Black Bear

I hate the cold. So you know that, when I am bundling up to go out in seven-degree temperatures to sit in the woods, there is a very good reason. On this particular Saturday, I was going on my first bear hunt.

We arrived at the woods' edge well before dawn and started getting our gear out of the truck. The trees sparkled like I had never seen before. It looked like someone had sprinkled glitter all over everything. The frost captured the beams from our flashlights and twinkled like tiny galaxies full of stars. The only word qualified to describe it - no matter who you are - was magical. My husband got some teasing from that by the guys at work but they weren't there to see it. They didn't understand. It was, without question, magical.

We followed the flashlight beams to the tree stand where I was to sit. I was putting on a brave face, determined not to let my fear of heights cost me a bear, but I was keeping quiet about it. Phil helped me situate myself up there, tying my rifle to the rope and waiting patiently for me to say I was good to go.

And there I sat. Board-straight against a tree. Rifle in a tight grip across my lap. Every muscle tightened and eyes wide with panic.

I listened to his footsteps as he moved further away to find his own place to sit. I didn't turn my head. I didn't move. At. All.

What was I thinking???

I could hear Phil moving around in the area he had selected. He seemed uncertain. Maybe I could catch him before he got settled and get him to come back. With great, exaggerated caution, I sent him a text: "trade places with me please!" Even as I awaited his response, I wondered how I would get myself back down even if he helped. I was truly paralyzed with fear. It's a real thing.

The reply came. "Too late."

It didn't take long for me to decide this wasn't going to work out. Very slowly and with tiny movements, I pulled the rope back up to me. I very carefully tied my rifle to it and, holding my breath, lowered it ever-so-slowly to the ground.

Deep breath.

I took the poncho liner off my lap (I had thought the cover would somehow make me feel more secure - silly me). I let it fall to the ground below.

I unlatched and opened the rail (which also didn't provide the feeling of security I had hoped).

Deep breath.

Very carefully, I stood, gripping the side rails with shaking hands, and turned to face the seat.

Deep breath.

Once both feet were on the ladder, I was done going slowly. I got to the ground quickly, still shaking, and gathered my gear.

Within minutes I was seated on the ground next to a tree a few yards away, covered in my poncho liner for warmth, still trying to catch my breath, watching the fairy dust turn back to ice in the dawning sunlight.

Thoughts of bears approaching from behind kept me alert and nervous, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of clinging to a tree in the canopy above.

Then came the shot. I heard it coming from Phil's direction and fumbled with my phone, ready to receive his victory text. Then I put the phone down and grabbed my rifle in case the shot chased a bear in my direction. After what seemed like ages, the confirmation came in the form of three simple words. "I got one."

Even though it wasn't my kill, it was my most exciting day of hunting to date. I hope to get one of my own next year!

Here's Why

I felt a little out of place sitting in the restaurant in my camo, hair a mess from wearing a hat all morning. We were just taking a little break from archery hunting and planned to head back out after lunch. At the table across from us, a couple kept stealing glances at us - at least it felt like they did.

Phil left the table for just a few moments and I sat there alone and uncomfortable, until our server came by. She smiled warmly at me and asked "were you hunting this morning?" When I replied, (feeling the stares from the other table) she asked if we had any luck. I told her about the bears my husband had seen heading in my direction and how I could hear them coming but never got a look at them. I almost expected a disapproving comment or condemning look but this young lady surprised me with her next statement:

"I'm going bear hunting next week!"

Instantly the couple at the other table vanished from my periphery. I was suddenly all in and animated, telling her how I would also be back next week and hoped to get my first bear. The conversation was much too short, as she had work to do and I had lunch to finish, but it had been the best personal encounter I'd had in a long time. Finally! Another female who hunts!

I know there are a lot of women hunters out there but I don't have that kinship with any females I know personally, other than my fifteen-year-old daughter. We can talk to our friends and relatives about hunting and fishing but we don't get that 'oh, me too!' response that instantly connects kindred spirits. Some are kind enough to listen to our hunting tales and encourage us in the activity they know we love. Some adopt a better-you-than-me attitude and show nothing but amusement in our stories. Then there are those who disapprove and go all out to make it known. Those who think all deer are named Bambi and all hunters hate animals.

So this blog is going to be my outlet for my hunting stories. I don't always succeed on the hunt. But every outing is a memory. If you know exactly what I mean by that, welcome to my blog. :-)