Part 2

I was between meetings at the National Cattlman’s Beef Association gathering, and my boss at the time called. Andy was more like an uncle and less like a boss, and I was always glad to chat with him. It was January 2018, and I was pretty new into my role in the western territories of Wyoming, Colorado, Utah, and Arizona. Andy had an excitement to his thick Oklahoma draw. He said, “Claire, I’ve got a pretty special opportunity for you. You’re going to need a bow.”

The only bows I was familiar with were ones that went in my hair. And this wasn’t that kind of bow. “Have you ever got to hunt elk in the rut before?” Andy beamed. Searching my farm kid, redneck memories, all I could come up with was, “No I’ve only ever spot lighted raccoons and never shot anything in my life.” Andy began to explain to me that archery season is during the elk mating season when the bulls are bugling, and cows are active. He had lined up a trip for me and some of my customers to go to Montana and hunt the last week of September.

When I tell you I had no idea what exactly this would look like, I was still empowered. Hunting…me? I had seen elk, but I didn’t know much about them. I had moved to Wyoming the fall of 2017, surrounded by outdoorsmen of the utmost extent. I had also continued my running passions I began the summer of 2017, enjoying the trails of Buffalo, WY. I started gathering information, learning about spot and stalk hunting, and just how strenuous archery hunting could be. Well, no better time to sign up for the largest trail race of my life to date:  the Big Horn Trail run.

I also needed to get my hunting licenses, in addition to hunter’s safety and archery certification. That winter, I had signed up for a class in Loveland, CO. I skied with some friends the day before, got up super early, and entered a room with a bunch of kids and their parents. I was actually excited to learn more about shooting and safety than probably anyone else there. At the end, there was a written test with a bonus question: What animal in Colorado can you legally trap, fish, or shoot with a firearm or a bow? I smiled to myself, recalling a conversation with one of the boys in our ski crew the day before. His town has a turtle fest every year, and he was glad to tell me it’s the only animal you can hunt any style you like. I earned some street cred from the instructor, and my bonus point.  

The next day, we met at the shooting range. They had bolt action 22s for each of us, and a lot of students. The instructor asked if anyone wanted to shoot left handed. Not being one to wait in line, I raised my hand. I danced for 18 years and tumbled left-handed. So I thought, why not try? When I got my paper back, I was ecstatic. I had a perfect group. It felt natural to shoot left-handed. So the next thing I needed was my left-handed bow.

I customized a Matthew’s Avail after shooting a couple stock models and different sports stores. Left-handed bows are rare, so I still had to shoot right-handed to get the feel and weight of it. My bow is heavier than some, but it is so fast. I felt strong and confident shooting it. Every afternoon, I’d take my bow out to a friend’s house and move the target around different elevations to shoot. I also took it with me on the road, searching for shooting ranges, or just making my own in safe spaces.

I loved shooting my bow. It brough me such peace in that summer. Every opportunity to shoot, I took it. I even flew with it across the country the week before my hunt. I had a work meeting, and I was going to find a way to continue to shoot, even in Tennessee. I slowly started gathering camouflage and borrowed some equipment too. The hunt was approaching. Even after my race, I continued running, because I wasn’t going to be left behind my guide stalking elk in the woods.

The week arrived, and Andy picked me up in my apartment. We set out for Big Sky Country and the Castle Mountains. This group of outfitters had never had a female hunter in camp before, but they said they’d figure it out. We met in a pasture with some corrals and two horse trailers were there to pack us in. It was rocky and tree covered, with an occasional clearing or water crossing. After about 30 minutes, I heard rocks shifting. Just above us were three cow elk moving along and scaling with ease. We were in the right place. The ride was several hours, though it felt shorter. I was soaking it all in. We descended into camp where wall tents were set up, including a separate “princess tent” just for me.

We started to settle in and got to meet our camp cook—Mo. She was soft eyed with fiery red hair, and handy to boot. She cooked dinner for us and began to tell us about her outfitting stories, packing Bison out of Yellowstone, and taming wild Mustangs. It didn’t take long for all of us to agree she was tougher than any guy at camp.

I slept soundly, listening to how quiet the mountains were outside my tent. I had no trouble waking up early, preparing for the day ahead. My first day of hunting…ever. We divided up, and one of the owners of the outfitting business took me my first day. We all rode out together to a massive overview of the valley below. There they were. Elk. So many to count. We watched and waited, but the guides knew full well where they were heading. We divided up to hunt, and Shane and I were into the woods.

We tied our horses setting out on foot. I carefully matched my feet with his, so as to not make a sound. Right, left, pursue, slow down. He stopped and turned slowly. Looking back at me surprised, he said, “I wasn’t sure if you were behind me.” Victory! I was quiet. We had spotted some in the trees, but they busted us, and we headed to big rock for lunch. One of our buddies had a practice tip arrow and we began to shoot, just us two. The plastic water bottle sat out a ways. I knelt down, drew back, letting the target seek my arrow. Pop! I got it. And I turned around to see everyone watching. I felt like Katniss Everdeen when she shot the apple in the mouth of the pig.

Each day grew my appreciation for the elk and the humility of hunting. I never lost steps with my guides, having the opportunity to hunt with each one at camp. My legs and back were thankful I had conditioned myself for the long days of hiking and riding. I never got the opportunity to draw my bow, but I left my first hunting trip already longing for the next one. As we said our goodbyes, Shane told me, “You’re a hunter.” I didn’t expect anything, other than wanting to complete my race well, keeping up with my guide, and having their trust that if they could lead me, I would follow and complete my job, too.

Just like a kid leaving summer camp, tears welled in my eyes as the cool blue skies turned to granite gray and then black. We set out for town for dinner, and a real shower. I didn’t realize how bad I stunk until my clothes radiated from the floor. When I got back to my little apartment in Buffalo, my life forever changed, a notebook and pen called my name. I had not written poetry for some time, but I wanted to deeply remember the feelings and images I had from this life-changing experience.

All this to say, the call to hunt was part of growing me and preparing me for my next call. I learned quickly how much I needed the Lord to lead me in such foreign territory. I saw first hand how important it was to be guided by someone who knew the atmosphere and ways of the elk in this place. People saw I was a changed human. God changed me from the inside out, and began to work in me a faith that would build and grow into the next call, the next hunt, and the next harvest; all because I traded a bow in my hair to a bow in my hand.

The riches of the hunt were far greater than the opportunity to harvest. God talked to me so clearly when I was running, especially running in the rain. I felt the peace of His presence steady my head and my hand every time I drew my bow. I heard His call to continue to trust and listen, not fearing the deep waters, but encouraging Him to take me there. The harvest is important, as it is the end goal, but the hunt and hunger and pursuit grows us to be ready for when it happens. It didn’t happen this first outing, and it wouldn’t present an opportunity for two more years. But when it did, I was ready, because I had thanked the Lord every single day for the opportunity to hunt and seek. And any day I was hunting and seeking for him, I was rewarded with the riches of the Hunt.

Thanks for reading again on the Riches of the Hunt. Next post, I’ll be sharing how this hunt prepared me for the hunt for my first living-quarters trailer. It will build your faith! See you there!