspective and connection and depth and nature. And for me, that culminated in the decision to hunt and harvest my own food. What better way to not only drown out all the noise and focus on something enriching and productive and real, but also be even more intimately involved in the sourcing of my family’s food?
By the end of 2020, I was devouring books and blogs and anything I could get my hands on that pertained to hunting Whitetail. In the opening days of 2021, I went on my first deer hunt as an observer. I spent the small blocks of free time I had that January working my way through an online Hunter Safety course, then by the time February rolled around, I was officially a licensed hunter. That December, I finally went on my first licensed hunt, and as beginner’s luck would have it, got my very first deer – a doe. And I’ve been waiting patiently ever since for the chance to get back out into the woods and try for another.
Eleven months later, to the day, I got that chance. My first hunt of the season. 11/12/22.
The prospect of getting a buck has of course entered my mind since I first began this journey, but since my main motivation is good meat, it didn’t really matter to me one way or the other. And bucks are typically more elusive and thus harder to come by, so especially as a beginner, I didn’t have high expectations. But I must admit, there’s always been a little somethin’ in the back of my mind, allowing me to imagine how cool it would be to mount a buck above our fireplace that I myself harvested.
I never want to forget any detail of this hunt, my first buck. I want to always remember that it was warmer when I woke up that morning than it was when I left the house camo-clad that afternoon, and how that got me even more excited because it actually felt like fall. I want to remember the smell of the freshly chilled air, and the sight of the breeze ruffling the golden, brittle leaves of every single tree surrounding us, sending some floating to the ground, while the ones that remained rustled softly in the wind. I want to remember how hopeful I felt every single time I scanned the woods for signs of life. I want to remember the rush of adrenaline when I finally spotted something, and how the sky looked at the end.
Thanks to a verrry generous Instagram friend, I stumbled upon an opportunity to hunt a beautiful, unspoiled 300-acre tract of land just 25 minutes or so from my house, and the property manager, Bill, had agreed to help guide me. I stopped by the property a couple days prior to meet Bill and see where I’d be hunting. He recommended I post up in a tree-stand that consisted of a wobbly, metal ladder and a small platform-seat hanging from the trunk of a tree, 20 feet in the air. They’d set up a wildlife camera in that spot and therefore knew it was rife with deer. I clambered up to the top to assess the situation, vacillating between my desire to appear tough and my distaste for heights. The distaste won. “Nope,” I said, climbing right back down. So he redirected me to a deer-stand across the property. Basically a simple, boxy, walled-in structure elevated several feet off the ground with sliding windows on all sides to accommodate a rifle. Much more to my liking and comfort level.
As soon as I arrived at 3:00 the afternoon of the hunt, we headed out into the woods, making our way to the deer-stand juuuuust wide enough for two chairs – one a little metal, folding job, and mine, a swiveling office-chair so I’d be able to turn a full 360 degrees to handle a deer coming in from any direction. We slid open the windows on all four sides and settled into what would be our little home in the trees for the next couple of hours, chatting about our friends and families and of course, all things hunting. With so much still to learn, I welcome any opportunity to soak in hard-earned lessons from lifelong hunters.
A couple hours passed, and with the 5;37 sunset rapidly approaching, my hopes of even seeing a deer, let alone harvesting one, were dwindling. So far, all we’d seen was a fox squirrel, which was actually really cool too, but not the prey I was looking for. (Side note: if you ever want to see all different kinds of wildlife, ask a hunter to take you out on a walk through the woods. They can spot and identify every kind of bird and animal that calls those woods home, because no human spends more time in that environment than a hunter. The reverence they have for the land and the extensive firsthand education they possess in terms of how to help the animals that live there thrive, is really very impressive.)
As the light slowly dimmed and sunset was nearly upon us, my faith was officially lost. Dammit, I should’ve listened and just done the tree stand, I thought. At least I would’ve seen a deer or two. “Nah, a deer’ll come through here; I can feel it,” Bill insisted (for about the 15th time).
Then, as we made plans to return before dawn the next morning to try again in a different spot, Bill suddenly whispered urgently “There’s a doe,” lifting his binoculars in a flash to scan the woods ahead. As soon as I saw her, my heart began racing, just as it had 11 months before. As someone who sees deer on my own property every single day, it always amazes me how lit up my nervous system becomes when I see them in a hunting capacity. I slowly moved my rifle into place in the open window facing her direction, resting the barrel on the sill, holding it as steady as was possible with my hands shaking so uncontrollably.
With only her head and neck visible, and her entire body behind a tree, I watched her through my scope as she grazed the forest floor for food, her head snapping up with the rustle of every leaf blowing in the wind, just hoping she’d move forward a few steps so I’d have a shot. A few minutes passed with no such luck.
Then, my lucky break – the universe sent me a sign that all that waiting hadn’t been in vain. “There’s a buck comin’ in!” Bill whisper-yelled. I quickly scanned the woods through my scope until my sight came to rest on the buck. My heart pounding, my whole body shaking, I worked to steady my breath while I assessed the situation. From my limited experience with bucks, they don’t stick around for long, and sunset was closing in, so I knew the clock was ticking. He was weaving through the thicket of trees in front of us, coming toward us head-on, making a beeline for the doe – his raging, full-rut testosterone perhaps rendering him slightly careless. And finally, he cleared a tree and turned perfectly broadside, all his attention focused on his hopeful conquest.
“You’ve got him. Take the shot,” Bill urged.
A million, frenzied thoughts flew through my mind, but with no time to waste, I made sure my crosshairs were on the right spot – just above and behind the top of his front leg, murmured “Oh my God” about 20 times, held my breath and pulled the trigger, the scope kicking back and smackin’ me good, right between the eyes. (I learned only after the fact that this is called Scope Eye, and that most hunters only let it happen once. Note to self: pay closer attention to my rifle position next time.)
In a split second, the buck heaved up onto his hind legs, as if to run, then instantly collapsed back onto the forest floor exactly where he’d stood, completely motionless. No time for even a moment of pain, which I’m always so thankful for.
I looked over at Bill, my jaw to the floor in disbelief.
“Did that really just happen???” I cried out. Again, a mix of what I can only assume are all the emotions came flooding in as I cried and laughed and wiped away tears, shaking like a leaf at the revelation that I’d just bagged my first buck, and how quickly it had all happened.
We waited a few minutes, then climbed down and made our way through the woods to my beautiful buck, a robust, pristinely clean 8-pointer with big ol’ donkey ears. I knelt down and put my hands on his soft, warm coat, telling him how handsome he was, thanking him for the nourishment he’d be providing for my family and me, the gravity of his sacrifice kicking in.
After my first hunt last year, I wondered if it had been a fluke, beginner’s luck. I did a podcast called Blood Origins (linked here) where I was asked if I considered myself a hunter after my first harvest, and I wasn’t really sure how to answer. I still feel like so much of it is luck and circumstances beyond my control, and I know all my hunts won’t always end in harvests, but I also feel like the time I’ve invested has been invaluable and instrumental to my success thus far, as has learning from people who have spent their whole lives pursuing this. All the collective hours spent watching deer, learning their habits and tendencies and timing, practicing my aim in my mind – it’s not only put meat on my family’s table, but also given me tremendous perspective and a sense of real-world accomplishment that I was so deeply craving. And that’s a really great feeling. Devoting time to something, showing up consistently, earning experience, practicing little by little, and seeing that practice pay off. The antidote to our modern-day obsession with shortcuts and hacks and instant gratification and never living in the moment. Makes me feel free, like I’m capable of more than I realized. I really like it out here.