RW and I returned from our antelope hunt in Wyoming very late on Sunday night. I spent most of yesterday processing the entire experience in my heart, soul and mind. I bird hunt, quite often with RW and sometimes I take my shotgun and harvest birds alongside him but this was my first big game hunt and the experience was profound. We took two antelope from Wyoming and I’ve spent the past couple of days putting words to paper in an attempt to convey the holiness of the event to you. I’m very aware that some of you are vegetarians or are opposed to hunting so know that the following photographs (tastefully taken) are part of my life experience and the words I have written to accompany the images are based on what I felt and observed while hunting the antelope in Wyoming. This is no attempt to affect your opinion on the matter of hunting and/or consuming meat, rather, it’s an attempt to convey the spiritual nature of harvesting animals and being part of an energy realm that has always existed, since the beginning, between all living things. The hunt, without further adieu:
[wild BLM horses on the run]
[watering the dogs]
[Robert and Pene loping through the sage]
[Wyoming sage flats for as far as the eye can see]
[RW building a fire in sub-freezing temperatures at sunset]
[warming up before hopping in bed]
[the rude awakening to snow and frigid temperatures on Sunday morning]
[Surprised!]
[that jet black eye]
[rolling home to Idaho with it’s gracious mountains]
[The last quarter of an antelope burger that I just ate for lunch. It was delicious.]
I just ate a frozen apple for breakfast.
It’s a cold morning in Wyoming, just South of the Wind Range. Robert and I are hunting antelope and are, as usual, classically under prepared for a weekend of camping when it comes to meal preparation. We forgot to bring breakfast, it’s freezing cold. Hence, the icy apple.
…..
It’s been a long night. We have parked on a low ridge above a BLM guzzler* on the undulating sage flats of Wyoming. Desolate, cold, barren country. I’m very warm in my down sleeping bag with Robert beside me and Penelope curled up behind my knees inside my bag. I usually wake up freezing on nights like these while camping but after eating dinner around a sage fed fire the only part of my body that is frigid in the night air is the very tip of my nose.
At one point in the night I wake up to star shine pushing through our tinted canopy windows and the low grunts of an antelope buck ushering his harem to and from the guzzler a quarter mile below our encampment. It’s magic. I sit up in my sleeping bag and attempt to peer out the window, hoping I can see the herd in the starlight. Tawny ghosts move with a wild sort of choreography down by the troughs; I shiver, and whisper at RW, “Can you hear them?”
Wild horses now, a merry and stout band,
curious about our human scent, our cold bed of ashes where
we cooked and ate dinner, the scent of dogs and territory marked
by Farley on low Wyoming sage.
Robert is first out of bed in the morning. I roll over and try to squeeze the last of the warmth out of my sleeping bag before peeling myself out of that feathery cocoon to put on a second long underwear layer, a windproof fleece, a down jacket, and down booties; my hiking boots are solid blocks of leather and rubber in the corner of the truck bed. They’ll stay there for the rest of the trip. In the night a cold layer of snow has descended upon us. A blanketing of the eyesight is what it really is. White precipitation blended with golden grasses and ink blots of sage, as far as the eye can see, will make spotting antelope more difficult. We round up the dogs, hop in the truck and begin to drive.
We catch a glimpse of a herd. Two bucks. Seven does. And before we know it, nine antelope burst into a 55MPH gallop over a ridge of sage.
They saw us coming a mile away, literally
and the men told the women to run.
The herd structure is very patriarchal. One buck will take on a harem of does and serve as a mate and protector of his ladies. He’s a true gentleman at all times. He stands atop ridge lines keeping watch for predators as his does feed, carefree below him. When the herd runs from prey, he places himself between his does and the threat. Watching herd behavior with these animals is fascinating, I’m drawn into pronghorn culture like a moth to the flame.
In all this hunting and stalking and laying bare of primal sense in a desolate landscape I can feel a wildness stirring in parts me; wildness that has, for years, been laid to genetic rest in my tightly coiled chains of DNA. The urge to stalk, hunt, gather and harvest seems to wash over me, solidly, and I take pleasure in squinting hard into the snow scape to spot white rumps, black cheek patches, bucks on ridge lines watching over the womenfolk — pronghorn.
When Robert finally fires his shots, we hurry to make sure life has ended swiftly. We follow the split hoof tracks over sage and snow, blinded by fists of weather as it plants firm, frigid punches in our eyes. The wind rises up and pulls invisible words from our mouths. We resort to waving our hands in the air in order to communicate in the wind and snow. We push through a small scale blizzard with low visibility to our first doe. She lies still on her side, her last handful of breaths are shallow and then cease all together. Her eyes are calm and jet black. I inspect her countenance, her last glance up into a flurry filled sky is gentle. I’m overcome by the holiness of the moment, by the harvest of a magnificent animal, by her matchstick legs, the stoutness of her body, the swirls of vanilla in her tawny coat and the coarseness of her eyelashes. I lay my hands on her face and feel the resonance of her animal warmth before it fades to cold. Right there, in that blizzard, on my knees in the sage, I offer my thanks. I take up the energy of her dwindling body heat into my cold hands. I thank the Creator.
I can feel the thankfulness radiating out of me.
In the distance, her buck, her protector stands.
Watching, unafraid, compassionate.
As the snow falls and the wind blinds I’m more aware than I’ve ever been of life cycles, energy cycles, my place as a human, my call to promote and practice ethical hunting, my instincts as an animal.
I’m overwhelmed by the courage it takes to be part of the food chain in this manner:
To be the one to strike the fatal blow upon a wild and free animal.
To view the beast as an animal and to be free, in that moment, from thoughts of anthropomorphism and childish sentiments.
To view my food as more than the busy aisles of a grocery store.
To be part of the process in harvesting it, without a cashier giving me a sum at the end of my checkout, without unwrapping my food from plastic packaging, without being asked, “Will that be credit or debit?”
To be filled with sympathy when a bullet isn’t as true as intended.
To sometimes have to end a life with bare hands when the bullet fails — like my husband does when his second shot at our second doe fails to kill immediately.
This omnivore has no dilemma, but she does have a spiritual connection to the tenderloin medallion she’ll eat for dinner tonight.
When she consumes that hard won meal, she’ll whisper thanks and then she’ll join a circle of energy that’s older than herself.
Older than the hills.
As old as the breath that first breathed it.
*A watering hole established by the Bureau of Land Management on open range for wildlife, bands of wild horses and burros.
I'm speechless. that was beyond beautiful, Jillian. I especially appreciate your sentiment at the fact that hunting IS our original struggle as living beings. How cool that you could take part in that spiritual journey?
Also, a camp fire made on the sage flats sounds so romantic (in the literary sense)…I bet it smelled nice.
Enjoy the rest of your day. It's cold and wet and rainy here in Cali. I'm enjoying being bundled up…even if it is in a cubicle at work. Ah well! Lovely post, friend!
beautiful indeed. i love the way you look at the world, giving everything its rightful meaning.
the photos are gorgeous as always.
wild horses. i mean, wow. i want to witness that so bad. you must know how great it is to watch their freedom. thanks for sharing 🙂
Amen, sister and I mean it. it has taken me awhile to get to this place but alas wisdom and an inherent need to take part in the food that goes into my body has taken over. my sister raises bison and nurtures them from youngsters to the dinner table, if you will. The experience is beautiful, humbling and wild with a heartfelt end. There is a heavy silence that fills the air on the day one is butchered. My sister told me she says a prayer of utmost thankfulness and respect as she takes its life. and what a good life it had, roaming free(pretty much, acres of fenced land to play)on alfalfa hay, every need fulfilled. And, well, it tastes amazing and I am thankful as well to know WHERE my food comes from and how it was raised.
Much thanks for writing a fantastic post along with that lush photography of yours..I love Wyoming and its stark beauty. Oh yes, and the frigid cold, brrrrrrr.
Beautiful experience and you have told your story beautifully as well Jillian…I haven't had the experience with big game yet myself but I know that someday I will. But everytime someone comes home with food for our family, I too, thank the Creator for all that we are given.
And, wow, two antelope…that must have been a lot of work! Kudos to you folks! 😉
just beautiful. thanks for your thoughtfulness, your thankfulness, your quiet but firm articulation on this subject. you and lanka really are like 2 wild things romping about the plains. the image brings a smile to my face and a warmth to my heart.
all love,
she.
Thank you for sharing this and in such a touching way. Hunting is so often misunderstood. I have no truck with the trophy hunters who have no interest in the meat but hunting for meat has my respect and admiration.
And those I've met who hunt for meat or raise animals for meat have much respect for the animal lives and the manner of their passing.
Thanks again for sharing your experience.
That was so well written with beautiful imagery Jillian.
Having grown up on a farm that raised sheep as well as beef for food I can appreciate what you wrote.
Powerful writing about a powerful experience, Jillian. Thank you for sharing the depths of it.
In the urban shopping context, the concept of "meat" is remote from the concept of the being from whom it came. To venture into nature to responsibly participate in this energy cycle takes a kind of bravery all too few people recognize; to be able to begin to understand the meaning of it and to give thanks is a blessing and a privilege.
You live a full life, friend.
Love,
Dorothy
you move me.
thank you, dear jillian.
oh jilly.
please put this in a book. and then publish it.
love you
j
Too beautiful…your words choke me up…Among other things touched upon , my thought as I read these beautiful words of yours, were that you should be a published writer. God bless xx
I am blinking back the tears of your holy moment.
Which are more beautiful? Your words or your photographs?
Spectacular entry, my soul.
Hey folks this is RW. I just want to say I am proud of JIllian. We had a great time in Wyoming and I am pleased as punch that she had a great time. Also – Thank you to all of you who support Jillian. I too often tell here what a talented writer she is – or what an amazing artist she is — but she does not take it to heart like she does all of your comments. Thank you for supporting her.
RW
I love you Jillian.
I love who you are and that you share yourself and your life and your words with us.
Thank you.
(And thanks to you, too, RW … for sharing Jillian with us.)
Jillian,
Your writings are simply profound. I am a vegetarian and have been for years, but am not the sort who in any way extends my beliefs on anyone else. I found your story deeply moving and spiritual. To understand what you are taking from the wild and taking into you is incredibly important. To feel every moment and to be cognitively connected to the hunt is amazing. Thank you for sharing.
I am drawn again and again to this post…
and the comments:
From Jamie Bommer: "but am not the sort who in any way extends my beliefs on anyone else. I found your story deeply moving and spiritual. To understand what you are taking from the wild and taking into you is incredibly important. To feel every moment and to be cognitively connected to the hunt is amazing."
More tears.
Plume, see, you inspire the best in each of us – civil discourse, passion, love despite differences.
What an incredible experience and your writing is equally moving. When I was growing up, my father and cousin were hunters. I never quite understood why they were drawn to sitting in the cold and waiting and waiting and waiting… Thanks to you, I think I understand now. I'll be passing a link to your post to Dad. He hasn't hunted in quite a while and I think he's going to love your words and photos.
Thanks for sharing.
WoW…Very thought provoking and well written! It must have taken a lot of courage to do that & then write about it!
Just Beautiful. Brought me to tears.
I have to confess ladies and gents, I wrote this blog post yesterday and then felt like my heart was leaping out of my skin all day long. I had raging worries about my words being rejected by you — my lifestyle being rejected by you — my experience being rejected by you.
Which is NO reflection of who and what you all are:) Not at all! It's more a reflection of my insecurity when it comes to my writing.
Sweet RW is right. He encourages me a lot when it comes to my writing but my real encouragement comes from a larger and more diverse audience.
Thank you for these kind and thoughtful comments after I took a leap of faith and really bared my heart to you. I appreciate it. I receive it. I have read each of your words at least three times now and they mean the world to me!
Thank you thank you thank you.
With all of my heart.
Thank you.
Jillian
This post, especially, makes me wish you had kept a blog while living in Canada, Alaska and New Zealand. Would you be willing to treat us to some tales of times past, accompanied with your beautiful photos?
Beautiful, Jillian. I have no more words.
Pam
PS I guess I found some words!! My Dad was an avid hunter, our freezer was filled every year with wild meat of all kinds. I understand the passion & respect that a true hunter has for those majestic beasts & every animal. Really beautiful writing, thank you for revealing yourself to us.
It seems I'm late to the party, but I felt I should post a note anyway. This was a really really beautiful post, Jillian. It feels as though everyone before me has posted the majority of my thoughts and feelings on this. Thank you for being so kind and sweet to think of all your readers feelings when sharing your experiences. That just shows how amazing you are deep in that beautiful heart of yours.
Thank you for sharing this with me, with us.
🙂
XO
ps. Believe RW when he tells you how amazing you are. He is so right.
Jilly – so beautiful. Only tears.
this was amazing. period.
the end.
Jillian,
I am finally finding the right words….
Sometimes I want to stop tooling because I know how horrible a death those cattle die in the beef industry, where my leather surely comes from.
All I can do is pray over their hides and promise that what was the waste of one industry will be my pride to make holy.
It pains me.
That being said, I would be honored to tool from a cow killed compassionately and quickly by respectful hands – I wouldn't think twice about the ethics of what I do if I was so lucky.
With the way our commercial cows, chickens, pigs and other stock are treated (expose seems to happen a lot lately in the form of books and docs) you are doing the best thing anyone possibly could: knowing (and respecting) the source of your meat.
I love you.
I love your readers for their amazing responses and
gosh aren't we all lucky?
xoxoxoxox,
Allison
You have so much gumption! I go the the grocery store. (we can't hunt in the burbs of the DC Area)
Thanks again ladies for all these wonderful comments! And for your support — in general. I'm always in awe of you and your love!
Susie Q: I have thought of telling you stories from my life in Arizona, Alaska, Canada and New Zealand…I'm working on it:) Especially now that I know you're interested in hearing them!
And Carolyn, what you mentioned is one of the reasons I love the West. There's so much freedom and possibility here, even when it comes to what a gal puts on her plate at night for dinner OR how she spends her weekend. There are miles of space to be reckoned with.
Oh Jillian, you've done it again. What a beautiful blog and to know that you were insecure about posting it makes it even more beautiful. We all agree that you should publish and I've said it before and I'll say it again – you make my days complete with your blogging…..Hugs and a big thank you, Sally
Thank you Sally!
You're wonderful too! And thanks for the publishing encouragement everyone — it's a bright light for me.