The fair queen.

Fair queen, c. 2003

In 2003, I was a county fair queen, with a little red car, and a lot of makeup.  I grew up in a small town, and although it was a farming community, my family did not even have a garden. Culturally, food was not important to me and I never questioned the source of my food. My parents did not can, hunt, or fish. 

I had friends whose parents hunted and fished. I did not understand that lifestyle. Honestly, I thought that people that hunted and fished did it out of necessity, not out of choice. I thought game meat was "dirty" and unappetizing, although I do not recall ever actually eating it.

Years and many miles later, I realize that I was wrong. Really wrong. In the past ten years, some of the most incredible meals that I have eaten included wild game. 

After college, I planned to go to graduate school in Miami. But then the University of Denver gave me a scholarship. I packed my two wheel drive SUV and headed to Colorado with the firm intention of never staying longer than three years. I did not own a proper winter coat or weather proof boots.

I met my husband in graduate school and we started working in Denver after graduation. He is from the southwest and I decided to stay in Colorado. I had no idea where that decision would take me. During one trip to visit his family in New Mexico, I saw a sign warning of animals in the area. I literally asked my husband, "What is that animal that looks like a bear with antlers?" That, my friends, was an elk.

Due to the recession, wanderlust, and a desire to leave Denver, we quit our jobs and moved to the mountains. While talking about the move, my husband warned that our new neighborhood might have bears, mountain lions, or other predators that could require me to shoot a gun. I insisted a) that was completely untrue, b) he was trying to scare me, and c) I would never shoot a gun. Much to his delight, we had a bear in our front yard within the first week. I had never seen a bear in real life. It smelled absolutely awful (think about a sweaty person living in a fur coat for years). Throughout our first fall, the bears came within feet of our open bedroom window every weekend.

My husband started elk hunting. I had no idea this was something that interested him and I certainly wanted no part in it. He would wake up in the dark in the freezing November temperatures, armed with a gun, and head off for the mountains. I was terrified that he would shoot himself or get lost in the wilderness. In hindsight, my position was reminiscent of The Christmas Story ("you'll shoot your eye out!"). 

During his first hunt, he shot an elk. He returned to our house well after dark, covered in blood and looked like he had just murdered someone. I was not impressed. Only now do I realize how difficult it is to track and stalk an elk in the snow. Only now do I understand how physically grueling it is to hike for hours in high altitude conditions. 

Since the beginning of my husband's elk hunts, I always helped him process the animals. Holding a bloodied elk quarter in the kitchen while wearing my college sweatshirt was a big wake-up call for me. I had never seen an elk (alive or dead) and now I was helping my husband process one. 

While he was learning his new hobby, I decided to learn how to can. Remember, I had absolutely zero family members teaching me how to do this. I  was all on my own, armed with the internet and a subscription to Mother Earth News. I was terrified (for good reason) that I was going to poison us. 

I tried lots of recipes: chicken/lamb/venison/elk stock, tomatoes, red chile pinto beans, Anazai beans, lamb stew, raw chicken, jalapeno jam, strawberry lemonade, bruschetta, apple butter, apple sauce, salsa, Asian plum sauce, giardineria. The giardineria was exceptionally terrible.

I also started cooking wild game and have learned quite a bit along the way. For example, elk ribs must be cooked in a very specific manner. Elk ribs are not pork ribs. I have rendered elk fat to make pies and made more venison stews that I can count. 

Eventually, I started to go with my husband on his elk hunts. 2019 was the first time that I took an active role in the hunt. In November, we went on a 5 day elk hunt in the Rocky Mountains. My husband's tag was in a difficult unit, characterized by deep canyons and steep mountains. We utilized a hunting app that was a real life saver! (More on that later.)

He bought me my first pair of binoculars for this hunt. Armed with a backpack filled with layers of clothing, snacks, water, gloves, hand warmers, first aid supplies, oh - and the binoculars, we headed out into the dark, cold November morning to find an elk. 

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Rabbit hunting, c. 2020

On our first day, we hiked for hours, descended 55 flights of stairs and climbed 38, through the tough terrain. Our hunt was at about 7,000 feet in elevation. We hiked, looked at maps, and had a whisper fight about the strength of his rifle.  And, I got "buck fever." 

Within weeks, I completed hunter safety, started shopping for a gun, and began researching hunts.
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​This is my story in the Rocky Mountains. Welcome to the journey! 

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