The obvious question here is where my hunting story began. My siblings and I were raised on a dairy farm in South central Idaho. I am the youngest and only girl in my family but I was raised no differently than my brothers. We were raised to work hard every day for what you want, instant gratification is not a thing in our lifestyle, and you can do absolutely anything you set your mind to. I have always had a soft heart for animals of all kinds, from the livestock we raised even down to the mice that used to get squished in the hayfeild when it was time to gather hay bales. Killing anything was just not in my bones! My father on the other hand had a good grasp on the cycle of life and it took a long hard road before that was instilled in me in a manner to which I could comprehend. From beef steers going to market, natural death as well as disease processes that were incurable, there were a lot of little breaks in my heart over the years as I grew to accept what life had to offer. When I was in high school my dad took my eldest brother on an elk hunt with a friend of his who happened to be a guide that lived down the road from us. It was an epic hunt as I've heard my father tell the story over the years but little did anyone know that it would be his last. He was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis and that put a screeching halt to the 7 mile tracking hikes and crazy hunting adventures. I was saddened by the fact that I would never get the chance to hunt with my father the way my oldest brother had, but that wouldn't stop me from sharing the love. It wasn't until several years later that I would have the opportunity to go hunting and fall deeply in love with the sport. I dated a young man who taught me the very basics of hunting starting with upland gamebirds. My first harvest was a beautiful rooster pheasant, one that took me two shots as I missed the first time. Since that day, the moment that I retrieved my first wild game and said a little prayer over him I knew this was something that would last me a lifetime. The next year I went on to put in for draws on big game and low and behold I drew both deer and antelope that year. I was stoked! I had inherited my garadfathers rifle which he had harvest many beautiful animals with over the years and little did I know that when I shot my first antelope that it would make me feel closer than ever to another magnificent man that resided in heaven. It was a perfect shot at 150 yards on a beautiful buck that lay in the grass sunning himself. He never even got up. I was so proud of my accomplishment and so humbled to have been afforded the opportunity. He too received a prayer before the photos and work began. My deer though was another story, one of those that when you're living it in the moment it is gut wrenching. This animal was the best lesson, a lesson of preserving the tough times and doing what is right and ethical. I had hunted long and hard for my deer, nothing about this hunt came easy. So on the second to last day before the hunt closed I finally found buck. He was in a herd of does in brush taller than I stand but my advantage was being across the draw and uphill of him. With the sun going down and an intense case of buck fever I got down into a tripod position to steady myself and took my shot. Out of seemingly nowhere a huge herd popped up and bolted, the hills were rolling where I thought there had only been a half dozen deer. In that moment of excitement, shock, ears ringing, hills rolling I lost my buck. I was confident in my skills but there is so much that can go wrong, so much room for error, and that is when self doubt set in. I took off down the hill looking for my buck, walking in circles, trying to find a blood trail, re-orienting  myself to where I thought he should be, and yet no luck. I was sick to my stomach. I knew deep down I had hit him and he was going to run off and die and I would have taken a life that mother nature would claim, but I was sick over it. Night came and I was forced to stop looking and go home. I had school the next day and I just kept reliving every step over and over the entire time. I decided when I was done with school that I would venture back out alone and look some more, he was my buck and if I had hit him I was going to claim him. It was hot that day with clear skies so I gathered all my essentials and headed back out to the spot where it all went down. I retraced my steps along the hillside and it was in that moment that I used common sense to find my buck, I followed the scavengers. The ravens had already set in on him and I was instantly sad and relieved at the same time. I fought my way through the brush to my buck and did my ritualistic prayer over him. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and it was a good shot. He had fallen exactly where I had shot him and I don't know how I didn't trip over him trying to find him. I felt the meat was too risky for human consumption and while some would have simply walked away and found another deer I tagged my boy, quartered him out, and began the hike to get him out. I kept all the meat and fed it to my dogs and they were in 7th heaven. I learned that year that you dont always have to like the outcome but that its important to take what you can from the experience and make the most of it.