By Karen Hayes

Growing up, I was against hunting. I specifically remember telling my dad that if he killed a deer while hunting, I was going to run away. I attribute that to watching Bambi repeatedly as a child. Luckily for me, I did not have to run away (sorry dad)! My paternal family is a family of hunters and anglers. I have memories of eating fisheyes and tails at my grandfather’s kitchen table. I am sure that is what scarred me for life.

I remember fishing with my father. My favorite fishing trips were smelt dipping at the mouth of the AuSable River. I never ventured into the woods with him unless it was for a walk. As a teenager, I trekked into the woods with my cousins when one of them shot a squirrel. My uncle skinned the squirrel and I thought it was entertaining to walk around pulling on the tendon of the hand waving to everyone. I am sure I also had to taste that squirrel in something, but I have blocked that memory.

As luck would have it, I met and fell in love with a hunter. I did not know at the time that he was a hunter, but once I found out it was too late. About a year into our dating relationship (pre-cellphones) I was waiting for my boyfriend to come home. I was meeting him at his mother’s, but it kept getting later and later. All sorts of thoughts were running through my mind and then the phone rang. He had shot a deer. When he arrived at his mother’s home, he had the biggest smile on his face. He told me that he had something to show me and proceeded to pull out a deer heart that had the evidence of a perfect shot from an arrow. Listening to him tell his experience with such excitement made me proud of him.

My husband, Ben, comes from a hunting family. I have heard story after story after story about the Card property; hunting with Fred Bear; deer hunting from dawn until dusk for days at a time; and shown pictures to back up all the stories. Once we were married and had jobs that would allow, Ben started to take trips to various places to hunt. I learned what it was like to be a “hunting widow.” It certainly did not help that my birthday is October 14th and after 24 years of marriage he still mutters, “who in the world would have a child during bow season?”

Ben lives to hunt, literally. His Illinois family at Strut n' Rut even calls him "Ben the Hunter." In the fall of 2004 when he was awaiting a double lung transplant, he was on the couch in tears. I attempted to comfort him thinking that his mortality was staring him in the face, but no, he said, “you don’t know how bad I want to be hunting right now.” After his recovery, I started to become more active in his hunting world. I would accompany him to big game dinners and fundraisers, escort him on his strolls through Cabela’s, and I would even help him make lists for his hunting trips and pack his bags. While he was on his hunting trips, I would check deer cameras and maintain food plots.

After numerous “once in a lifetime hunts” (after his transplant, “no” was not a word I could use about a hunting trip) I told Ben I was going to accompany him on a trip! In 2019, he took me to Canada where I got my first buck. I did not have buck fever or all the amped up excitement that Ben would have after a harvest. I was not sure I was cut out for this hunting stuff.

The last two years I got more interested in fishing with Lori Card and Wild Card Outdoor Adventures. Lori is my husband’s cousin. She has become my friend. My encourager. My “come along on this fishing event with me” girl. She encourages woman and children to get in the outdoors through education and events. This past summer I was honored to be a volunteer with WCOA at the Michigan Walleye Tour. Bumping fish, checking live wells, and smiling at anglers seemed to be more my style. Against my better judgement, Lori even taught me how to filet fish!

Ten years ago I started applying for a bear permit-never believing I would ever be ready to bear hunt. This year, I drew a tag. It was time to put on my big girl boots and hike into the woods.

The first two days of hunting yielded nothing but hungry racoons, squirrels, a falcon, owl, and the biggest porcupine I had ever seen. Sitting in the woods listening to the songs of nature is a beautiful experience until it all goes eerily quiet. I am not sure I am cut out for that either. But it was a good two evenings alone in the woods with my husband.

On my third evening, Ben stayed home because there are no babysitters in our area and both of our sons had soccer practice. I met Tony from Prior Creek Taxidermy & Trapping for a sit at a new spot. We got in the blind at 5:15pm. The bear bait was about 20 yards out. I honestly do not know how hunters can sit so long with nothing to occupy their time; the first night we sat for 4.5 hours, the second night, 3.5 hours, and tonight I was planning on another 3.5.

After a few noisy red squirrels made their presence known and a small bird land 24 inches from my face on the sill of the blind, I saw a head come out of the woods from the right.

I nudged Tony and watched the bear come up and lick the bacon grease from the trees. Tony said he was a "shooter,” so I put on my ear protection, got the gun in position, and tried to breathe. I have never seen a bear in the wild that close, so I tried to get my heart rate down to keep the cross hairs in just the right spot. I pulled the trigger, and nothing happened. Eek. I pulled it again and NOTHING! I was thinking Ben gave me a dud of a gun but then I remembered the safety.

While trying to click the safety to fire, the bear knocked over the bait barrel and scared himself back into the woods. I thought, "ugh! I just missed my chance!" But he came back! Taking slow, steady breaths, I finally felt confident to pull the trigger again once the bear stepped his right foot forward.

I pulled, the bear jumped, and he was gone. I looked at Tony and he was confident that I had made a good shot. We waited 15 minutes then went looking for blood. We found some good blood and tracked the bear’s zigzag blood trail for a good 50 yards into thick swamp. Before I shot, Tony estimated that the bear was just over one hundred pounds. When we found him lying in the swamp, he was much larger than Tony thought.

My first Michigan bear weighed in at just over 230lbs!

I did not get bear fever. I was honestly more nervous about the coyotes that were howling not too far off. I did, however, get a boost of excitement to see the pride in Ben’s eyes when we dragged the bear out of the woods and the delight my sons showed when telling people their mom shot a bear.

As I wait for my bear rug and try to figure out what adventure to go on next, I think it may be time for people to refer to me as “Karen the Huntress.”

A Bear Story