Rediscovering the Hunt: A woman’s journey of mindfulness, gratitude, and conservation
I grew up spending time on family hunting land in northern Minnesota, where many areas still feel wild. As far back as I can remember, hunting was woven into the fabric of my family’s life. In autumn, when the leaves had turned and the nights began to drop below freezing, the guys would gather their gear and head out into the woods.
At the age of twelve, I was initiated into that world. My family has a hazing tradition where, on the night before your first hunt, you’re presented with a heaping bowl of pickled herring and told you must eat it all to become a part of the hunting party. I think I turned positively green as I struggled through a few bites. They took mercy on me by removing the bowl and telling me I wasn’t the worst in family history in this rite of passage.
I was the first girl in my family to hunt. My Dad had a while to consider including me because I asked to go every year since I was 8 when my older brother started going up with the guys. He decided it wouldn’t be any different for me just because I was a girl. This meant a lot to me considering most guys we knew didn’t allow women and girls at hunting camp.
I can still remember bundling up until I could hardly put my arms down, how heavy the rifle felt, and seeing my breath make clouds as I tried to stay awake on that snowy, chilly November morning. I spent hours struggling to stay put as my fingers and toes started to numb, waiting for a deer to cross my path. I didn’t shoot anything that year, but my older brother did. I remember how wild it was to see a deer up close.
There were so many mixed emotions. I was sad for this beautiful creature. My first comment was, “look at those beautiful eyelashes.” I was also happy for the wild, long, and free life he’d lived. I marveled at the deer’s anatomy during field dressing and asked to take part in it. It seemed important to leave any part we would not eat or donate in the forest for the other creatures' sustenance.
I was fascinated as we cleaned and butchered the venison. Seeing the muscles and connective tissue, the way everything was put together, satisfied a deep curiosity I didn't even know I had. I remember thinking that this curiosity made me different from other kids. It made me feel powerful in a way. There were things I could do that made other people shrink. It was also a little scary. If people found out about me, would they think I was creepy, not girly?
As I grew older, though, things changed. Soon, I was a teenager. My excitement about being part of that tradition had faded, replaced by a deep conflict within myself. I began to see hunting in a very different light. By then, I was learning about animal rights and questioning the ethics of killing for sport—or even for food. I stopped joining my family in the woods. At sixteen, I was firm in my belief that hunting was unnecessary, outdated, and, frankly, cruel.
Over time, I learned new information that began to peck away at this rigid perspective. I started learning more about wildlife management and ecology, reading articles written by experts, talking to local hunters, and understanding the role hunting plays in maintaining the balance of animal populations.
Deer populations can skyrocket if left unchecked, leading to overgrazing, starvation, and the spread of diseases like Chronic Wasting Disease (CWD). It became clear to me that hunting wasn’t just about taking an animal’s life—it was about conservation. It was about ensuring the health of the land and the animals that live on it.
That realization was the first crack in my beliefs. I began to understand that hunting, when done responsibly, was a way to give back to the land—to play a role in the balance of nature. Slowly, I reconciled my childhood experiences with my adult understanding of the natural world. I realized that perhaps my rejection of hunting had been too simple, too black and white.
This inner shift was one of the first lessons in my life about the strength of being able to change my mind as I learn new information. It’s been an extraordinary gift to divorce my identity from what I “think” about any given topic. This mindset also helps me connect to people who disagree on this topic with openness and curiosity. I love their compassionate hearts and will always listen for new information that may change my mind again.
Although I was no longer against hunting, I wasn’t motivated to begin hunting again until I fell more deeply in love with the boreal forest in Northeast Minnesota on the edge of the Boundary Waters a few years ago. Hunters take fewer deer here than anywhere in the state so hunting in this region requires a singular focus.
Spending eight hours a day in quiet stillness and being “one” with nature is the point of hunting for me. If I don’t see a deer in those weeks, I’m still nourished and reset on a deep level.
It felt different the first time I stepped into the woods again as a hunter. I wasn’t the excited twelve-year-old girl, nor the rebellious teenager. I was a woman who had spent years wrestling with the ethics of hunting, and I was ready to find a new way to engage with it. The rifle felt familiar in my hands, but my approach was entirely different. Before I even set out, I spent time tuning into the forest as a whole and meditating on my gratitude for this precious ecosystem.
I felt a sense of peace being back in the woods—not just as a visitor, but as a participant in something ancient and sacred. I had spent so many years focusing on the act of killing that I had missed the bigger picture. Hunting isn’t just about death; it’s about life. It’s about understanding the delicate balance that allows ecosystems to thrive. It’s about playing a role in that balance with humility and respect.
When I finally did take my first deer after years away from hunting, it was a profoundly emotional experience. I had prepared myself mentally and spiritually for the moment, but nothing could have truly prepared me for the weight of it. After the shot, I knelt beside the deer, my hands shaking slightly as I placed them on its still-warm body. I closed my eyes and offered gratitude, thanking the deer for its life, for the sustenance it would provide, and for the lesson it had taught me. It was one of the most intense and humbling experiences I’ve ever had.
Hunting has become a sacred practice for me—a form of meditation and mindfulness. Each time I go into the woods, I take a moment to center myself, to acknowledge the land and the life it holds. I don’t rush. Every step into the woods and every moment sitting in it is an opportunity to cultivate a deep present-moment awareness.
Today, I hunt deer and grouse regularly, and each time I step into the woods, it’s a new experience. Some days, I come home empty-handed, but I never feel like I’ve wasted my time. The time spent in nature, listening to the wind rustle the leaves or watching a squirrel dart up a tree, is a gift in itself. It’s a reminder that we are not separate from nature—we are part of it, and we have a responsibility to live in a way that honors that connection.
If you don’t identify with the typical stereotype of a modern hunter, please let yourself go deeper. Try foraging or hunting and see what these experiences may hold for you. You may discover yet unknown parts of yourself and your connection to nature.
But remember that hunting is a solemn responsibility. We must do everything to ensure the accuracy of our hunt. Practice your shot, review shot placement every season, and only shoot when you’re sure of your success. These animals deserve our most diligent attention.
Heather Westmoreland bio:
Meet Heather, our resident all-arounder and passionate wilderness advocate. With a diverse background as a Massage Therapist and Instructor, Admissions Counselor, Tax Accountant, Life Coach, End of Life Doula, and Virtual Assistant, Heather brings a wealth of experience to everything she does. Now in her second term with Climate Impact Corps, she’s helping us expand our reach in innovative ways—whether that’s leading us through the woods to identify mushrooms or designing new features for our website.
Heather’s deep connection to the wildness of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area (BWCA) and the Wilderness Edge is reflected in her work with Save the Boundary Waters, where she channels her love for nature into meaningful advocacy. When she’s not working with us, you’ll likely find her wandering through the woods, foraging, hunting, and fishing—always exploring and honoring the natural world that inspires her.
