6th Prize
Hunting Journal with Weatherby Logo (100 awarded)
Cathy McNeff, Wyoming
“I was six years old when I started hunting with my dad. A little short-legged girl trying to match my steps to my big, tall dad's long stride. I had no brothers and I was Dad's hunting partner until I left home and married. He taught me where to look for game (‘That old buck ought to be laying right under that tree over there.’), how to shoot, how to take care of my game after I shot it, and how to take care of my gun after I got it home. He taught me how to take care of myself and the land when I was on a hunt.
My .270 was my first and favorite big game rifle. With it I have killed coyotes, antelope, deer, elk, and a Wyoming moose. I raised my four children to appreciate the beauty of the outdoors, to be good sportsmen, and how to cut and wrap wild meat. I bought them each their first .22 and deer rifle and left the rest to them. My oldest granddaughter harvested her first whitetail this year. The legacy goes on.
But the big one still eludes me. That 60-inch moose is still out there, reserved just for me. I have dreamed about him for over 50 years...where he would be standing at the first sighting, how his head would turn and the look in his eye when he caught my scent. Dang, wind switched. Swirling a little up on this ridge. My guide's range finder says he's down there 365 yards. Good distance for this Wyoming girl to be shooting. I can hear the sound of my new Weatherby .30-378 as it echoes off the quiet when I pull the trigger. One shot. Wait now to see if he'll try to get up. Nope. He's down and dead! What a gun! What a shot! I know how that big boy would smell and how his hide would change color ever so slightly as I ride up to him and realize the sun has started to slip behind that brush. Up in that far north Yukon country I would step off my horse and my Widrig Outfitters guide would give me the thumbs up. Good kill. Clean. What a trophy! Packing in with horses to the high plateaus hunting for elk in Wyoming is awesome. In the Yukon it is surreal. Could it be after all the years of dreaming and planning and practicing in the Lower 48 that this could really be happening?
My dream has come true? My hunting partner-husband gives me a quick hug and tries to absorb those adrenalin shivver-shakes one gets at the kill site. He's proud of me. I'm so glad he can share this experience with me! And look at that moose! Thank you, Lord! Wish my dad was here. He's back home waiting for some good news about the hunt. The kids are waiting for the call. The grandkids want pictures for show-and-tell. In a few days when I'm back in civilization I'll make those calls. The real work begins. Everyone pitches in. Mount up! I've pulled many packhorses many miles so I dare to ask, ‘Chris, can I pull the one carrying the horns?’ Thanks! Nothing can beat the ride back to camp and the absolute pure joy of having experienced a successful hunt. A Wyoming kid born to camp, I have loved the whole experience since I was a little girl. And the last night at the spike camp will be the best of all. Chris Widrig and his guides will get me, my husband and my moose home. The telling of the trip will be shared time and time again. ...what I saw, what I heard in that vast north country, what I tasted in that spike camp kitchen, what I felt when I saw MY moose. Sensory overload. The sights, the sounds, the smells, the emotions; new friends met; and around the campfire, the story told just one more time. ‘See kids, never give up on your dream. Grandma Cathy didn't and look where she ended up....in the Yukon!’”