Do you hunt because your husband hunts?

This is a question I get frequently. Although, this is a plausible reason for a girl to enjoy the outdoors with her man, it irks me to the core of my existence. Avid outdoorsman, hunter, and angler were all at the very top of my short list of prerequisites when I was looking for a partner to adventure through life with. If you are a female hunter who has struck an interest in hunting because your husband hunts, more power to you and your marriage. I, however, am certain the drive to pursue the wild pumps through my veins and always has.

I grew up living in the great state of Idaho to which I still call home. My dad unfortunately lived across the Snake River in Oregon. Due to cost, out of state hunting licenses and tags were practically out of the realm of possibilities. I was ok with this as long as I still got to tag along. I accompanied my dad, and at the time, stepmother along with other family members and friends on multiple harvests as an audience attendee only. From multiple deer hunts, elk endeavors, checking trap lines, bird hunting, and predator control I was desensitized at a very young age.

My dad’s sole purpose for hunting was to put meat on the table for our family. Does, cows, fish, pheasants, and chukars filled our freezers to the brim, I can recall very few bucks making the cut over the years. Seeing full or quartered animals hanging from the rafters in our garage was a normal fall scene. A large percentage of our meals had some kind of wild game at the heart of it. My favorite was definitely elk finger steaks slathered in white gravy with mashed potatoes.

I can distinctly remember an early morning with my dad, starting with him scooping me out of bed and loading me into the front seat of his short box Chevy. Just him and I cruising to the mountains to check a couple traps, his large Texaco mug filled to the brim with black coffee, and my sleepy head on the door. These were the times with my dad I loved the most.

Luckily, when I was in high school my dad moved to Idaho and became a resident. My dreams of finally becoming the actual tag holder were seeming to come true. As a fall sport participant, hunting season often collided with important cross-country races for state qualifiers. I was able to hunt a little bit before I trekked off to college. One successful general season buck tag notched and one weekend at elk camp was all I got in the big game world.

My first deer hunt and harvest is something I will never forget. After missing a nice buck opening morning on a large typical 4x4 with a dropper as my dad likes to call it, I soon redeemed myself. The following morning, I plowed a forked horn on the run at 300 yards across the canyon. Having pulled the trigger on my first animal, I was overwhelmed with emotions and not quite sure what to do with all of it. My dad on the other hand looked like he had just won the lottery. He was more excited about my downed buck than I was. As I waited the painful 30 minutes on the ridge alone until my dad gave me the sign to come down, which was jump up and down and wave his black cowboy hat through the morning air, I knew this was something for me. As I approached my dad and a dead buck in the sage brush, I was shocked to see it laying there in all its glory. Here is what my dad did more than right, he made me gut and cut the entire thing. With his help of course, we made our way through my first buck together.

As you can imagine, college on the opposite side of the state made hunting back home even more difficult. Duck and turkey hunting during Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks my later high school years and into college seemed to temporarily fill this void of big game for me. Although, I yearned to pursue big game and couldn’t wait until I could finally do so. There was a fire lit inside of me that had to wait quite a few years.

I won’t bore you with the in between stages of my life but the long wait has paid off tenfold over the last 5 years. I was lucky enough to land a guy that not only loves to be outdoors, hunt, and fish but loves it even more that I do it alongside him. Traditionally, the women stay home. Lucky for Steven, I’m not very traditional. With the aspiration to hunt and hunt hard we were a match made in the mountains.

Archery hunting and fly fishing were foreign concepts to me when I met Steven. The weapons of choice for my dad and others I shared outdoor activities with were rifles and bass rods. I set down the rifle and bass rod to dive deep into the archery world. Loving a challenge, archery was a perfect thing for me to try. I borrowed a friend’s extra bow for a summer, and I was instantly hooked. I soon got my own set up and became obsessed along with frustrated which fueled me to get better. High aspirations of harvesting bulls and bucks were on my mind a lot, and what better way than to do it with a bow. I essentially went from tee ball to the big leagues in a few short months.

Spending the last 4 hunting seasons being drug through rugged country, clocking countless boot miles, shedding sweat and tears together on the mountain has been my favorite part of our marriage. He has pushed my limits more than I’d ever known to exist, watched me fail A LOT, succeed a few times, and has witnessed growth both mentally and physically.

It is extremely important to me for Steven to NOT feel like my personal hunting guide. I truly enjoy participating in the entire process of the hunt not only for my tag but for his as well. From helping scout early season, trail cam crew, time behind the glass during season, processing game in the field as well as at home, and my favorite – packing my fair share of weight off the mountain. For a roughly 130lb female throwing on a 60-75lb meat pack is no easy task. I ensure my abilities to cinch down a heavy pack by hitting it hard during the off season. In our house, hunt prep takes place year-round. CrossFit is the core of our physical fitness as well as ample shed hunting and summer backpack trips. It’s safe to say I’m a reciprocating hunting buddy and not just a wife.

Successfully harvesting my first bull elk with a bow is my favorite hunt with Steven so far. After making a last-minute play on a bull and time working against us, I placed a perfect arrow in the pump house with him at my side. Once the bull was down, I noticed a similar lottery winning dance that I had definitely seen in my past. Except this time, it was topped off with a ballet style lift to the sky then tackle into the sage brush shouting “YOU DID IT!” over top of me. While my excitement was very high, his seemed to surpass mine.

My dad is still the first person I text or call when the deed is done. Even across the state and miles away I can still feel the excitement over the phone. Holding our past times near and dear to my heart I am aiming to make my dad proud with each season that passes. Although we haven’t hunted together in a decade, I hope to again soon.

Early mornings are still a struggle for me, black coffee is now in two Yeti ramblers, and my sleepy head still rests on the door occasionally. They say you marry your father; this couldn’t be more accurate in my case.