“The First Date Was a Hunt” — Lilly’s Story

Lilly grew up around Stanthorpe, where her dad still lives on the family’s nineteen acres at Storm King Dam. Her pop’s place — sixty-odd acres — sat across the water, and when the dam was low enough, they’d simply walk across to hunt it. Rabbits mostly, the odd fox, a few feral cats: classic Granite Belt kid stuff, with dad and pop’s deer stories lighting a fire in her belly from early on.

Her dad’s a butcher, so the harvest side was in the blood from the start. He didn’t teach her cuts so much as something more useful: that blood, guts and gore are just part of life, and nothing to be scared of. The resilience came first; the knife skills came later.

“He taught me that blood and guts is part of life — not to be scared of it. It’s more once I got into hunting that we got into the butchering side of things.” — Lilly, on her dad

The safety lessons stuck hardest of all — firearms handled properly around people and livestock, always. And when she pulled in to say g’day to Dad on the way past recently, it was to the same nineteen acres where she shot her first rabbit. He’s proud as punch of where it’s all gone — and, in his words, just glad she’s outside enjoying life.

That first date didn’t produce a deer — they saw some reds, never took a shot — but it produced everything else. Date two was a fishing trip, and the pattern was set. Lilly reckons the shared passion is a big part of why they’ve lasted: no one’s sitting at home feeling guilty while the other one’s out at daylight. The early mornings, the long walks, the quiet hours — it’s all quality time when you’re doing it together.

“Every relationship needs common ground. For us it’s hunting. You’re not missing out on quality time when you go out together — it just builds a solid foundation.” — Lilly

Her first animal was a red cull for meat — a clean shot off a nice rest, with Jordan beside her saying take the shot, and the deer down close enough to the car that there was no pack-out required. The skull’s still in the shed. These days they’re out at least once every weekend (footy season permitting), mostly around their own patch helping local farmers with pests — and home to their own bed at night, which she’s the first to admit is a pretty good way to do it.

This rut delivered the one she’ll be telling the grandkids about: her first proper trophy, a double six red. They knew him — he was a five-six last year, and they’d let him walk. This year he came back with the extra point, and the hunt for him was a masterclass in patience.

Open country meant no sneaking up, so they doe-called. And called. Does drifted in. Spikies drifted in. For the best part of an hour they worked him, convinced the whole circus would blow the stalk — until finally he committed. Seventy metres, a good rest against a big tree, breathing slowed right down, and a front-on shot that dropped him within twenty metres. They’d left before sun-up; they got back with him around nine that night.

“The shot’s thirty seconds of the whole process — if that. It’s slowing the breathing, steadying your hands, taking your time, and being certain when you pull the trigger.” — Lilly, on keeping the nerves down

He’s at the taxidermist now — shoulder mount, because a coat that beautiful couldn’t be wasted — and the wait to get him back is, in Lilly’s words, the worst part of taxidermy. And yes, they’re eating him too. On the old “you can’t eat a rutty stag” debate, Lilly’s take is refreshingly practical: there’s some truth to it, but you’ll know when you’re caping out — you can smell whether he’s gone too gamey. This fella was fine, and he’s nearly all gone.

The rifle behind it all is a great story in itself: a second-hand Remington 700 in .243 — a kid’s rifle. Jordan noticed her reaching to fit his full-size rifle and bought it for her as a Christmas present while they were still eyeing off the women’s ranges. The kid-sized stock fits her perfectly, and it’s been her go-to ever since. Her advice to new hunters flows straight from it: get to a range, practice, and build the confidence that you’ll hit what you’re aiming at — because the fear of maiming an animal is real, and confidence is the cure.

Here’s the surprise of the episode: ask Lilly her favourite thing to hunt and it’s not deer. It’s wild dogs. The exhilaration of calling, the speed they come in, the way they wrap around the wind and appear from angles you weren’t watching — it demands your full attention every second.

Jordan does the howling — no whistle, just his voice, and he’s got it down pat. (Lilly’s working on hers; she reckons she can’t project it loud enough yet, so it stays in his court.) The technique is the opposite of deer: instead of walking and stalking for sign, feed and water, it’s ridges and high ground, sitting tight, and bringing them to you.

“We pulled up, let out one howl, and within two minutes there were four massive dogs storming in — like, someone’s in my territory. They came within twenty metres. We got three of the four.” — Lilly, on her standout hunt

It’s serious work with real stakes: one landholder they hunt for has calves being bitten and pulled down, and the local council backs the effort with $30 a skin for pest management. Farmers ring with sightings from their feed runs, Lilly and Jordan target the area, and everyone sleeps better — especially the calves.

Saturdays, though, belong to something else entirely. Lilly has played AFL for the Toowoomba Tigers for eleven years — she moved to Toowoomba from Stanthorpe for uni, joined soccer to make friends, and got talked into a brand-new women’s AFL side. She fell in love instantly: the girls, the club, the camaraderie, and — her words — she loves a bit of contact.

She’s past a hundred games for the one club, a rare milestone in the Toowoomba league, and now she’s chasing 150 — at which point, she claims, she’s allowed to retire. The footy and the hunting feed each other: the game keeps her hunt fit (her verdict: footy is harder — tackling hurts more than hills), and both run on the same fuel of discipline and patience. Different hobbies for different reasons: footy for the friendships, hunting for the quiet.

“It’s a time to switch off. You lose all the head noise because you’re in such beautiful places — no work, no what’s-for-dinner. Just take in what you’re doing and what’s around you.” — Lilly, on the quiet moments

And when there’s a spare week — like the one just gone, between finishing one job and starting the next — the gear comes out for the other passion: fishing. Their first-ever Murray cod trip produced a 70-centimetre and an 85-centimetre fish, despite Lilly’s honest assessment that she makes a much better hunter than fisherman. The hardest part? Goats all over the dam banks at Glenlyon, binoculars sitting right there in the boat, and a constant internal chant of don’t pick up the binoculars, don’t pick up the binoculars. Next mission: surface poppers, to watch the cod come up and smash them.

Everything they take comes home. Down at the father-in-law’s — also a butcher, because apparently you can never have too many in one family — there are cold rooms and a full setup, so whole animals get hung for days and broken down properly. Freezer full, dog bones sorted, nothing wasted.

The go-to is venison schnitzel — rump flattened out and crumbed — and the stealth weapon is venison mince in a spaghetti bol. Some friends get told upfront. Others get asked how was your meal? after the plate’s been licked clean, then get the reveal.

“They’re like, ‘ew, venison’ — and they don’t even know. Then you tell them and they go, ‘oh... that’s pretty good.’” — Lilly, converting the sceptics one bol at a time

Lilly’s experience as a woman in the hunting community has been a quiet one — none of her friendship group hunts, and it wasn’t until Women Who Hunt started popping up in her feed that she realised how many women are actually out there. She’s watched the shift happen in real time: more women getting out, more camo cut for women, more rifles built for shorter frames. The support exists now in a way it didn’t.

Her message for anyone hovering at the edge of it is the same one she lives by — the one that had her casting and casting on that second-date fishing trip until Jordan pointed out she simply doesn’t give up.

“If you’re interested, just do it. Don’t be scared. It doesn’t matter if you’re female or not. And it’s not as hard as it looks — even if you just get out for a walk without a rifle, you’ll be surprised what you see.” — Lilly

Hunting has taught her what she’s made of: patience and resilience, the two words she comes back to again and again — and the two things that carry straight over into everyday life, where you never know what’s around the corner. Asked how she hopes people see her, the list flows: kind, respectful, patient, resilient, passionate. We’d add one more: relentless — you stop when you’ve won, and if you haven’t won, you go back until you do.

What’s next? Possibly a New Zealand trip — Jordan hunts tahr on ballot blocks in the wilderness areas, and there’s a little hut they’ve been told about that might make the perfect first mission together. Failing that: more hunting, a crack at a fallow next year, and plenty of cod fishing — because they’ve got all the gear now, so they may as well use it.