First Blood: Part 2

If you haven’t yet, catch up on Part 1!

Everything I ever knew about myself was wrong.

I never wanted to be outside. Not to read, certainly not to dance, and definitely not to hunt or fish. I just didn’t want to get dirty, honestly. What was the point?

But after that first hunt, I had weathered crawling through the mud, sitting in the dirt, and waiting in the chilly September rain of West Virginia. And for some reason, I was desperate to do it all again.

What if the deer got closer this time?

What if a buck walked out?

What if the weather was calmer, the ground less muddy?

Would the fresh air be as soothing as I imagine?

And there was always the next question; what if Court shot a deer? How would I react?

I watched the hunting shows on the Outdoors Channel with him constantly, dancing around the real question I always had about hunting; how would I feel about the killing? How would I feel about seeing someone pull the trigger?

The question that started to take root, though was this; how would I feel pulling the trigger?

Could I stomach taking the life of a deer? Could I even do it, the physical action of squeezing the trigger? What would I think of myself? What would others think of me?

These questions started rattling around in my mind until I knew there was only way to find out; I would need to try it. To really try hunting for the first time.

Of course, my boyfriend (now husband), Court, was over the moon when I told him I wanted to try it. He proudly took on the role of my mentor and we started training right away; rifle season was only a few weeks away!

A few days later, we marched out to the same flat where we had been hunting and set up a target. Court had gone over where to aim and how to handle the gun thousands of time with me leading up to this, but holding a rifle and aiming at a target was something else.

This wasn’t my first time shooting a gun, not even a rifle, but it felt more important than ever that I master it. While thinking about the killing part of hunting, I had made up my mind that the only way I would feel better about it is making a clean, ethical shot. I would do everything in my power to make sure that the animal didn’t suffer.

I settled onto the little stool and braced the rifle on a small table. The youth model Remington 700 .243 felt surprisingly right in my hands as I settled my cheek against the stock. This was Court’s first hunting rifle growing up, and I prayed that some of his experience and luck with this rifle would carry over to me.

After a moment of carefully shifting the barrel of the rifle, my scope finally settled on a little cardboard buck about 50 yards away. I placed the crosshairs carefully behind the shoulder, as instructed.

I focused on calming my breathing… exhaling completely… then squeezing the trigger…

BOOM!

The rifle jumped in my hands and startled me. I looked at Court and just started laughing. Surely that shot was as terrible as it felt.

We started walking towards the little cardboard buck. “Did it surprise you when it went off?”

“Yes! Ugh, that was such a terrible shot.”

“Not necessarily, it’s good that it surprised you when it went off; that means you didn’t anticipate it and pull the shot. Look.” By now, we had reached the target and he pointed to a little hole a little ways behind the shoulder. That wasn’t so bad, I thought, surprised that I actually hit the thing.

“Let’s do a few more, and then we’ll try it a little further back.”

A few more rounds of shooting and scooting the target back, we packed it up for the day. My shots weren’t always perfect, but they tightened up the longer we shot and for once, I felt a little bit confident in my shooting skills.

I told Court so as we loaded into his truck and headed home. He smiled at me. “Good! Just remember, things will be different when you’re aiming at a deer.”

I gulped, not surprised. It was the difference between rehearsals and performances; no matter how much you practiced and rehearsed, the performance always felt different. Scarier, and maybe a little less controlled.

Oddly enough, my years of dance training might give me an edge as a hunter! I was used to dealing with adrenaline and controlling my breathing as I twirled across the stage and occasionally managed to hit some high notes in front of a crowd. Maybe, just maybe, is could do this…

I wouldn’t have to wonder for long; Court made a deal with a friend to go hunting at his place in a week. It was time to find out if I really had what it takes.