Writing the Self 4: What a ‘Masculine’ Sport

BOOM! The shot from the 6.5 Creedmoor echoes for miles and disturbs a flock of birds from their nest. My heart is pounding at a pace that you’d expect to feel after running a 10-kilometre race. As I glance over at my brother, the bright smile on his face and small nod shows his approval that I had a perfect shot. He whispers, ensuring not to spook any other wildlife around us, “Atta girl, sharpshooter”. For a second, I reminisce on previous hunts we’ve been on and remember how he’s called me this since my first deer hunt. I smile back at him, trying to control my excitement and return my heart rate to its normal pace. 

            I remove the clip from the chamber, placing it in my pocket along with the empty casing from the bullet. Cody has always told me it’s good luck to keep them; whether he’s right or not, I think it’s more of a tradition that dad has passed on to us. I heave the gun over my shoulder and exit the blind, ready to track my trophy buck. It was a 350-yard shot, so we search for signs of blood, hair, and deer tracks to determine where he may have bedded down. The heavy gun is swaying back and forth, rubbing on my shoulder as we trek through the deep snow. However, my adrenaline is so high that I ignore my body telling me I should take a break. “There,” points Cody with excitement as he spots the trophy whitetail laying along the treeline. I rush over to examine my recent kill, leaning my gun against a tall birch tree and grab a hold of the wide antlers. The giant grin that spreads from ear to ear brings tears to my brother’s eyes.

We see in the distance something coming in our direction. As the rusty blue pickup slowly approaches us, we begin to question who it may be. However, the unfamiliar man steps out of the truck and sees the buck laying in the fluffy white snow; he walks towards Cody and shakes his hand firmly, congratulating him on his kill. My brother and I exchange a glance, then begin telling the stranger how it was actually my buck, not Cody’s. Uncertain of what to say, the stranger adjusts his hat and stumbles to find the correct words. “You hunt?” asks the man as if he didn’t believe us; he continues, “But you’re a girl”. I smile at the stranger, while laughing hysterically to myself as I question his ignorant comment. However, I remember a shirt that my dad bought me years ago and respond politely, quoting the t-shirt, “Some girls play with dolls, real girls go hunting”. My brother chuckles to himself while the stranger continues to stand there with a puzzled look on his face. Confused by my interest in this ‘male sport’, I ask the man “Why do you hunt?”. He begins explaining to me how it’s a manly sport and how he enjoys the rush. I say to him, “Well, I hunt, for the moments spent with family and friends. The moments where family become friends, and friends become family”. Speechless, the man turns around, hops in his truck and drives away. My brother gives me a hug, almost squishing me and says, “We better take some pictures to show off your deer”!