First Hunts · Personal
My First Successful Hunt
And what no one told me.
I thought I'd feel out of place. Instead, I felt something I hadn't felt in years — quiet, capable, and completely myself.
Let me be honest with you about how it went.
There was no cinematic moment. No perfect light, no textbook setup, nothing that looked remotely like a highlight reel. My first successful goat hunt was messy. There were nerves I couldn't shake, second-guessing that ran right up until the moment, and a persistent little voice asking whether I was about to get it completely wrong.
But I was there. And I was doing it. And as it turns out — that's the whole point.
The hours no one talks about
Before anything happened, there was a lot of nothing. And I mean that in the best possible way.
Learning to move quietly through the bush. Reading the wind — and getting it wrong more than I got it right. Figuring out when to slow down and when to go completely still. Sitting with my own thoughts long enough that they eventually settled.
That's the part that doesn't make it into the content. The patience. The doubt. The long, quiet stretch before the moment actually arrives.
No one warns you that this is where most of the hunting happens — inside your own head, long before you raise a bow.
"The build-up was bigger than the shot. And honestly, that's what I'll remember most."
When it finally came together
It wasn't loud. I think that surprised me most.
Everything slowed down. The noise in my head — the running commentary I'd carried for hours — just stopped. And for the first time, I wasn't thinking about what I should be doing. I was just doing it.
That stillness was something I wasn't prepared for. And I haven't stopped thinking about it since.
The feeling I didn't expect
I thought I'd feel proud. Excited. Maybe relieved. And those things were there — but they weren't the main thing.
The main thing was something heavier and quieter than any of that. It was respect. Gratitude. A real, grounded understanding of what it means to be responsible for your own food.
It hits differently when you've been part of every step. When you know exactly what that animal gave, and exactly what went into the moment. There's a weight to it that I think you have to experience to really understand.
What actually changed
That hunt shifted something in me. Not dramatically — there was no overnight transformation. But enough to notice.
Enough to realise I'd crossed a line somewhere between "trying this" and actually being part of it. And more than anything — I trusted myself in it. That trust wasn't there before. Not like that.
What no one really tells you
- You don't need to feel ready. You just need to go.
- You'll question yourself right up until the moment — and that's completely normal.
- The biggest growth doesn't come from success. It comes from showing up anyway.
- A first successful hunt isn't about getting it right. It's about proving to yourself that you can.
Why I'm sharing this
Because if you're sitting there thinking, "I don't know if I could actually do that" — I was you. Exactly you.
This didn't start from confidence. It started from curiosity, and the decision to just give it a go and see what happened. What I found on the other side of that decision changed me in ways I'm still working out how to put into words.
Women Who Hunt didn't come from a plan. It came from moments like this one — the real ones, the imperfect ones, the ones that actually mean something. Because once you experience something like this, you want other women to know it's available to them too.
"If you're thinking about it — start."
You don't need all the gear. You don't need all the answers. You just need to take the first step, and let everything else follow from there.
Take the first step.
Curious where to begin? Start here — and let the rest unfold.