Of Whitetails and White Dresses

I hate being the center of attention. In a family with three older sisters and an older brother, being the center of attention generally meant you were in trouble, and that was not a good thing.

Add that to my gawky, self-conscious teenage years, and I'm more than hesitant to be in the spotlight, especially just for the sake of being in the spotlight.

So it was with great reluctance that I found myself on an elevated platform in 1-inch heels trying on wedding gowns. The salesladies oohed and ahhed, flitting about with veils and gloves and...

"Let's try a tiara on you," said Jessica, my personal bridal attendant for the afternoon.

A tiara? Oh for the love of Pete, this was getting worse by the minute. What part of nothing fancy or uber-girlie did this woman not understand?

"Try it and you'll pull back a bloody stump," I wanted to hiss. Summoning my most gracious bride-to-be smile, I calmly replied instead, "No tiaras, a simple veil will be plenty."

Hearing what sounded like a pod of dolphins on crack, I turned to the platform to my left. The bride next to me had apparently found "the dress," and was twirling and rocking in the three-way mirror while her mother and about twenty friends watched. All of them were crying and carrying on. "I'm so proud of you," the mother gushed.

"Oh honey, you look radiant," one saleswoman cooed at me, apparently trying to make me feel as special as the other girl. Sure, she was trying to be nice, but I pretty much just felt like a tablecloth, I was adorned in so much lace. I just smiled again and made a beeline for the comfort and safety of my navy Wyoming Game and Fish Department sweatshirt and blue jeans. I felt like crying too, but in relief at finally having the experience over with.

Friends had told me trying on wedding gowns was one of the most fun parts of planning a wedding. Most had cried when they found their perfect dress, describing it as feeling like the ultimate princess or the most beautiful creature in the whole world. "I was glowing," said one friend.

Yuk, yuk, yuk.

What was wrong with me? Why wasn't I more excited by finding a dress? Shouldn't I be crying, my hands shaking as I was overcome with emotion? Was I missing some gene that made this whole thing something other than absolute torture? I must be lacking some critical chromosome that compelled me to spend at least half my annual salary on a tiara and teacakes and have the ultimate wedding.

A few weeks later, Outdoor Guy and I headed for Sheridan, Wyo., for some whitetail hunting. I'd shot an antelope last fall, but was eager to try something new. This would be my first time hunting deer, and our first hunting trip together. I'd been inundating him with questions about what to expect, what to pack, how to prepare, etc. Antelope season came and went, and it dang near killed me not to be out with the Game and Fish girls getting a goat of my own again.

Finally, the season opened and my big morning came. As first light approached, we headed to "the deer hole," a piece of private land where we had permission to hunt. My eyes were still adjusting to the pre-dawn light as Outdoor Guy began pointing out deer to me.

"There's a doe and a fawn at about 60 yards right in front of us and a decent buck and some does out about 300 yards to our left," he said, binoculars pressed to his eyes.

I raised my own binoculars to my eyes and looked for the deer. Those were deer? I saw mostly darkness and some brown shaped lumps that could have been deer or bushes or a water tank for all the detail my untrained eyes could detect.

"Ahh," was all I said. Sure enough, several minutes later, animals materialized before my eyes as more light peeked over the horizon. By golly, they were deer! Soon I could see some mule deer does grazing on the hillside and cows and antelope in a far pasture where just moments ago there had been nothing. What felt like an eternity later, a line of seven bucks came strolling up over the hill, down the fence line and into range.

"Ooo, ooo, ooo, ooo right there," I yelped, pointing wildly.

"Okay, get your gun and get set up. Use the fence as a rest. I'll stay here, you don't need me breathing down your neck," Outdoor Guy replied calmly, laughing at my first-deer delirum.

And so I sat, rifle trained on a decent buck, waiting for him to just take a step or two forward to clear a fence post end give me a safe shot. And I waited and waited and...dang it, he didn't just take one step, he took a GIANT leap and fled across the pasture, around the corner and out of range. No worries, I thought, there's another buck hid in the trees, I'll just wait for him to come into the clearing.

As I went to reposition, Outdoor Guy touched my elbow and motioned for me to get up and follow. We snuck across the yard, me crouching low behind him, to reposition and set up on the group that had fled my sights only moments before.

"Take the one on the right," he said, pointing to a 5-point I'd asked about earlier. The buck had an unusual rack, with the top half of his antlers an almost pristine white. I sat down on the ground, using the corner of a shed's foundation as a rest.

"Put your crosshairs right behind his shoulder and shoot," he said. Easy as pie. Except that I couldn't get calmed down. One look at the critter through my scope and I got buck fever. My heartbeat thudded in my ears, my hands shook with each breath I took. I could never hold steady to take a good shot, and soon the beautiful buck with the crazy white antlers disappeared around the bend.

I waited for an admonition from Outdoor Guy about letting him get away. Instead he squeezed my shoulder. "Try lining up on the buck to your left," he encouraged, and put his folded-up jacket between my hand and the foundation. "Try this, it might make you a little more steady."

Whether it was his calm support or the jacket, I'll never know, but it worked. A few deep breaths and a quick prayer to the hunting gods and I pulled the trigger.

"PERFECT!" Outdoor Guy whooped as I reloaded. "Good shot!"

A strange yipping noise interrupted us as we started to gut the buck. It was Outdoor Guy's best friend, come to see the carnage, as he so eloquently put it.

"I see legs! I knew TC wouldn't let me down this morning," he hollered across the pasture, using his self-appointed nickname for me as he crossed the pasture. The next few minutes were a blur as the boys bantered back and forth, Outdoor Guy explaining what he was doing as he gutted the deer for me. Darrell insisted I give him a play-by-play, and offered to mount the antlers for me, in triumph of my first deer and buck.

"Want pictures of the two of you?" Darrell offered, gesturing to my camera sitting on the edge of the pickup.

We knelt behind the buck as Darrell barked instructions like he was a fashiopn photographer on assignment, taking pictures of runway models. "Okay, now turn his head to your right, good, good. Now tilt his chin down just a little. Perfect."

I felt Outdoor Guy's hand on my back and the buck's hair beneath my own hand. "I'm so proud of you sweetie," Ben said as we grinned for the camera. "That was awesome, I'm pumped."

With the two of them oohing and ahhing over me I felt like a rock star. I was the center of their attention, and I loved it. I was excited because now I was confident we could share hunting together in the future. And it felt so good, knowing Outdoor Guy was proud of me, and feeling confident once again in my abilities. Suddenly, my breath caught in my mouth and hands shook. Tears sprang to the back of my eyes, threatening to spill over in this great moment of happiness, confidence and pride.

There on a hillside in Sheridan County, I finally had my weepy girlie moment, complete with tears, shaking hands and feeling like a mighty huntress, if not exactly a princess. I guess I'm just one of those girls that gets emotional over whitetails, not white dresses. And I don't think I'd want it any other way.

Confessions of a secret gun nut

I stood, poised in the back of the room, ready to snap some photos of our 2008 Becoming an Outdoors-Woman workshop. I was sitting in the Introductions to Firearms course, listening to the instructor explain the purpose of a choke in a shotgun.

"So in reality, you could buy a gun with the interchangeable choke, and that gun could handle most any hunting situation you might need it for," asked one woman.

"Sure," replied Ken, the instructor.

"So instead of a gun safe full of guns, my husband could have a single gun and still be a successful hunter. One gun should really be all he needs," the woman continued.

"Uh, well now, I didn't say that..." stammered Ken.

"Oh I know," echoed a different classmate. "My husband must have a dozen different guns and that doesn't include the pistols, and he's always looking for another one. What's with that? Why do they think they need so many guns?"

A chorus of yeahs, I knows and me toos made their way around the group. At the front of the room, Ken was laughing, realizing he had just opened Pandora's box and perhaps set in motion a few divorces.

I used to feel the exact same way. I'd roll my eyes when the boy-du jour in my life would start salivating over the Cabela's catalog or insist on stopping at a pawn shop because "you just never know what you'll find!" Then I started shooting and hunting and I soon discovered a universal truth in my quest to find my inner-outdoor woman...

You can never be too rich, too thin or have too many guns.

My modest collection includes a Remington 7mm.08, a Winchester .22 and a massive 12 gauge side-by-side shotgun my father donated to the cause. My wish list includes a .22 handgun and a 20-gauge shotgun and maybe a .270 in case I decide to try hunting elk.

I got my first inkling that maybe I had a problem was when I was looking at shotguns with Outdoor Guy this summer. I'd narrowed down my selection and was explaining to him that the gun was on sale and the manufacturer was offering a $30 rebate as well.

"That's the same gun I own, just go ahead use mine for a while," he offered.

That would be a practical and cheaper solution. But for some reason I felt like stamping my foot like a petulant child.

"But you don't understand. I want my own shotgun," I wanted to whine. Luckily, I got distracted by all the other cool stuff in the store before I could work up a good pout. I'm sort of like a crow - I'm easily distracted by shiny objects.

The next of my symptoms surfaced a few weeks ago. I met a few coworkers for dinner after they had spent the day hunting antelope northwest of town. They hadn't had much success, but I received high praise for my rifle, which I had lent to Rebecca for the short season.

"That is one sweet gun," Dave told me. That just made my night. My gun was considered cool! You would have though he had just praised one of my children, or told me I was prettier than Jennifer Aniston the way I grinned.

It was a non-hunting friend who finally helped me accept my condition . She and I were discussing my pending nuptials and the merger of stuff between me and Outdoor Guy. I told her I was excited because I would inherit all of his guns, at least quadrupling my current selection.

"I don't get it. How many guns does a normal person really need?" she asked.

Sure, if you want to be practical, my friend and the women at BOW had a valid point. There are versatile guns out there that can handle lots of different types of hunting. A person could get by with just a rifle or two and a versatile shotgun. But where's the fun in that? Every gun is unique. Each feels and handles just a little differently, and is designed for specific conditions. And even just after a few uses, I have great memories tied up in my guns - reminders of special people, special times and beautiful places. But how do you explain that to someone who doesn't hunt or shoot without sounding like a pistol-packing right-wing nutcase?

"You could play a pretty decent round of golf with just one driver, one iron and a putter, but I'm guessing you carry more than three clubs in your golf bag," I replied.

I saw her start ticking off her clubs on her fingers. When she got to twelve, she abruptly stopped.

"So where are you going on your honeymoon again?"

Hello, I'm Teresa and I'm a gunaholic. Could you please point me to a therapy session, maybe near a Sportman's Warehouse?

Camping: Couples Therapy for the Outdoor Minded

Each time I told family, friends or coworkers of my impending camping trip to the Big Horn mountains with Outdoor Guy, they responded the same way.

"You're going camping? Together? For the first time? That'll be interesting," they would snort with a knowing, skeptical smirk on their face. Even my mom had her doubts, saying we'd soon figure out if we could spend that much time together. It's never good when Mom, a.k.a. the Wisest Woman in the World, says something like that.

Apparently outdoor adventures, when tackled as a couple, have ruined more than one previously stalwart relationship. I heard horror story after horror story, enough to fill an hour-long episode for the FOX Network -- "Relationship Roadkill: When Good Camping Goes Bad." As we packed for our end-of-summer getaway, Outdoor Guy joked that we'd either be broken up or married by the time we came off the mountain.

Three days later, we'd seen our share of stunning vistas, moose, elk, deer and little woodland critters. As we traipsed up one side of the range and down the other, I saw some beautiful places and even learned a few lessons about myself, and coed camping along the way.

Lesson Number One - Anything he can pack, I'll probably pack two.

We were "sissy camping" as one friend put it, using a fifth-wheel camper as our home base. Even without the tent and associated accoutrements, we had a lot of stuff. Or more specifically, I had a lot of stuff. As I looked at our mountain of gear to go to the mountain, I noticed that my pile was significantly larger than his. He had one backpack. I had a big duffle and an overnight case. He had the pair of boots on his feet and his wading boots. I had the shoes I was wearing, my hiking boots, my wading boots and a pair of flip-flops. He had a wallet. I had a purse loaded with money, snacks, my I-pod, my cell phone, tissue, lotion, mosquito repellent, sunscreen and a notepad.

As we headed out for our last day of fishing and I handed him an extra sweatshirt, pair of pants and shoes, just in case, he just smiled and shoved it in his pack.

"Women and your wardrobe changes," he sighed. "Remind me to rent a pack mule if we ever go out for longer than two days. Or a U-haul."

Lesson Number Two - Spam is a Manly Meal

Outdoor Guy should open an outfitting business, because this trip was entirely his doing. I basically said, "Let's go camping!" then delegated the rest of the work to him, right up until we started talking food. Then I got interested in a hurry.

"If it were just me, I'd throw in some Spam, Vienna Sausages, a few cans of pork and beans and call it good," he told me.

I know I'm playing the princess card here, but Spam? Honestly? There is just something unnerving about your meal making the sound of a shoe being pulled out of three feet of mud. I had visions of s'mores, pan-fried brookie and good old fashioned elk steak. While we settled on some Hamburger Helper and canned veggies, I told him he could buy me a Dutch oven for Christmas. If this relationship was going to survive, and if I wanted to eat something other than meat by-product, I'd need to take over camp cooking duties.

"No complaints about that from me," he said, smiling slyly. "I'll even buy you a cookbook to help get you started."

Drat. I think that was part of his plan all along.

Lesson Number Three - The phrase "a short walk," has many interpretations.
Our first morning, he told me we were going to his favorite brook trout stream, one he grew up fishing as a kid. "It's a short walk down to the creek, but this place has never let me down. It'll be a fun place to dunk some worms."

He wasn't kidding. It was an awesome little stream to fish, with active, hungry brook trout in every pool and riffle. It took me a while to warm up, but soon we were catching right and left. Most of the fish were on the small side, so we only kept a few. As we moved downstream, Outdoor Guy entertained me with stories of a misspent youth hunting mountain lions and bobcats with his Black and Tan hound. After a couple of hours, we decided to call it a day and head back to camp to eat a late lunch and get ready to go scout elk that evening.

It was a short walk down to the creek. It was the hike back up to the pickup that might have been the death of both me, and the relationship. Nothing will illustrate exactly how far you've let yourself go than a "short walk," straight up a hill at 9,000 feet. I had to wave the fat-kid white flag several times and stop to huff and puff before I blew my lungs out.

He could have made fun of me. He could have told me to lay off the ice cream and pop and I'd be able to keep up. He could have reminded me that it was my brilliant idea to wear new hiking boots that weren't quite broken-in. He could have rolled his eyes each time he had to stop and wait for me to catch up. But he did none of those things, which was good because: A.) he would have been absolutely right; B.) I would have had to tell him he was right; and C.) I had neither the desire, nor breath, to do so.

The next night, when he suggested putting the sneak on a group of bull moose for a better look, I sent him off alone, up the hill and into the timber at an easy trot. Best to not tempt the heart attack gods again. Instead, I busied myself contemplating some sort of outdoor survival school for couples. Forget the therapist's couch, give those couples a tent and a compass and send them to the hills for a weekend. Some couples might even pay big bucks for just such an experience.

I now understood all the dire warnings. I didn't have any horror stories to tell, but we'd definitely seen a different side of one another. I was way out of my comfort zone, and he was right smack in the thick of his element. I had to ask lots of questions, and sometimes even ask for help. He had to slow down and be patient, remembering that I hadn't been doing this my whole life. Putting someone else's need first can be tough when you are used to living on your own and only taking care of yourself.

And without cable, phone or Internet for distraction, the only thing we had to entertain ourselves was the great outdoors and talking to each other. Small talk and superficial attraction can only get you so far, and without substantive things in common, we would have been sick of each other before we even reached the campsite.

The whole experience would definitely test the strength of any relationship, be it between a couple, or among friends, family or coworkers.

But it was a test I must have passed, because when I got bored of planning couples camping counseling, I whiled away the time reading a book and contemplating our future as a couple. Turns out we really would come off the mountain either married or broken-up. A proposal on a ledge overlooking the prettiest spot in all of Wyoming sealed the deal. Relationship rescue camp will have to wait...I have a wedding to plan.

Lights...Camera...Wildlife! Helicopter Stocking and the making of Wyoming Wildlife Television

The morning dawned bright and clear, with no winds and near cloudless skies. It was August, but in the mountains, the temperature barely eeked above 40 degrees. Men in red shirts and green vests busily organized buckets and clipboards, stopping every few minutes to puff in their hands, fingers cold from splashing water and a crisp mountain morning.

"I hear him!"

Ten heads suddenly snapped to attention, eyes searching the skies. A hush fell over us as we strained to see the star of the day's show. No, we weren''t waiting on an elk or a moose. We were eagerly awaiting a red and white whirly bird - a small helicopter that would help the Wyoming Game and Fish Department's fish culture section stock the high elevation lakes of the Big Horn Mountains.

Wyoming Wildlife Television, the Game and Fish Department''s new television show, debuts Sept. 7 on Casper's KCWY Channel 13. The series is just one of the many new tools Game and Fish is using to reach out to our customers and Wyoming's citizens to tell the story of what's going on with wildlife in our state.

I had the opportunity to tag along with the film crew on two occasions - a bird banding in Laramie and helicopter fish stocking in the Big Horn mountains. While I hope my less-than-stunning visage appears nowhere on Wyoming Wildlife Television, I am excited to see the final cut of those two episodes and share with our viewers the great work being done by Game and Fish and our partners on behalf of your wildlife.

Now I have to admit that I'm biased, but helicopter stocking was one of the coolest things I've done this year. The morning began with a pre-dawn trip up Ten Sleep Canyon and over Powder River Pass. Elk, deer, moose, marmots, porcupines, golden eagles and hawks greeted me along the way, testing my high-speed wildlife identification skills. When I pulled into Circle Park, the site of the staging area for the day, the fish culture section crew and our cameraman were already there, waiting for the excitement to begin.

I busied myself setting up a tripod and getting last minute instructions from Jim Barner, the Assistant Fish Culture Section Supervisor and boss of the day. I wanted to make sure I stayed out of the way of the guys who were working and far, far away from the danger zone of the helicopter. The last thing I wanted to do was hinder the project or lose a limb.

We heard the helicopter before we saw it. Soon it appeared, first just a fleck on the far horizon. As the noise got louder, the bird began to take shape. So it was almost directly overhead, the blades whirring, a swath of blown grass several dozen feet in diameter below it. I felt like I was in an episode of M*A*S*H, as I was reminded of the show's opening sequence when all the doctors are waiting for the helicopter to come in, transporting injured military personnel. Actually the vision was so clear, I had the show's theme song stuck in my head the entire day. Catchy, but annoying after an entire morning.

The helicopter hovered just a few feet above ground, while Jim ran out to meet it stabilize the bucket as the big bird touched down. The noise from the helicopter's blades, the wind blowing in my face, the beautiful sunrise...¦it all made for a spectacular beginning to a great day.

As glamorous as the thumping helicopter was, the true genius of the helicopter stocking was the tedious organization that went into the morning. As the chopper waited, the fish culture guys started the process of loading the fish onto the helicopter using buckets. Fish were loaded from the hatcheries' stocking trucks into a bucket on a scale attached to the truck. Each bucket contained a pre-determined poundage and species of fish bound for a specific water. The buckets were then poured into a numbered tank in a big buggy-like apparatus that was would dangle below the helicopter, connected via cables and some sort of pneumatic release device.

The stocked fish I saw were all trout, including the native Yellowstone cutthroat trout, generally about 3-5 inches in length, or what are known as fingerlings. To make sure the fish are healthy when they reach the water, fish culture personnel closely monitor the oxygen level and water temperature of the transportation tanks. The temperature of the tanks are matched as closely as possible with the temperature of the lake or stream where the fish will be planted. This helps reduce the thermal shock to the fish. Fish are also taken off feed a day or two before planting to reduce their demand for oxygen. Very few fish die during planting operations.

Once all the fish were loaded, Jim would hand the pilot his order for this specific run. Up to eight waters could be stocked on each separate flight. State rules prevented me from going up in the helicopter (that and a serious fear of death by crashing), but Jim explained what happened after we lost sight of the helicopter.

The pilot was armed with a notebook with GPS coordinates and an aerial photo or drawing of each drop sight. The pilot would locate the site, hover the chopper anywhere from two to twenty feet above the water, then flip a switch on a numbered panel to release that tank and dump the fish. Once all his tanks were empty, the pilot would return to our staging site and the fish guys would start the process again, reloading to stock eight new waters. The crew would coordinate five separate runs from Circle Park that morning, then stock out of Dubois and Laramie the next two days.

As if keeping track of fish were bad enough, these guys also had a video camera in their face and a pesky information and education supervisor tagging along. Matt, the camera man, shot the action. I peppered the crew with questions and snapped photos right and left. Not exactly a comfortable situation for personnel who spend most of their days at a quiet fish hatchery or logging road miles in a stocking truck. But they pretty much just ignored us, focused on loading the right fish in the right tank and getting the little fingerlings into the air safely.

Paying for a helicopter for three days may seem expensive, but according to Barner, it's actually an incredibly efficient way to stock high alpine lakes. The drop sites are rugged, remote areas not easily accessed on foot or even horseback, let alone a fully loaded fish stocking truck. It would take several weeks or more stocking these ponds using traditional methods, tying up manpower and equipment and stressing the fish for a long period of time. It only took the fish guys about ten minutes to load the helicopter, and another 30 minutes for the chopper to stock the fish. Over the three days the crew aerial stocked more than 80 different waterbodies.

As I watched the whole process five separate times, I had a new found admiration for our fish division. If you watch this episode onWyoming Wildlife Television, chances are the helicopter stocking segment will only be five or six minutes long. The whole morning of stocking lasted only a few hours. But the planning of those three days takes place almost a year in advance.

Fisheries biologists from each Game and Fish region determine the species, volume and location they would like stocked each year and submit their requests to the fish culture personnel. Wyoming's ten fish hatcheries and rearing stations then spend the next year working together to raise the types and number of fish to be stocked to meet angler needs. In the case of high alpine lakes that require stocking by helicopter, it's an even longer wait, because those lakes are only stocked every two years.

Raising and stocking fish has played an important role in Wyoming's fisheries management, especially in areas with high fishing pressure or where habitat limits sufficient natural reproduction to meet angler demand. The Game and Fish raises and stocks more than 311,000 thousand pounds of fish each year for Wyoming anglers.

As I drove out of the Big Horns and headed home to Cheyenne, I contemplated my recent television induced road trip. I'd been on the run or on the road with the camera crew for about four days solid and I was exhausted. Images of passerine birds, BLM interviewees, mule deer habitat and flying fish were all whirring around in my head like the blades of the helicopter. I wanted nothing more than to get home and fall into my bed for a week. Then I imagined the tiny Yellowstone cutthroat trout fingerling I'd held on my palm that morning.

He'd been snagged in a net from his home at the Wigwam Fish Rearing Station, loaded in a stocking truck, netted again into a big orange bucket, dumped into a metal tube with a few thousand of his friends, iced, then flown thousands of feet in the air only to be dumped into a brand-new home 30 minutes later. Now he would have to find food, avoid predators and eventually learn not be tempted by an angler's offering. And I thought I had it rough!

So keep your eye on the skies next summer. That helicopter you hear in the distance just may be carrying a future trophy fish to your favorite honey-hole, courtesy of the Wyoming Game and Fish Department. And don't forget to watch Wyoming Wildlife Television this fall and see your favorite wildlife species make their small screen debut. Ready for your close up?

Opening Day Anticipation

My outdoor pursuits got put on hold this month for work travel and spending time with my out-of-town family. Of course no summer in my life would be complete without partaking in the full complement of activities at Cheyenne Frontier Days - the world's largest outdoor rodeo and western celebration held right here in my hometown.

The end of CFD has always made me a little sad. Growing up, it was the event of the summer in our family. Rodeos, concerts, carnivals, parades and seeing family and friends - Frontier Days was the highlight of the summer. Held during the last full week of July, it was also the beginning of the end of my summer. And that was not something I wanted to think about...until now.

Now, I can hardly wait for summer to end and hunting season to begin. One successful hunt and I'm hooked and want more. I'm like a little kid at Christmas, except that instead of bothering my parents about buying me a pony, I'm bugging Outdoor Guy about where and when we're going to go. He promised to take me deer hunting around Sheridan, and if he hadn't remembered that before, I must have reminded him of it half-a-dozen times last weekend.

"So where exactly are you going to take me? When can we go? When should I get the license? When does the season open? What kind of stuff am I going to need? Can we go shoot soon?" And on and on and on. I think the only reason he bought two elk calls at Cabela's the other day was so he could practice on the way home and not have to deal with my relentless chatter.

Like any good kid come Thanksgiving, I'm working on my wish list of stuff I want. Last season, it was my first hunt and I didn't want to pour a lot of money into something I might not stick with. Now, I've got catalog pages marked with Post-Its and Internet sites bookmarked to revist once I get my August paycheck.

The Becoming an Outdoors-Woman camp I helped with in June only fueled my hunting obsession by getting me interested in archery hunting. I longingly handled the season's newest models of bows at the store, raising each and pretending to bring them to full draw. I must have had that stupid day-dreamy look on my face most normal women get when they look at Brad Pitt, because the salesman turned to Outdoor Guy and said "You need to buy this pretty lady a bow and quick!"

Heck, that might have sold me on buying two bows, but Outdoor Guy just laughed, mumbled something unintelligible to the salesman and quickly hustled me out of the archery department. I was tempted to make a crack about how he should be glad I was admiring a Bow-Tech Diamond bow and not a diamond of another kind, but decided not to push my luck. He had the car keys.

"You're going to cost me a fortune, woman," laughed Outdoor Guy, taking the 20-gauge from me at the shotgun counter a few minutes later. I must have had that stupid Brad Pitt look again. No wonder I can't win at poker.

Just yesterday I decided to entertain myself on a trip home from Buffalo by buying a beginner elk mouth call for practice. I'd been mocking Outdoor Guy when he tried to use his, telling him he sounded like a dying duck in a windstorm.

"Better?" he asked a few minutes later after several dozen more consistent, if not entirely authentic, noises.

"Did the elk eat the dying duck?" I mocked.

I'm here to tell you, those mouth calls are a heck of a lot harder than I thought. I didn't know I was capable of producing that much saliva, let alone projecting it out of my mouth in so many directions. After gagging and slurping and cleaning off the windshield a dozen or so times, I started to get the hang of it. I think. If elk are attracted to a noise that sounds much like an 18-month toddler pitching a hissy fit, I'm set.

So I'll continue to hone my calls, start get in shape and begin compiling my gear for the days ahead. But until opening day dawns, I'm going to be doing my best impression of a little kid on a really, really, really long road trip and whine...

"Are we there YET?"

Family Fishful Thinking

I began to question my sanity about the time I saw my sister reach for the panic handle and make a gagging noise from the passenger seat. We hadn't even busted out the worms and she was gagging. Nothing like starting a family fishing trip off with someone losing her breakfast.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Sandy insisted as I guided their SUV into the parking lot. "I just get a little car sick on these bumpy, windy roads."

Windy roads? The road in had to be one of the best-maintained roads I'd traveled on all year. It was well-graded, wide and relatively level. And I was driving at about half my normal speed.

This did not bode well for the day ahead.

It was the perfect morning for fishing on North Crow Reservoir west of Cheyenne - cool, overcast and calm. At least that was the exterior environment. Our little contingency was loud, excited and well, motion sick. I'd taken the day off of work to take my sister, brother-in-law and 13 and 15-year old nephews fishing. I was fulfilling a promise to 13-year old Lane from last summer and trying to instill in them a little bit of outdoor knowledge and love of our great state.

Like me, my three older sisters and older brother were all born and raised in Wyoming. All four of them like the state and have a basic appreciation for the landscape and wildlife. But I'm the only genetic anomaly of the family who has chosen to make conserving this place and our way a life a career. This particular sister lives in Odessa, Texas - not exactly your typical outdoor paradise. Nor is my sister what I'd call outdoorsy, so I took it upon myself to introduce my nephews to the fine pastime of fishing.

Nathan and Lane are great kids. Both get good grades, keep busy playing sports and stay out of trouble. But I worry about them a little, being so urbanized and far-removed from the landscape. Outdoor adventures teach values and create memories that leave a lasting imprint on a young person's mind. Taking them fishing was my way of trying to expose them to the things I love. They just thought I was being a cool aunt.

All in all, it was a great day. We didn't catch, but no one fell in the water or hooked their ear. Besides, it's hard to beat spending time with family, let alone in a place as pretty as North Crow. However, if I had to do it all over again, and chances are I will next year when they come to visit, I'd do a few things different. If you plan on taking your own family and friends out on one of their first fishing adventures, keep the following in mind.

First, I'll do a little more prep work with them. Prior to arriving at the water, I'll get out the fishing regulations and go through the rules with them, and show them pictures of the fish we are likely to see. I'll also spend a little bit of time explaining aquatic habitat and where fish like to hang out and feed. Then, once we get to the water, they can try to use this knowledge to pick out what they think is a good spot. I think I'll also get them excited for the upcoming trip by having them practice tying hooks onto the line and practice casting in the front yard. That way, the equipment and motions won't seem quite so unfamiliar when the time comes, and they can have a greater sense of accomplishment from doing it themselves.

Prepping the adults going with you might be a good idea too. Nothing ruins a tranquil setting faster than a cell phone playing the theme from Family Feud from the bank. Granted, it was my phone that was ringing, but a friendly reminder never hurts...

Next, I'll remember catching is contagious. Sure, experienced anglers realize that there are some days you'll just get skunked. But I'll be sure to choose a location where the likelihood of actually catching a fish is high. Review the fishing reports in your local paper or check with a local fly shop to see what's active and what lures or flies are working. Fishing is more fun when you catch something.

I knew that the water we were fishing had been fairly lucrative of late. I also figured the reservoir was big enough that the boys could spread out and have room to cast and explore. We saw plenty of fish rising that morning, but just couldn't get any to take our bait. It was fun, but I know Nathan and Lane would have had even more fun, plus a great fish story to tell their Texas friends, if they'd actually brought one to hand. Next year, I'll take them to the beaver ponds on Pole Mountain and let them dunk some worms. The brookies there are small, but they are hungry and aggressive and fun for beginners to fish. Then if the boys want more of a challenge, we can move on to one of the reservoirs and try some more advanced fishing.

I'll remember to KISS - Keep it Short and Simple. Kids and other beginners have a relatively short attention span. Sure, I could have stayed on the water all day, but a few hours was more than enough for the boys and their parents. I'll plan a follow up excursion for later in their visit if they want more. Also, I'll still keep it simple. We were using worms as bait which is about as simple as you get. It's easy to get frustrated with complicated instructions or difficult tasks to perform. Keep it fun and easy the first few times, then start introducing more complicated concepts and tasks at a later date.

Next year, I'll also take along a first-aid kit and dry clothes. Kids come with all sorts of cuts, bumps, bruises and bites and there is always a chance for someone to get wet. Lane was quite concerned one of us would push him in the water, and my sister worried constantly about the boys falling in. Sure enough, we sure could have used some disinfecting wipes and antibacterial cream when two of our party members stumbled on rocks, scraped hands and ankles, and about fell in the water. True, it was the two adults that hurt themselves (hey it wouldn't really be a day fishing if I didn't bleed at some point), but some basic first-aid supplies and dry clothes might come in handy for the kids next time.

And finally, I'll remember that taking kids fishing is about the kids. I hadn't had a chance to fish since last fall, and I was eager to get out on the water myself. In hindsight, I spent more time fiddling with my own gear and practicing a new casting technique than I did teaching Nathan or Lane anything. Next time, I'll leave my own gear at home and focus on the kids, answering their questions and helping them with casting and lures. After all, I know how to fish...I was there to show Nathan and Lane how much fun it was.

So take a kid fishing this summer - it's fun to share your passion and experience with the next generation. Just be sure the car-sick sister rides in the backseat!

This Place is for the Birds

My foray into some basic birding began with me getting sick of asking Outdoor Guy "What's that?" or "And that bird would be..." He's never reluctant to answer. In fact, sometimes he'll pop off with the common name AND the scientific name. Show off.

Not that it's hard to show me up when it comes to birds. I spent my youth in dusty arenas learning about flying lead changes and balancing hog rations, not loons and bitterns. If you need a cow or a horse or even a sheep identified, I'm your girl. Birds...not so much.

The final straw came a few weeks ago while visiting in Sheridan. We were outside enjoying the warm spring day and a week-old dairy calf, a Brown Swiss that I was easily able to identify. I pointed out a bird alternating between pecking at a tree and pecking at the suet hanging in the tree. (Suet, by the way, is just a fancy term for animal fat. Learned that one the hard way too.)

"You mean, that bird right there, the one with the red head pecking the wood? Well, dear, that would be a red-headed woodpecker."

In his defense, I don't think he was trying to be condescending. I think I'm just not used to not being the most brilliant one in the room. It was positively irritating.

"Ahhh," I replied with as much pride and indignation as I could muster. Stupid college wildlife majors anyway.

Since then, I've vowed to become a better birder and pay more attention to my avian neighbors.

It's been fun, peering out the window and trying to identify the species at which I'm looking. Just by keeping my eyes open, I've noticed more and different birds in the last three months than I think I have in my three years at the Game and Fish - kingfishers, great gray owls, tanagers, etc. On a recent trip to Jackson, I got to see a pair of sandhill cranes come in for a landing on a pond just adjacent to the road.

The Wyoming Bird Check List, distributed by the Wyoming Game and Fish Department under the Worth the Watching program, lists more than 400 bird species that spend at least some time in the Cowboy State. Fifty-nine of those species are classified as Species of Greatest Conservation Need under the department's 2005 Comprehensive Wildlife Conservation Strategy. Some birds, like the sage grouse, we know a lot about. Others, like the dickcissel or lark bunting, we need more data on to determine population stability - where they live, how many there are, preferred habitats, etc.

Birding is a great way to get more involved in the outdoors and learn more about wildlife and the natural landscape. It's an easy, inexpensive hobby that can be both healthful and fun. I've gotten a number of tips from lifetime bird watchers over the last few weeks to help me better enjoy my newfound hobby. I'll share them with you here, so hopefully when you take to the skies this summer, you're better equipped to enjoy the bird beautification around us.

1. Study, study, study

With so many species calling Wyoming home, it hasn't been hard to start finding birds to watch. The hardest part is identifying them. That's where a comprehensive field guide comes in handy. A good field guide will help you learn the basic bird groups and tell you where you might find them at what times of the year. I bought the National Geographic version, as recommended by Outdoor Guy. Western Birds, one book in the Peterson Field Guide Series, is also very popular. As it so happens, you can purchase Western Birds directly from the Wyoming Game and Fish Department's online gift store by clicking here. Field guides are also available from your local bookstore or online merchants like Amazon.com or BarnesandNoble.com. Take the time to read the introductory pages of the field guide too. They contain additional tips that can help you be more productive.

Hearing is a bird's strongest sense and they communicate through sound signals. Hearing the birds is half of the fun. Purchase or download audio CDs and DVDs that help with bird identification through song. If you are a technology junkie like me, you can download those to an IPOD or other MP3 player and take then into the field with you, making for instant song idenfitication.

2. Invest Wisely
When compared to hunting or fishing, bird-watching is inexpensive. You can get started birding with just a good field guide and pair of binoculars. But don't scrimp too much - buy the best equipment you can afford. A good pair of binoculars or a spotting scope will make a world of difference to you. I went birding with a friend outside of Lander a few weeks ago, and even with a telephoto lens on my digital camera, I still couldn't see what she could with a good spotting scope. The ruddy duck she pointed out might has well have been a duck silhouette at a carnival shooting gallery for all I knew. I missed out on seeing great species because I just didn't have the right equipment.

There are lots of articles and information out there on buying binoculars or spotting scopes, so I won't repeat that information here. It all comes down to what feels good to you and what you are willing to spend. If you still aren't sure where to start, ask other birders you know for advice on optics or visit www.birdwatching.com or www.birdingguide.com and browse their birding optics section for ideas.

Other equipment and items you'll need are comfortable shoes or boots for hiking, a coat to keep you warm and dry, a hat to protect your head and of course, sunscreen and bug repellent. A camera can also help you document your adventures, especially if you have one with a powerful telephoto lens.

3. Habitat is for the Birds
This may sound like common sense, but go to where there are birds! There are only so many species you can see in a single location, so plan some field trips to known birding hotspots. These may be local ponds or wetlands, or a national forest, park or national refuge. If there are certain birds you are interested in watching, learn about their preferred habitats and seek out those areas.

Be sensitive to the time of year as well. Many Wyoming bird species are migratory animals, meaning they only spend part of their time in our state. Know when the migration seasons are, so you can plan accordingly and see new species as they are traveling through.

It might also go without saying, but be respectful of the habitat and the birds. Keep well back from nests, nesting colonies, roosts, display areas and important feeding sites. Take advantage of natural cover or try using a blind to minimize disturbance to the birds. Always be respectful of private property rights and local regulations concerning wildlife watching.

4. Take Good Notes

Get a notebook to take bird-watching with you and get in the habit of taking notes. Sketching and taking field notes will improve your observation skills. Write notes about what the bird looks like, where you found it and what it was doing. Look at size, shape, color, plumage, etc. Document the type of habitat it was in and sketch out a picture of the bird. You don't have to be the best artist in the world - remember, this is something fun just for you!

Consider picking up a copy of the Wyoming Bird Checklist. The checklist is a free-publication distributed by the Game and Fish that has a listing of bird species found in Wyoming during the year. It offers a small space for you to record notes and can be a fun way to keep track of the species you've seen. The checklist is available for free at all Game and Fish offices across the state. There are also electronic diaries available for purchase for the more sophisticated birder. For once, I'm going the old fashioned way - a spiral notebook with a pocket for my checklist and yellow #2 pencil with a now slighly used eraser (turns out that ibis I saw two weeks ago was actually an American avocet. See why a field guide is essential?)

Don't forget to document the sounds you hear as well. When you hear a bird's song, describe it to yourself in words. To me the yellow-headed blackbird call sounds like an electronic screech or croaking frog so that helps me remember its call. It might help to associate a word or phrase with the song. For example, to me, the western meadowlark sounds like its saying, cheerfully, I might add "Who's There? Who's it Gonna Be?" That phrase helps me remember the cadence and pitch of its song.

5. Bring the Birds to You
You can attract birds to your own yard with just a little work. Birds are like any other wildlife species, and need all four habitat elements to survive - food, water, shelter and space. Flowers, shrubs and trees can all be used for food and shelter. Consider a bird feeder, birdhouse or bird bath to further entice winged wonders to your home.

However, be warned. A few summers ago I found the cutest birdhouse at Hobby Lobby, and hung it up a few fenceposts away from my bird feeder. Not only did the squirrels destroy the feeder, wasps moved into the birdhouse. Not quite the backyard guests I was going for!

There are plenty of resources on backyard bird habitat. Just make sure you set up your yard to protect the birds from predators such as domestic pets, squirrels, insects or snakes.

6. Share the experience

As you start bird-watching, spend some time in the field with an experienced birder. Ask questions, take notes and try to be open to new facets of birding. Consider joining a local bird watching group or bird advocacy group such as Audubon. In Wyoming, there are five local Audubon chapters that host different events, field trips and seminars. (Click here for a listing of Wyoming chapters and contact information)

Also, take friends and family. The best experiences in life are often those shared with others. Bird-watching can be a standalone activity, or fit right in with other outdoor adventures such as floating, hiking, fishing or hunting. So get out there and enjoy the landscape. You'll be amazed at what you'll find just by tuning into the world around you.