At this point in time I felt pretty on top of my small game, well, game, I guess. I successfully have harvested grouse and jack rabbits, challenges I felt proud of meeting, and food I was so happy to put on the table. When we planned a trip to Hawaii, to visit my family, I decided I needed to make hunting a part of the trip.
In the mountains of the Big Island of Hawaii, there are herds of feral sheep, happily grazing on the fertile volcanic grass that covers the slopes of Mauna Loa, above my birth town of Kona. These herds can prove to be problematic for many landowners, and most do not mind hunters helping to control their population. Until I was a young girl, my grandfather's ranch extended upwards of 10,000 feet in elevation, on the slopes of Mauna Loa. He sold this land when I was young, but I have been told stories all my life of the adventures had there, many of which included sheep hunting. This trip, we were fortunate to be extended an invitation to hunt on a portion of my family's historic ranch. I was thrilled at the notion that my first big game may come from a place so entwined in my own family history.
To make the day even more special, it happened to be our fourteenth wedding anniversary. We headed to the mountains with our kids and a friend who was interested in learning to hunt. It was a beautiful, misty morning, and we drove around the ranch, looking for a good place to start. Then we heard it, faint bleating in the distance. Nick turned off the car, and he and I got out, leaving our friend in the car with the kids.
My heart started to beat faster as we walked through the trees, I could hear sheep ahead of us, but couldn't see them yet. The terrain in the mountains of Kona is rough, tall grass grows over old lava fields, and there are often hidden holes beneath the grass, in between thick ferns and old Ohia trees. I could feel my hands starting to become clammy, and I tried, unsuccessfully, to slow the beating of my heart.
Suddenly, there were sheep ahead, through the trees. Nick told me to shoot and I raised the gun, but felt overwhelmingly unprepared, and unsure of what to do. I second guessed myself, the sheep spotted us, and they were gone. My husband was wearing the look of a man trying not to show his frustration, and I felt like I blew it.
Nick thought the sheep hadn't gone far, so he sent me ahead to look, and walked back to the car. I was determined, I took a deep breath and set off, ready to harvest my first sheep on my own. I hadn't gone far when I spotted several sheep, grazing ahead of me. I was up on a small hill, looking down on them, and they were less than a hundred yards away. This was it! My moment was here! I got down, propped up the shooting sticks, and aimed. Then the adrenaline hit.
I have never in my life experienced anything like this before. I started shaking uncontrollably, and could not calm down. I tried to take deep breaths, focus like I did when I shot my grouse, but this was a whole new ball game. I had heard the term "buck fever" but thought that applied to guys freaking out about shooting a big buck. I was not prepared for the loss of control that was taking over my body. As I tried desperately to gain some control over my emotions and physical self, I heard the sound of the car coming up the road behind me. I panicked. I knew the sheep would bolt if the car got closer, so I decided to take a shot. The problem with this strategy was that I shaking so hard that my cross-hairs weren't pointed at the same thing for more than a second. I pulled the trigger, and nothing happened. I couldn't believe it. I definitely hadn't shot a sheep, but they did nothing other than look up for a moment. I was frozen for what felt like much longer than it was, then desperately tried to reload. It was about this moment that I heard the engine stop, and I knew that my husband was watching me. This did nothing to help calm me, in fact, I became alarmingly more panicky and desperate. That was when I jammed the chamber while trying to reload.
If you haven't figured it out by now, I was having zero fun. Like none. I was questioning my life choices.
So back to me, panicking on the hill, trying to reload. I finally got the bullet in the chamber, tried once again to gain control of my own body, unsuccessfully, and pulled the trigger again.
This is where I disclose that I am fully aware that all of these choices were bad. Just saying.
Well I obviously didn't hit anything. The sheep ran off, and my husband slowly approached. I burst into tears. This is one of my most annoying traits. When I am mad, upset, annoyed, emotional, or feeling basically any emotion, I cry. And then I get more mad that I am crying, and I cry more. Ugh. Anyway... Nick explained that he started to watch me right as I took my first shot, and while I was trying to reload. He knew if he approached me and tried to help he would spook the sheep, and so painfully watched me struggle. He tried to reassure me we would find more sheep, and guided me towards the car. Smart man that he is, he did not mention my crying at the time. He is a very smart man.
We drove down the road until we spotted another herd of sheep in the distance. By this time I had calmed down, and was assessing my mistakes, and simply marveling at the crazy rush of adrenaline I had experienced. Nick and our friend went out after the sheep, and I waited in the car with the kids. After a time, I heard a shot, and walked over to the two guys, to see if they had been successful. They thought they may have shot one, but didn't want to spook the rest by hiking up to check yet. The herd had moved off to the right and stopped again, so it was once again my turn.
Suddenly, all of the uncertainty and panic I had felt earlier were gone. I was ready. I propped the rifle on an old rock wall, and aimed. This time my hands were steady, my breathing was slow, and my resolve was firm. I pulled the trigger, and immediately knew my shot was true. I turned to my husband and said "I got him." I was positive. Nick and our friend hiked towards the spot they though he may have hit a sheep, and I took the kids out to where I knew I would find a dead sheep. And there we found him, a handsome ram, killed quickly with a perfect shot.
When we approached the ram, I was a little worried about how my kids would handle it. I had prepared them as best I knew how. We had been talking for months about my decision to hunt, and why I had made that decision. In all our conversations the kids seemed to echo my sentiment that we should be responsible for our own food, but this was the test. I was amazed with their response. As soon as I sat Christian next to the ram, he set his hand on his coat and said, "thank you for feeding us, sheep." I almost burst into tears again.
As Nick coached me and our friend through skinning and field dressing the ram, my kids sat by and watched. I wasn't sure if I was more proud of my accomplishment, or their reaction.
That night we grilled the mutton over an open flame, a delicious anniversary dinner. I was bursting with pride at providing our meal.
I am still amazed that that I felt as calm and confident as I did when I took that shot. It was as if I had needed that first experience to go through my system, to prepare me for my actual hunt. I know this experience will prove invaluable in every hunting experience I have from this moment on. And it feels somewhat poetic, and extremely special, that it happened in this beautiful place, where my family history is still so strong.
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