My First Deer Hunt

“Send it.”

The 200-pound doe that had been stopped, seemingly on her way toward us, had taken a tentative step to her right.

“Now?”

Maybe it was the 3 a.m. wake-up, the 30-degree chill, the anticipation of the shot, or the drops of dew nestling into my knit cap (or all of the above) that gave my body a quick shiver. We had scared off our first opportunity, which had appeared 30 seconds after we zipped into our stand, being completely unprepared. She lifted her head and made the noise I soon learned was alerting her companions. Apparently, this new doe hadn’t heard.

“Yes.”

I had her lined up through my scope for the past 10 minutes, and her shift perfectly showed off the perfect broadside shot.

“Right now?”

I gotta hand it to Gary, the mentor and long-time hunter I had been paired up with. He didn’t flinch from his view, steadily aimed for the same shot I’d soon be firing.

“Send it.”

I took a breath and counted down my exhale 1… 2… and squeeze.

The Benelli shotgun fired without an ounce of recoil, just as it had on the range the day prior. I released the trigger, praying for impact on my first-ever hunting bullet sent 200 yards to my prey.

“Impact!”

For the first time since the sun had risen just shy of an hour ago, we moved in our blind, exhaled a real breath and lifted our shoulders from our hunched-over scouting position.

“I hit it?” In my post-shot anticipation, I squeezed my eyes shut, not seeing her go down at the moment of impact.

“Great shot!” Gary was smiling and turned to offer a fist bump. A goofy grin immediately replaced my focused, concentrated stare, and the post-shot, you HIT it tremors quickly took over my body. I told myself I was shivering, and in my defense, I was cold. It was 30 degrees out!

I glanced back toward my kill to see a decent-sized fawn gallop toward its mom, then quickly take off through the valley.

“F**k! I killed Bambi’s mom?”

I was half-joking, but Gary assured me it was a large fawn, fully capable of handling herself. The non-joking half of me took a moment to let the heaviness of the moment sink in. I recalled something my co-worker said to me when I asked if she had anything to prepare me with.

“Remember, you are taking a life, but it’s a hunt. You are feeding your family, you are providing. Let yourself feel; it’s ok to have emotions.”

In that moment, all I felt was an enormous sense of pride. I had taken this hunting trip as a complete newbie, stepping well outside of my comfort zone, and it was a success. I freakin’ did it!

All of this in roughly two minutes. Gary indicated to me with a nod, “let’s go,” and we were gathering our field tools: the gun, my knife. Feeling the knife in my pack brought me back to reality with a slamming thud. It was time to field dress my kill.

A few weeks ago, I got a ping from our editor, Nino: “Hey, are you ok with hunting?”

Yes, of course. I work for Hook & Barrel Magazine. I am posting and toting our hunting content day and night via email and social media.

“No, no,” he says, “YOU, hunting. Want to go?”

Well, yeah, I’d love to go hunting. But this city girl from Chicago has racked up zero experience and is a super novice when it comes to hunting. Total newbie status.

As it turns out, Arterburn Outdoors was soon to be hosting an event for folks of my nature, total novice or “newbie” hunters. Before I had time to really think things through, I found myself on an early flight out of O’Hare, headed to North Platte, Nebraska.

It was on my tiny 13-row connection from Denver to Nebraska that I began to wonder. In all of my “what to expect” introduction emails, it was made very clear that I would most definitely be getting a deer. A doe, in fact, as this was to be a conservation event—outside of a newbie hunter trip—to trim down a particular herd. What I didn’t hear or read anywhere was what happens after I snag a doe. Do I have to hoist it on my back and carry it to camp? Do I have to gut and skin her?

As I deplaned, a couple of texts buzzed their way in, post-airplane mode. It was Joe Arterburn himself. “Is that your plane? I’m here. Orange hat.”

I quickly found Joe (it helped that it was a tiny, one-gate airport), standing to the side with a big grin on his face, bright orange hat as promised.  

“You check a bag?”

I laughed, thinking of how I carefully folded and rolled all of my fresh Sitka hunting gear around my new Meindl hiking boots and layers upon layers of warm clothing and socks.

“Yup! Just a duffle bag.”

I didn’t mention to Joe that the duffle bag had enough clothing and gear to outfit a small country. It was to be cold in Nebraska that week, and I needed it all, plus extra wool socks and caps to boot!

As we drove up to the sunken-down campground, appropriately named Hidden Valley Outfitters, in the half-horse town of Arnold, Nebraska, I watched my Verizon service deplete to SOS mode.

“Yeah, that will happen as soon as we turn off this road,” said Joe, unphased by this social media manager’s rising level of anxiety. “You might get a blip in and out, here and there.”

While still in service, Joe made a few phone calls to ensure the rest of the crew was en route and close, muttering to himself that it’s only fitting he is the first on site to the set up party, pointing out that his wife had prepared sandwiches and lunch for us, so we could wait out their arrival.

I put my anxious thoughts of losing cell and data service aside, attempting to focus instead on the journey in front of us. Joe expertly maneuvered his massive truck and trailer combo down into the valley, around tight turns until we came to a clearing, pointing out the hut that housed a restroom and shower, a pond for fishing, and a spot up over a hill where the range sat.

“We call it rustic,” Joe smirked.

We pulled up on a clearing, and perhaps the sun was shining just so (or perhaps my 2:30 a.m. wake up was getting to me), but the area just past the walkway across from the pond glowed. Joe popped the truck into park and hopped out. The lunch his sweet wife had prepared for us waited in the truckbed, tucked neatly into a cooler with condiments, chips, and drinks.

As the others started arriving, I met my campmates. Two other writers (the hunters), other sponsors and mentors. None, I quickly learned, were as green as me. They had all been on hunts, had grown up hunting, and were in tune with hunting culture. I knew right then that I was in for one heck of an experience.

But first, it was time to set up. And with the sun shining and the temperature quickly climbing to a windless 79 degrees, the couple-hour setup ended with me in a giant tent, all to myself, covered in sweat and flies, quickly moving to open up as many tent zippers and windows as possible.

While I have been camping many times, in groups, with my spouse, or with friends, this was the very first time I had a whole massive tent to myself. I felt a sense of accomplishment, maybe ownership, as I gave my crib a once-over. It was equipped with a single light bulb, a power bank, plenty of windows, a cot, and a thermal sleeping bag provided by Klymit. Yes, this would work just fine.

As quickly as the day had unfolded, soon enough, it was dark, and we all had a plate of hearty stew steaming in front of us. Our chef, Brooks, fully equipped with Camp Chef gear and seasonings and a very large grocery haul, had just arrived, allowing Joe to fill his spot this first night. We all ate well, took seconds, shared our backgrounds, and eventually peeled off for sleep in anticipation of a full day in front of us.

Nothing beats sleeping outside in the crisp campsite air, even if the lullaby is a herd of coyotes in the distance. Nebraska proved to be no different, showing off even, with lows in the 30s. I woke up in my five layers, wrapped tightly in my sleeping bag, the sun shining just enough light to guide me to our rustic accommodations. With a quick freshening, I made my way to the gathering tent, guided by the smell of coffee and breakfast.

Chef Brooks was there filling up mugs of steaming joe, with breakfast cooking on the griddle.

With full bellies and plenty of coffee, we were treated to a classroom session on hunting. We learned about our gear, how to scout, and where to aim on a deer. It was here I learned what would happen after I get the doe, assuming I successfully hunt and shoot one.

As our chef and Benchmade sponsors pulled out charts and started talking about the areas of the deer and what meat those areas produced, I realized that I—me, myself, and I—would be responsible for hunting, shooting, and butchering my own deer. Dressing the deer, as I soon learned to be the term, would take place in the field.

I played it cool; I kept taking notes. I got this. I knew this was what I was here for. No problem.

A teeny tiny voice appeared in my head. Oh, dear. Could I do this?

One of my biggest hesitations, or only hesitation really, in attending this trip was, of course, my novice status. I didn’t want to hold up the group with relentless, silly questions or be that annoying kid in class. I was relieved to learn that each of the attendees would be paired up with a mentor. I was even more relieved that my mentor, Gary from Hornady, had been hunting for ages and was clearly well-versed in everything from the sit and scout to the kill and processing.

Looking back now, I could be more grateful for Gary’s guidance, his patience with my questions, and the company he brought to the blind (I brought snacks, for my part).

With a full morning of lessons under our belts and a hearty camp lunch, we walked up and over to a clearing, set up to be our practice range. It took me a second to settle in, recall how to calm my breath, aim through the scope, and calmly squeeze the trigger. Every single person, especially Gary, could not have been more patient in understanding my background. And, once settled in, I took aim and hit the target, head-on.

Was I ready?

“Well, we are heading out there!”

To all our surprise, we were slated to head out to the field for our first go at hunting. Our guides had scouted the land for weeks and had a number of choice blinds ready for tonight’s sunset.

I threw on my hunting gear, grabbed a couple of extra layers (sunset was sure to bring much cooler temps), and headed over to our main tent to wait for the others. As they piled in, I noted everyone grabbing snacks.

“Jillian, grab some food. Fill your pack.”

Apparently, we would be sitting for a while, so I took the advice and grabbed a handful of goods and water.

“Do you have your knives?”

I gave my pack a little pat, thinking of the fresh Benchmade set tucked away neatly, still trying to wrap my head around actually having to use them in the field. Be cool. You got this.

We piled into one of the farm trucks, three smashed in the back and one in front, with all of our packs, gear, guns, ammo, and layers. Fifteen minutes in, one of the fellow writers and her mentor were dropped off at their blind. We drove another five minutes or so down a gravel road before our driver took a turn into a field, literally in the middle of nowhere. He clearly knew this land like the back of his hand, and a couple of tight turns later, we found ourselves face to face with our blind.

We set up pretty quickly, then realized there was plenty of space after rearranging the chair set up three times. With the gun in its stand and Gary behind his binoculars, we sat. And sat.

“Want a snack?”

After 45 minutes, I realized that hunting was… boring. How long were we going to sit and scan the area?

We each grabbed a snack. Sipped our waters. Then we returned to waiting and watching for game.

About an hour in, Gary spotted three does peeking out from behind the corn, exactly where our guide said they would be. The only problem: they were 400 yards out. Sure, I hit a 300-yard target earlier in the day. But 400 yards to secure my first deer? In the dusk light?

We watched and waited, hoping they would turn and head a few hundred yards closer. No such luck. They strolled over a valley until they were completely out of our view. UGH.

As we lost sight of the does, we heard a shot ring out. One of the other writers, no doubt. We stayed quiet and, not hearing a second shot, assumed the first was a success. And just in time—the sun was almost completely set, leaving a much darker landscape than when we had arrived. Soon enough, the rev of an engine could be heard behind us, and headlights preceded the farm truck that had dropped us off two hours prior.

We packed our gear in the truck and headed to pick up the other writer, learning that her shot was the one we heard and she’d gotten her deer. Upon arriving back to camp (a couple of hours and one deer-dressing observation later), I learned that I was the only writer that did not get a deer (granted, there were only three of us). Even better, I would be going out again at 5 a.m.

As you know from the beginning, I got my deer. My hunt was a success. But the uneasiness of field dressing quickly took over my excitement.

We trekked out to Bambi’s mom, the sun fully risen in the sky. Gary was right—morning hunts made for a much better atmosphere and, ultimately, better photos.

Right away, Gary had me kneeling behind her and lifted her head, showing me how to hold it up for proper photos. He adjusted the gun I had propped in front of her and snapped the shots. In this moment—realizing she was still warm, knowing that in a week I would be prepping her to eat—it all felt really real. The prep, the early morning, the sitting and waiting—it all led to this moment. And I felt the why, all in this quick moment.

“Grab that knife.”

I carefully released her head and collected my pack, digging out the knife and dressing gloves. With the plastic set up over my elbows, I carefully pulled the knife from its bright orange sheath.

“Want me to get it started?” Gary offered.

My hesitant movements were clearly showing what my sunglasses were hiding.

“I mean, if you want to…”

I knew, however, I was just delaying the inevitable. I had to get in there. I had to participate in this field-to-table newbie hunt. And boy, did I. Before I knew it, I was looking at my fully gutted deer, waiting on our ride to bring us back to camp.

Back at camp, all of my campmates were genuinely excited, wanting to hear all of the details of my hunt. I told the story over and over, adding flavor to our early morning miss and how we thought for sure we would be out of luck. I laughed to myself with each inflated detail, thinking of how I would retell the story to friends and family back home.

A warm breakfast and hot coffee awaited us. All I could think about was washing up. The smell, the blood, and the hunt itself was fresh on my hands, clothes, and boots. No sooner than I had returned with clean hands and a fresh shirt, the farm truck was back, with all three deer in the bed. It was time to butcher the deer.

Now, you might assume you know where this is going. Clearly, this newbie hunter would be too nervous or out of her element to attempt this next step. Wrong! Let’s face it, I had been through the worst of it; blood speckles on my boots proved it. I pulled out all three of my knives and began making precision cuts that led to skinning and butchering.

Honestly, this part was fascinating. Our chef, Brooks, was at hand, leading the instruction, and every person at camp was close by to lend a hand. I had a 200-pound deer to get through, and it was no easy feat! I had zero understanding of the amount of work in front of me and could not be more grateful, again, that I was not alone.

It took the better part of three hours, but at the end, my YETI was full of vacuum-sealed cuts, all labeled and dated. Hands and knives were covered in blood and stray hairs. For the third time, I headed over to the facilities to wash under my nails and up to my elbows, finding another clean shirt.

Dinner was already being prepped. As our chef had just returned from a Canadian hunt, he was preparing moose, elk, and deer (the deer donated by yours truly) for a special final evening dinner. Joe, too, had something up his sleeve, talking up his apple dessert dish. We ate like kings the whole week. It didn’t matter that we were in middle-of-nowhere Nebraska with no cell service. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were hearty and delicious every single day.

No later had our warm apple desserts been plated and set before us than we heard whispers, then shouts. “The lights are out!” Not fully understanding what that meant, we left our spots and headed out of our community tent.

What our eyes saw, I will never be able to represent with words. In the sky above us, greens, pinks, and purples danced in rays amidst the stars and full moon. Mind you, this was Nebraska, the Northern Lights do not make an appearance here. But lo and behold, from my eyes to my iPhone Pro camera, they danced in the sky for hours. Even the promise of a delicious, warm apple dessert awaiting us could not tear us away from the sight. It was truly magical, and what a way to end camp!

Weeks later, I knew I wanted to first prepare the tenderloins, hearing it would be the tastiest meat. I surprised my husband one Friday night as he walked in the door from a work trip. He smelled the bacon and didn’t ask questions, happy to have a home-cooked meal after a week on the road.

He looked at me funny as I watched him dig in, no doubt weirded out that I was staring at him as he cut into it. 

“Is this your deer?”

Now, he’s a meat eater, I’m a meat eater. I don’t know what I was expecting or why I was nervous for him to try it. It was not an exotic animal, alligator, or frog meat. Venison is a more common delicacy, especially in the rural area where we live.

We both agreed it was delicious, tender, and above all else, not gamey.

In case you are curious, I made bacon-wrapped venison tenderloin with garlic cream sauce. I found it through a quick Google search, and we both really enjoyed it.

A couple of weeks post-hunt, I was listening to Joe Rogan’s podcast with an interview of Luke Bryan. As most of the chat surrounded hunting, fishing, and shooting, I felt oddly connected to it with one whole hunt under my belt. One topic in particular stuck with me.

It’s not often, as Rogan was bringing up to Luke, in discussing how Rogan himself came to hunting later in his life, that as an adult, you connect with and find another adult that is willing to take you hunting. And it’s quite a lucky thing.

I thought back on my experience and how often I had already told my spouse, family, and friends that I felt so lucky to be invited on a trip like this. Had there been no invitation from Arterburn Outdoors (and their connection to my editor, Nino), I would more than likely never go out hunting. Never have a field-to-table experience, side-by-side with a mentor like Gary and the larger group of folks that was just so excited to have me there, experiencing this for the very first time.

Now, I think so fondly of that experience, and this no-longer-a-newbie hunter is looking forward to what’s next. I hear turkey hunting is a fun one!

What truly makes the success of a hunt is your gear. Even at the most novice of hunting stages, I knew I was going to need stuff to make me appear legit and help me get the job done.

Sitka outfitted the hunt and provided all of the camo and layers I would need. As soon as it all arrived, I was pleasantly surprised at the fit, and the comfort did not disappoint in the field! A crisp 30-degree morning was absolutely bearable, layered from base to top. My favorite item was their Fanatic hoodie, with a nose/throat covering that also flipped over my hands. It was a game changer for sleeping!

Benelli came in clutch, offering up their Lupo Bolt-Action rifle to get the job done. We spent a few hours at the range, getting used to the gun—an absolute must before heading out for the kill. Being a novice in all things shooting (this stint marked #4 in my storied shooting career), I was a little nervous to pick up a new boomstick and let 'er rip. I have to say, this rifle is a complete work of art. It fit my hand and shoulder pocket like a glove, and the recoil—something that has made me clinch in anticipation with other guns of the same caliber—was practically non-existent.

An on-point rifle only works if you can see outside of the scope of the naked eye. Maven Optics brought in their RS 1 offering to do just that. Working and adjusting a scope, let alone figuring out my placement so I can see the full scope or range, has been a challenge for me. I was impressed with the flexibility of this scope. It was very easy to adjust and allowed me to get a good placement for optimal viewing.

One of my favorite pieces of gear? The boots. Just as the Meindl rep shared with us during our classroom lecture, these boots are known for being broken in, straight out of the box. And as I prepped them from the box two weeks prior – the Lady MFS-Vakuum Hiker boots to be exact – all I could think of was how well they would wear 2-4 hours, maybe longer, in the field. I’m here to tell you that it was not just some smart sales phrasing - the boots were broken in and fit for comfort from the moment they met my feet.

Of course, the almost-50 pounds of deer meat would not be neatly tucked away in my freezer now had it not been for YETI. Leading up to this journey, I had been so curious as to how I would make it home with my meat, assuming it was a success. To my surprise, I was able to fit every bit of my harvest in a YETI Hopper soft cooler and check it on the plane. I even got a chuckle to find a notice that TSA had gone through the bag, ensuring it was legit. I can only imagine their surprise!

The honorable mention here goes to Hornady. Without ammo, of course, there is no hunt. And, without Gary (the Hornady rep and my mentor), this hunter would still be aimlessly staring through her scope, hoping for a shot. We were fully loaded with Hornady’s Superperformance 6mm 95-grain Remington ammo. The 6mm, which I learned to be the baby brother of the 6.5, was designed to be a little faster as long, sleek bullets with a polymer tip.

Benchmade truly made dressing and butchering an effortless process. The precision and flexibility of each blade allowed for a painless field dressing experience and an even better learning experience in separating/butchering each cut of meat. I made the most use of the RAGHORN OD Green G10—a sturdy fixed blade ideal for field dressing—and the 4” MEATCRAFTER, a more flexible blade great for deboning. The neatest thing about Benchmade, I learned, is their LifeSharp Guarantee. Benchmade will sharpen your knife blade for the entire life of your knife; all you have to do is pay for shipping. Plus, they are all made in the USA.

A huge shoutout to the sleeping bag that kept me alive in what felt like arctic, midwest chilly temps. The Klymit KSB 0-degree down sleeping bag kept me so warm at night, allowing me to sneak my feet all the way to the end, folding the “mummy hood” over like a cocoon. Granted, this trip saw lows in the 30s, but I would feel absolutely confident in bringing this baby out to snow-covered grounds, late into the hunting season or for winter camping.