On a bright November day, unable to stay indoors a minute longer, I’m guiding two colleagues on a pheasant hunt – standing in as hunt master for my husband, Bruce.
Passing the last dense patch of winter berry, we’re near the end of the first push. Mark is enjoying the scenery. “Be ready!” I rasp, and, right on cue, a rooster explodes between us. Mark takes a fast shot, and connects.
Bird in hand, we’re relaxed, chatting, as we amble through short grass where there “are never” any pheasants, and a huge rooster flushes at our feet. We empty our guns and the bird flies out of range behind a tree. “Any sign of a hit?” I ask. Mark and Sam shake their heads glumly. I had glimpsed two tiny feathers in the air after my shot.
Believing the bird lost, we proceed. Below me, at the bottom of a spring creek, my dog, Violet, is digging into the brush. Suddenly there’s a squawk, and her face emerges full of pheasant. Since I had seen the feathers, I claim the bird!
My pre-Montana self would not recognize the person I am today. I grew up in the urban sprawl of northeast England; moved to New Zealand in my twenties, where I sang opera, enjoyed Shakespeare and frequented art-house movies.
And I was anti-gun. Until I met Bruce. It took him roughly five minutes to explain why he hunted; I was won over instantly. I’d always felt guilty about eating meat without engaging in the killing process, but here was an opportunity to source my own food – in an ancient, natural and sustainable way, in tune with the rhythms of life.
It didn’t hurt, either, that the first time I tried his 12 gauge, I hit the target, three times in a row. Shooting was fun!
Then the hard part began. I’d go out bird hunting, and make one mistake after another – I’d shoot from afar, swing my gun through someone when I stumbled. I’d be behind the push, or in front, not quite in sync and got yelled at a lot. When I did shoot, other people shot as well so I never knew if the bird was “mine”. Many times I’d want to run away in tears but I loved it too much to quit.
Eleven years later, I am an experienced and avid hunter, with more wild birds bagged than I care to recount. I am keen to pass on my skills to others. We have a beautiful property with wildlife galore. I am confident I can teach newcomers to become “safe and savvy hunters” more quickly than I did by trial and error. We’ve named our hunting school “Joy of Hunting”. We teach in a style that is conducive to women but are open to co-ed classes as well.
“Joy of Hunting” sums up why I hunt. Behind the sadness of taking a life is exhilaration, gratitude and joy. For me, it’s not about trophies but about a deep connection with Life.
Anne Kania is a professional classical singer who moved to Montana in 2007 and has re-invented herself as a hunter. She and her husband, Bruce, own a 340-acre property on the Yellowstone River in Shepherd, which is stewarded for uplands birds and fish, and from which they operate two businesses – Floating Island International, Inc. and Joy of Hunting.
