Every Mile a Memory

Fifteen hundred days. Forty-four editions of the E-newsletter. One job that has changed my life.

When I started at Game and Fish four years ago, I knew I was ready for a new challenge professionally. I never expected the impact this agency would have on me personally. From making life-long friends and meeting the love of my life, to learning new things about our environment and myself in the process, my time with the Wyoming Game and Fish Department is something I will forever treasure.

But my life, like the seasons, is changing. I'm scheduled to get married in two weeks, and will be relocating to Ten Sleep to start my life as Mrs. Outdoor Guy. Unfortunately, that means leaving Cheyenne and my job with the Game and Fish behind. So I leave you with my favorite memories and lessons learned from this amazing experience.

#10. Quiet Times. As in the kind of quiet that can only be found in a tucked away place off the beaten path. The kind of quiet you find fishing hungry little brookies in a high mountain stream or scouting elk from a hilltop at dusk. May all of us always have a quiet place to turn to in the future.

#9. Calamity on the Canoe Pond. About two weeks into my job, this friendly little gal, Janet, popped into my office and asked me to help at the Expo canoe pond. "It's super fun," she said. "You don't need any experience. You'll love it." Super fun, my foot. It was either blazing hot or cold, windy and rainy. I dunked my waders twice and got nailed in the back by a wayward canoe. But I learned some important lessons...kids will fall in love with outdoor activities if they have the chance to try them, and never, EVER, trust my coworker Janet.

#8. It's a bird. It's a Plane. It's an American avocet! When I started, I couldn't tell a woolly bugger from a woolly mammoth. While I'm still not an expert, I've improved my wildlife identification skills twentyfold. Just a few weeks ago, I was sorting images in the filing room for Wyoming Wildlife. I came across a stray slide of a bird, held it up to the light and quickly recognized it as an American avocet, filing it in its proper sleeve. It was a moment of pride, seeing my newly developed skills in action. There are so many weird, wonderful and wacky cirtters in this state. I can't wait to learn more about them all!

#7. Orienteering for Dummies. My friend Wendy and I decided a last minute scouting trip of our antelope area was in order. Armed with a map and a Big Gulp of Mountain Dew, we set off in my Pontiac G-6 sedan to see what we could see. We learned the lay of the land, that Wendy is the worst map reader in the world, that I am the second worst-map reader in the world and that surprisingly, the G-6 makes a pretty good off-road vehicle. We had a lot of laughs and got some pretty funny looks from the men out scouting. I still not sure if it was the little white car, our pink and purple cammo hats or my flip-flops. I decided that day that if actually hunting was half as much fun as scouting, it was a sport I'd love for the rest of my life.

#6. You Go Girl. I had the chance to attend Wyoming's Becoming an Outdoors-Woman as a camp participant several years ago. It was one of the best three days of my life. I was nursing a broken-heart and my self-confidence was at an all time low. Then spent the weekend with Janet, Lucy, Michelle, Al, Helen and Ken and all the other great BOW instructors, along with 45 other campers. I shot guns. I canoed down a creek. I learned how to fly-fish. It was a chance to learn some intimidating skills in a supportive environment and be surrounded by nothing but positive energy and encouragement. The weekend did wonders for my roll-cast and put an end to the emotional roller-coaster I'd been on for months. I lost myself in the wilds of the weekend and found myself all at the same time. What an awesome program.

#5. Electrofishing with the Laramie Region fish biologists. I overslept and showed up late, forgot my WGFD hat, left my keys at the wrong end of the stream reach and probably hindered their efforts more than I helped. But Lee, Steve and Mike were patient teachers. After a day of floating on the Platte, I had a heck of a sunburn and my arms hurt from wielding the heavy dip net, but I've never had so much fun on the water in my life. I held the biggest brown trout I've ever seen and vowed, one day, I'd catch a monster like that for myself. It was my first time helping with a Game and Fish project, and the first time I felt like a real member of the team. Thanks for making me feel welcome guys!

#4. Whitetail Fever. Last November, Outdoor Guy and I shared our first hunting experience together. I killed my first deer and first buck the first morning. More importantly, we didn't kill each other, which bodes well for our future as a couple. Hunting is a big part of his background and lifestyle, and quickly becoming something I'm passionate about as well. My new friend Darrell mounted the antlers for me. They're hanging in my office right now, but soon they'll hang in my new home in Ten Sleep. Maybe one day, we can hang our daughter's first antlers in their place.

#3. Bully for the bighorns. I got to witness the release of about sixty bighorn sheep from Montana into the wilds of the Laramie Peak area. When you really look at a bighorn, it's hard to fathom how it lives in the remote, rocky places it likes to frequent. They aren't very big. But what bighorns lack in size, they make up for in sheer pluck. It was amazing to see those little sheep bail out of their transport trailer and take off into the wild to make Wyoming their new home. One of the ewes tripped and fell coming out of the trailer and got ran over by the other sheep. Sometimes, when I take a digger in the parking lot or trip over the canoe trailer, I think of that little ewe and wonder how she's doing out there. Hopefully, Wyoming has been as kind to her as it has to me the last three years.

#2. Antelope Adventures. Or rather, pronghorn if one is to be technically correct. Wyoming has lots, more than 500,000, while Mexico's population is struggling. In the spirit of international cooperation, Game and Fish partnered with Mexican conservation organizations to capture pronghorn fawns to transport to Mexico to grow and live on a wildlife sanctuary, where they will be studied and possibly used as surrogates to help bolster populations of the peninsular pronghorn. I got to help with the antelope capture one year. I learned a few new words in Spanish and had the amazing chance to hold a pronghorn fawn in my arms while she nursed a bottle. Seeing her giant eyes and tiny hooves and thinking about her a year later streaking across the prairie at 45 miles an hour...well, there are simply not words for how cool that was.

And last but not least...

#1. Outdoor Guy. Eighteen months ago, I relented and let a mutual friend set us up. I never dreamed that "do you want to go chuckar hunting?" would turn into "Do you take this man?" Whether he's answering my endless questions about working in a fish hatchery, teaching me how to wrap meat, kicking my butt on the Wii or teasing me about making pie, his love and support never waver. He's endured months of teasing about being "Outdoor Guy" from his coworkers who read the e-newsletter. Now he can just be Ben, the best friend and partner a girl could ask for.

Thanks for sharing this amazing journey with me.

Wyoming is Home

I've decided I was crazy in college. Not crazy in a "the stories my friends could tell would make my parents cry" kind of way. My most embarrassing college moment involves me getting pulled over by a police officer on foot while I was sober and driving friends home from the bar. But that's a story for another day. No, I was crazy in a full of myself, must have lost my mind kind of way.

I grew up in Cheyenne, went to the University of Wyoming in Laramie and then took my first job out of college in Indianapolis, Indiana. I absolutely, positively, could not wait to get out of this state. I was going to move to Indiana, become fabulous and famous and never, EVER, look back.

What was I thinking?

It took me exactly four days in a place where I did not know another person for a thousand miles to get homesick. I missed my friends, my family, my horse, my dogs and Mountain Dew that tasted right (I swear it tastes different if it's not bottled in Worland, it really does.) I missed the prairie and the mountains and the antelope. Heck, I missed the wind.

"I've been to Wyoming. What's there to miss?" I remember my supervisor asking at the time.

How do you answer that? It's Wyoming. It's windy and cold and sometimes a little close-minded. But it's also beautiful and expansive and full of some of the most genuine, friendly, hard-working folks in the country.

My travels over the last few months only cemented my love of this place and our way of life. In the course of a two-hour drive up the North Fork of the Shoshone, I saw bighorn sheep, mountain blue birds, hawks, turkeys, a lone moose and more dang deer than I could count.

At the gas station in Shoshoni, I ran into two friends from college. We visited for a bit, discussing where life had taken us and how we thought the Pokes, our beloved University of Wyoming football team, might do in the upcoming season. None of us live within 250 miles of Shoshoni.

Two nights ago, I watched the sun set over Hells Half Acre, the sky an indescribable mixture of blue, purple, yellow and orange. From my perch on the hood of my car, I watched the moon come out, and with it more deer, antelope and critters of the night.

The only traffic jam I've dealt with in the last twelve months was caused by some cowboys moving cattle off their summer pasture in the Big Horn National Forest. The traffic, all seven or eight cars, backed up behind the herd as they headed toward town.

A few weeks ago, a friend circulated an e-mail with the subject line entitled "You Know You're from Wyoming When..." I've seen some derivative of this list a few times over the years, but it never fails to make me smile. Maybe you'll recognize your favorite part about Wyoming in it and smile with me.

YOU KNOW YOU'RE FROM WYOMING WHEN...

1. Your idea of a traffic jam is ten cars waiting to pass a tractor on the highway.

2. "Vacation" means going to Cheyenne or Casper for the weekend.

3. You measure distance in hours.

4. You know several people who have hit deer more than once.

5. You often switch from "heat" to "A/C" in the same day.

6. You use a down comforter in the summer.

7. Your grandparents drive at 65 mph through 13 feet of snow during a raging blizzard, without flinching.

8. You see people wearing hunting clothes at social events.

9. You install security lights on your house and garage and leave both unlocked.

10. You think of the major food groups as deer meat, fish, and berries.

11. You carry jumper cables in your car and your girlfriend knows how to use them.

12. There are 7 empty cars running in the parking lot at the Wal-Mart store at any given time.

13. You design your kid's Halloween costume to fit over a snowsuit.

14. Driving is better in the winter because the potholes are filled with snow.

15. You think lingerie is tube socks and flannel pajamas.

16. You know all 4 seasons: almost winter, winter, still winter, and construction.

17. It takes you 3 hours to go to the store for one item even when you're in a rush because you have to stop and talk to everyone in town.

18. You have ever uttered the term "Greenie!"

Why in the world did I ever want to leave? Oh sure, places like San Francisco, Denver, Indianapolis and New York City offer better shopping, more restaurants and oodles of cultural experiences that you just can't get in Ten Sleep. And every city, big or small, has its own unique culture and history that make it an interesting place. I can't wait to get back to Washington, D.C. to see the monuments I missed the last time. I'd like to take in a Broadway show in the Big Apple. And I could probably make more money living in a more populated locale and climb the corporate ladder to a corner office with a view. But that view likely wouldn't include my beloved Rocky Mountains.

I can live without Starbucks, P.F. Chang's awesome Orange Chicken, regular trips to Eddie Bauer or season tickets to the Indianapolis Colts. But I don't want to live without the mountains as the backdrop for my daily commute, wide open vistas, spring snowstorms so big and wet you swear your roof might collapse, antelope, or hearing about my trip to Cody from a friend in Sundance before I even make it to my front door in Cheyenne. I want space, abundant wildlife, close-knit communities and low humidity.

About three months after I'd moved to Indiana, a friend sent me a poster to hang in my office. The photo was pretty cool, a typical shot of the Tetons with brightly colored flowers blanketing the foreground. But it was the three words at the bottom that brought tears to my eyes the day the poster arrived at my Indianapolis condo a decade ago. They are my past, my present and God willing, my future...

Wyoming is home.

Giving the Gift of the Outdoors

Men are hard to shop for. Outdoor men are downright impossible.

With Outdoor Guy's birthday looming on the horizon, I'd been contemplating what to get him this year. He's a great gift giver, somehow sifting through the mountains of information and conversation I inundate him with to find the one or two offhanded statements I make about some treasure I'd like to have. For Christmas, he bought me a new iPod docking station to replace my broken one, and this great gold necklace. The perfect combination of practical and romantic.

I thought I'd return the favor and find the absolute most perfect birthday gift. After all, the boy has endured six months of endless wedding conversations about tuxes and flowers and pew bows and caterers. I wanted to give him something really cool because he's been so great about the perpetual prenuptial planning. He foiled my plan to buy him an iPod by buying one himself with his tax return money. So for the last several months, I've been trying to listen closely and compile a list of things he mentioned he wanted someday: an ice auger, snowshoes, a trail cam, a fletching tool (whatever that is), a bow case or a new sight, among other things.

I decided on the fletching tool because after a friend loaned him a book on bow hunting, he's started to get all amped up for hunting season and pour through archery catalogs on a nightly basis. So I sat down to my computer, signed on to the Cabela's site and went to order my betrothed the perfect birthday gift. I was so going to win future wife of the year award!

My keyword search on the World's Foremost Outfitter site turned up 83 results. There were fletchers, fletching strippers, something called a fletching jig and a weather vane. Hmmm, I knew we didn't need a weather vane, but which fletching thing-a-ma-jig had he said he wanted? And what was the brand? I recalled something about making sure it was a right-handed something-or-other, and it had a weird name that I swore I'd remember when I saw it again. I started reading the product descriptions, hoping the details would jog my memory.

"This is an all-metal, self-supporting fletching tool that will accept any size shaft and lets you fletch straight, offset, right- and left-helical. A permanent magnet assures uniform placement of all feathers and vanes. A self-centering nock receiver can be adjusted for feather spacing of three-fletch, four-fletch. Includes one clamp, instructions, and wrenches. Optional nock receiver available for fletching three-fletch, cock-vane down."

Or not...Was that even written in English?

So, maybe I'd just buy him a trail camera instead. My search for a suitable trail cam yielded 50 products to pick from, some of them costing in excess of $600. That kind of money was not part of my economic stimulus plan, that's for sure.

I asked aroudn the office, but no one seemed to have any good advice. In the end, I broke down and asked Outdoor Guy. "If a fletching tool magically showed up in the mail, which one would you want it to be?"

Not very subtle, but it got me an answer and it got him a new toy to help tide him over to hunting season. I also learned more about arrow building, and I learned a valuable lesson to help ensure future marital success...

Next year he's getting a sweater.

(Not) Talking Turkey

I'm ready for spring, because spring means summer is just around the corner, and summer means a wedding and a honeymoon spent halibut fishing in Alaska. I can't wait to get out on the water and try some serious sea fishing for the big, ugly, bottom-dwelling white fish.

Of course, I pretty much want to try everything outdoor related, from hunting javelinas in Texas to fishing for marlin off the coast of Florida. Maybe I've watched too many outdoor shows, but there isn't much I don't want to try at least once in my lifetime. So hunting turkeys seems like a logical aspiration, considering you can find them here in Wyoming, the license fee is reasonable and it's something to entertain me until July gets here and it's time to hook some halibut.

There's just one problem.

To be an effective turkey hunter, you have to be quiet. And you have to sit still for long periods of time.

Make that two problems.

There's the rub. I can't be quiet. In high school, my teacher once told me that God only gives us a certain number of words to use in our lifetimes and at the rate I was going, I'd be mute by the time I was out of college. I've grown out of the need to chatter incessantly, but I still can't be quiet for very long. My brain keeps on plugging away, even if my mouth isn't moving, and before long, I've got a thought in my head that I just HAVE to share. It's like a sneeze, I can't hold it in.

A wild turkey's senses are extremely keen. Its eyesight and hearing are amazing. There's an expression I've heard from many long time turkey hunters - if a turkey could smell, you'd never kill one. Turkeys will flee at the first hint of danger. One cough, a slight shifting of your weight and there goes dinner.

All the turkey hunting tips that I've read say your best bet is to zero in on some turkeys, then get set up in the open and call the turkeys to you. Ron Eakes, a wildlife biologist in Alabama, offered this piece of advice for beginning turkey hunters in an article I read recently.

"Sit against a tree, stump or other object that is wider than your back and taller than your head. It will hide your outline and protect your back from a hunter who might move in behind you. Face the turkey's direction with your left shoulder (for right-handed shooters), this provides you with a greater mobility of your gun when aiming. Above all, be quiet and keep your movement to a minimum as you call. If the gobbler is working toward you, then goes silent, don't move. Sometimes gobblers will sneak in quietly."

Even when I'm not talking, I'm making noise. Antelope hunting last fall is an excellent case in point. We belly crawled for about 20 yards to get in position on a nice buck in southeast Wyoming. The buck was traveling right to left and in a few minutes, he'd be in a perfect position for one of my companions to take a shot. I hunkered low to the ground, careful to stay behind Michael and Wendy. I inhaled deeply, catching my breath. Soon, my eyes started watering and the urge to cough overwhelmed me. Within minutes, I was in an all-out hacking fit, wheezing and drooling like a dog gone mad. It took me ten minutes to stop coughing or clearing my throat. The buck got away and I found out that I'm allergic to sagebrush.

And it's not just allergies. I hiccup, my stomach rumbles or I to step on and crack the only branch within miles, scaring birds and any other critter in the vicinity away. If a turkey has keen hearing AND vision, I'm toast.

"If you were a predator, you would starve to death," a good friend told me when I bemoaned my bad luck. "You can't sit still to save your life. You fidget like a fart in a skillet."

While I've never particularly understood that expression, it still stung a little. I'm not a child, I know the importance of staying motionless, and I told him so.

"Tell tell you what," he said. "Find a comfortable position and just sit there. I'll time you. If you make it for even ten minutes without moving, I'll take you turkey hunting."

I lasted exactly four minutes and twenty-two seconds. Maybe I can serve halibut at Thanksgiving.

Greenery Vs. Gunpowder

There's a vase of flowers sitting on the edge of my desk. Bright, happy, sunshiny flowers that make me long for spring green-up and gurgling trout streams. I'd spent the holiday weekend packing all my worldly possessions to go to Ten Sleep and moving the rest from my house to my parents' house, where I'll be living the next few months. I kept it together right until the last load of stuff was packed in the pickup and covered with a tarp for the 350 mile trip to my future home. About halfway across town, I started to cry.

Tears, apparently, render even the toughest outdoor men helpless. Particularly Outdoor Guy, who tried to not make any sudden movements or say anything to make it worse. He sent the flowers the following morning, just to make me smile. Not only did they make me smile, they've given me great insight into the male-female dynamic, and a new way to acquire my dream shotgun.

Women walk into my office, notice the flowers and immediately ask if it's my birthday. When I say no, he sent them just because, they smile and tell me how lucky I am.

Men walk into my office, notice the flowers and ask, "What did he do?"

Men don't buy the argument that the flowers were just to make me happy. "We always have a reason," said one coworker. "Either we've made you mad and we are trying to make up for it, or we plan on making you mad and the flowers are a preemptive strike."

They muse as to what Outdoor Guy might have done, or what he's plotting that he knows I won't like. He could be planning some sort of large, expensive hunting expedition to which I'm not invited; he spent money for the honeymoon on any number of outdoor items – a boat, a gun, a gun safe, a 4-wheeler, a hunting dog, a new spotting scope; he invited his ex-girlfriend to the wedding; he invited his ex-girlfriend to be IN the wedding.

I'm sure none of those are true. Pretty sure at least.

My favorite response, however, came from a former coworker who dropped into the Game and Fish for business and stopped by my office to say hi.

"Birthday? Anniversary?" he asked.

"No. Just to cheer me up?"

"So he sent them just because? Wow, he's making the rest of us look bad," he said as he stooped to sniff the cheerful bouquet.

"Everyone else seems to think he's trying to get out of the doghouse."

"Nah," he replied. "I've seen you when you get really mad. If he'd really messed up that bad, he would have sent you a shotgun."

Flowers or firepower? It's food for thought for this outdoor girl. I better hurry up and decide. Pheasant season, I mean Valentine's day, is almost here...

Resolutions Revisited

I have a Sunday ritual that I follow, almost without fail. I sleep in till around 9 a.m., get a breakfast burrito from a local burger shop and head to my parent's house, dogs in tow, to visit and read their newspaper. The dogs love occasionally getting fresh bacon from the burger shop, and it's generally a good time to catch up with my folks and on current events.

Last week when browsing through the ads from the big box stores, I couldn't figure out why all of them were advertising treadmills, athletic shoes and yoga mats. It was only after passing the gym I should be frequenting did it dawn on me-- it was a New Year and that mean resolutions to get in shape. Very clever marketing, indeed. Either I'm a total slacker because I didn't bother making resolutions, or my life is so perfect, I don't really feel compelled to change.

Life is pretty great these days. But I could stand to lose some weight, exercise more, floss every day, take library books and movies back on time. I guess I'm just a slacker.

But last night, a good friend sent me an e-mail that made me stop and reconsider setting New Year's resolutions. It was a copy of my very first e-newsletter "column," where I shared my resolutions on learning more about the outdoors, or as I put it, finding my inner-outdoor woman.

"So, how'd you do?" The friend asked in the e-mail. "Think all that you've accomplished in the last two years has you ready to become Mrs. Outdoor Guy?"

His tone was teasing, but the gauntlet had been thrown. I reread my resolutions, contemplated them one by one, and gave him an honest assessment of my progress.

I will not stick my tongue out at, roll my eyes at or resort to "I know you are but what am I?" phrases when the fifth graders in my hunter safety class mock my age and incompetence.
I have to admit, I was intimidated at the thought of sitting in a hunter safety class with pre-teens who knew ten times what I did about hunting, and I worked for Game and Fish. So I took the Internet course and completed an Internet Field Day one Saturday to demonstrate safe firearm handling techniques. But I can proudly say I'm a card-carrying hunter safety graduate, and getting more confident in my shooting abilities all the time. Deer might actually begin to fear me.

I will try as hard as I possibly can to not burst into tears the first time I actually shoot a living creature. I will not tear up, gag or become squeamish in any way when dressing said creature.
I did get a little teary after shooting my first buck last November, but they were happy tears. But the experience of hunting doesn't make me sad. Actually, it's made me more aware and respectful. Usually I just mindlessly gulp down a Big Mac, never thinking about the anonymous cow that died so I could enjoy that Extra-Value meal. Its cool knowing you harvested the animal on your plate. I can't explain it.

I will not shriek when one of my guy friends throws a worm down my shirt.
I can bait my own hook. But I still make Outdoor Guy kill the spiders.

I will set aside a small portion of my paycheck each month to pay my insurance deductible so I'm covered when I hook my own ear learning to fly fish.
Two words...barbless hooks.

I will watch a hunting, fishing and outdoor show for one full minute before switching back to the Bronco game.
These days I prefer Who's Wedding is it Anyway?, but I've been converted to an outdoor TV watcher. I even slipped and called football tight-end Jeremy Shockey, Jim Shockey once.

I will learn what Cabela's Club Points are and why they are so important.
So much cool stuff, so few points on my card. I'm saving for a drift boat.

I will not forget the can opener. Again.
Can opener...check. Socks? Not so much.

I will try rabbit, quail and pheasant for dinner. I will wait at least 45 minutes before hitting the McDonald's drive-thru.
So I still haven't tried quail, but I'm game for just about anything these days, pun fully intended. I even found myself wondering what mountain lion tastes like (pork, according to those in the know). Nothing beats a big ol' juicy prime rib, but now deer and antelope are welcome staples in my diet. This summer I had my first breakfast of fried brook trout and waffles. A weird, but not entirely unpleasant, flavor combination.

And finally,

I will approach each new situation, whether hunting, fishing, camping or hiking as an opportunity to have some fun, appreciate this great state we live in and test my own limits and skills.
I can get frustrated with myself when I'm hunting, fishing or basically trying anything new. I'm competitive and a bit of a perfectionist, so it drives me absolutely crazy when I'm not good at something. I have a tendency to feel like a bit of a moron around Outdoor Guy and his crazy best friend because they make everything look so easy and I struggle with even basic outdoor skills.

When I stop to think about it, though, I can be proud of what I've accomplished and how much I've learned the last two years. I don't know that I'm a certified Outdoor Woman yet, but with patience and time, I'll accomplish that resolution eventually. Practice makes perfect, and what's more fun that practicing in a beautiful place like Wyoming, surrounded by family and amazing new friends. I'll let that be my resolution for 2009.