When I asked how I got started hunting, I will tell you a story about a farm raised tom girl who always tried to beat the boys at everything. This goes back as far back as kindergarten. (Thatâs how I wound up in the E.R. on the third day with a broken arm after a boy dared me to a challenge on the monkey bars.) So it was only natural that around age 14, when the boys came to school with tales of their hunt and the deer they had taken on opening day, I would want to do the same.
While my competitive nature had much to do with it, I must give more credit to my upbringing. As my mother will tell you, I could not help it; hunting was simply bred in me. My father had a few rabbit beagles and deer hunted in local hunting clubs. I was there to tag along as âdaddyâs little dog catcherâ. I also held a great deal of respect for my grandfatherâs skill as an avid quail and fox hunter as well as trapper. Unfortunately I lost my grandfather to a stroke when I was twelve. On the farm, I spent many hours exploring in the woods with my little sister. As I got older, I realized just how much I enjoyed being in the outdoors. Though we may not be aware of it, we often try to emulate the ones we look up to. The memories of my grandfather were impressed upon me so much that I thought I might give hunting a shot.
I didnât know any girls who hunted, but that didnât matter to me. My girlfriends at school couldnât relate to my stories of work on the farm, pulling weeds, scouting crops for disease, and working with livestock. Hunting wouldnât be any different. As a teenage girl, hunting became an avenue where I could do something I was proud of and set me apart from the rest.
At first, my dad would not hear of the idea of his baby girl using a gun. Ironically, I was enrolled in an agricultural course that semester that traditionally included a hunter safety course. The local game warden come out on the last day and offered hands on training. When I came home on this day to tell dad, âGuess what, I shot a gun at school today!â he finally gave in and took out his very first shotgun. It was a badly worn single shot 20-gauge. The butt pad and forearm were actually secured with duct tape. A sad site indeed, dad was proud of the olâ thing and I had no place to argue. After verifying that I could knock down a few soda cans off a saw bench, he sent me on my way.
In spite of the equipment, I quickly found success at taking a few squirrels. I had decided on trying squirrels first because I felt this was an obtainable goal. However, my sites were ultimately set on taking a deer. Having no tree stand, I improvised and set up inside an old tattered hog shelter adjacent to the soybean field where the deer grazed every evening on the farm. As expected, the does ventured out. I poked my barrel out between the wood slats that covered the face of the barn and I took a shot. They didnât move. What! I thought I aimed perfectly. I reloaded and tried again. This went on until I had no shells left and the deer, annoyed with all the noise, simply trotted out of the field. My feelings hurt; I later realized that my father had wanted me to be so afraid of a gun that he had taught me the gun was capable of hitting something (or someone) at 100 yards and to be careful where I aimed. I had incorrectly taken this to mean I could easily kill a deer at this distance. the woods. Learning from my mistakes, I pressed on, willing to accept defeat. After school, I would take my gun and make drives through areas where I knew deer bedded around our farm. I even returned to the old make-shift hog shelter stand, hoping for a closer shot. Letâs just say, we had many more fried squirrel dinners before I would take my first deer.
A few years later I met Jason, now my husband, who would introduce me to using a rifle. One afternoon late in the season, Jason was dropping me off at a stand when we saw this awesome 10 pointer standing out in the bean field near the stand we were headed to. Jason quickly handed me his rifle and I made three shots. Again, the big bruiser just trotted into
It was then that Jason observed a critical thing; I was aiming with the wrong eye. The next day he and his father had me target practice with cardboard taped over my left eye. Boy was I a goofy site! But it taught me proper aim. Soon I was proudly showing off pictures to the boys at school of the nice eight pointers I had taken. I even joined the high school rifle team.
Being a girl, I enjoyed my bragging rights. I have achieved many goals over the years as I dabbled in turkey, bear, rabbit, dove, and predator hunting. I have tried many different styles such as the ever-challenging bow hunting for which I am also passionate about. Given my competitive nature and my family influence, I have paved my way as one of eastern North Carolinaâs accomplished women of the outdoors.
[easy-social-share]