Somewhat mesmerized, I watched the brush cutter's whirling saw blade drone to a stop after I turned off the machine to give my cramped hands a rest. The path behind me was strewn with saplings, brush and vines, as if hit by a small tornado. I was soaking wet and muddy from head to foot. With ears ringing, I could hear my Stihl chain saw buzzing in the distance as my friend continued to groom this swath of ATV trail that we had carved out of thick virgin forest just hours before. We would be bear hunting this land together in less than three months, and trails to the bait sites needed lots of work. Last year I bear hunted here mostly alone and hand carried the baits over narrow primitive trails until utterly exhausted. This year we would motor to the bait pits and hopefully make the process more efficient and seamless in an effort to get 'Pavlov's Bears' to emerge before sunset and connect with our broadheads or rifle. These thoughts no sooner crossed my mind when the sky grew dark and opened up with yet another downpour. Minnesota's typically fickle weather had produced both intermittent rain and sunshine today. Being a lover of anything mother nature throws at me, I enjoy the rain and especially being out in it. Besides, it reduced the mosquito, wood tick and army worm populations so the tasks at hand were more enjoyable.
Running up the trail, I found an equally saturated Deb, and asked her if she wanted to call it day. "Heck no, this is fun" she responded, grinning broadly. I chuckled to myself, delighted at our oneness of spirit, and we continued about the energizing task of clearing the 200 yards of trail. Finishing up, we motored back to camp on the ATV, only dumping the gear laden Otter sled once. Many parts of the trail were a foot deep in water due to the constant rain. We checked on a second bait site to be cleared at a later date and then said our goodbyes.
It had taken me a years, but I think I finally met my equal. Oh, I've met my match with men over the years, many times as a matter of fact. But I have never met a woman who could keep up with me so I gave up trying long ago. Not that hunting with men is a bad thing, mind you, but sharing a hunting shack or an ATV ride with most non-spouse males is a little cozier than I or my non-hunting husband would deem appropriate. Consequently, I have often hunted alone or with my now 18 year old son and have enjoyed it immensely. However, having a female hunting buddy who was also a peer in the areas of hunting and woodsmanship was already a lot of fun. I was excited for the future.
I wrote a piece called "Wild Women" some time ago, where I encouraged women to seek out and pursue their passion for the outdoors. That passion differs among individuals, but among serious sports women, there is commonality with a many things. We feel a link with the woods that is hard to explain. We think alike and often think the same thing at the same moment. We are not ashamed or embarrassed to wear camo or hunting gear in public. We are comfortable and even proud to have physical strength and to admit we love manual labor. This does not mean we are necessarily 'beef women' either, as evidenced by the fact that both Deb and I are lightweight ladies with small frames. We are not bothered by getting totally dog dirty. In fact, we think it's fun. We are not wimps about bad weather or insurmountable tasks. Hunting, and especially archery are part of our core... an essence of our identity. We have the ability to be feminine & charismatic, yet we can be deadly focused, serious and can level an opponent with a glance of penetrating intensity if a situation requires. And the next moment we can laugh and shake hands. We have a disdain for pseudo sportspersons who do not earn their stripes by their own efforts and ingenuity. We do not like phonies, yes men, bimbos, empty suits, sycophants or whiners and we will challenge anyone who alludes that we cannot carry our own weight in the woods.
The synergy with my friend and fellow huntress was in contrast to my mixed feelings of breaking camp alone later that evening. This particular weekend, my hunting shack had reached a point of completion where I was now moving the trailer back home to sell it. Having a real cabin as home base would be a new chapter in hunting for me and going from my 90 square foot trailer to almost 600 square feet of living space seemed unfathomable. Exciting, yes, but the transition of letting go of something old in favor of something new and better, was difficult.
Leaving this forest is always difficult anyway, but tonight it was especially so. I stood for a long time, staring up at the stars through the circular window created by the tree canopy around camp. I had driven my truck fifty yards down the road, but was drawn to walk back on foot. A turkey gobbled in the distance, and a Catbird sang it's haunting song. Mosquitos hovered near. The daytime woods sounds ebbed slowly and transmuted to night sounds, with that familiar lull of still silence in between.
