With nothing but a fixed blade strapped to my belt, I left my friend and our two boys in the Toyota as I darted across the overgrown logging cut towards the bellowing of the hounds. This bear had come up treed once before, only to make a run for it as the other group had arrived. Feeling foolish for leaving my rifle in the other truck, I headed toward the pack knowing that, at the very least, if things got western or the sun set before the shooter could arrive, I could call them off.  

 Every year we host friends for an annual "Houndsmen weekend.” It's full of friends, family, good food, and, of course, running bears. Typically, my job for these annual events is to be at trail crossings to usher the hounds across safely, help get "shooters" onto bears, and sometimes carry kids into the trees. There's often a backseat full of children, and it's a fun change of pace from the many days we spend out just with our family. This year, however, I told Matt I was driving my truck and because his Toyota wasn’t operational, he had no choice but to let me run point with the dogs in mine. To my surprise, he had no issue with that proposal and it was reassuring that the guys, despite having their dogs in my truck, trusted me to make the right call. 

The bellowing of the hounds echoed from the swamp below, filling the thick, jungle-like brush with the best sound there is. I've heard this sound countless times, but the close calls of last season for both myself and the hounds were lurking in my mind and I could feel my nerves washing over me. Last fall, I came face-to-face with a boar rushing the dogs only to be stopped dead in his tracks just feet from me. He looked at me, contemplating whether to commit to his charge through me to the dogs or retreat. I held my ground between us as Hooch came circling back to protect me once he realized what was taking place. Thankfully as soon as I yelled, the bear chose the latter, turning on his heels and running off in the opposite direction with the hounds close on his tail.  

 My hands were clammy and my heart racing as I took a deep breath to clear my head. I skirted along the swamp edge, keeping a close eye on the thicker brush to my left where I could hear the dogs. With no one even within GPS range, I was on my own. This was far from the first time I had walked into a caught bear alone, yet I couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that their lives and safety were solely in my hands. Knowing self-doubt would only be my demise, I pushed it aside and turned that fear into determination. Before rushing through the brush to the dogs, I confirmed that the bear was, in fact, treed. Cautiously I maneuvered down into the thicker brush, choosing the most direct route across the soaked, mossy floor. I could feel the water trickle over my boots and the scent of the wet moss filled my nose. As I approached, I scanned the tall pines above and was relieved to see the bear perched on a branch 20 feet up along an overgrown skidder trail. He had come down once before, so I knew that my presence would make him uneasy; there was a high likelihood he would try it again.  

Even at a distance, I could see blood on a few of the dogs. My heart raced as I prepared myself for the possibility that the bear might come down and try for a second round with the hounds. Without a gun, I had no desire to do the dance on the ground and I praised the dogs so their intensity would pick up. They put on a show and I hoped this would be enough to keep him there until the shooter for the day could arrive or I could at least get dogs tied back—whichever came first. No such luck. Before I could even begin hooking on the leads, the bear became restless. He shifted his rear off the branch he had been perched on as he evaluated the scene from his vantage point, picking his escape route. I yelled at him, hoping I would sound threatening enough that he would stay put. Again, no such luck. I heard the familiar sound of his nails scratching down the bark of the big pine, indicating that he was attempting to slide down as I fumbled with leads and caught dogs below him. Thankfully his descent was slow and methodical, giving me more time.  

 As I reached for the first dog, I continued yelling at the bear hoping my voice would carry above the cry of the hounds. Then, I could hear branches breaking faintly over the barking and coming in my direction. I was relieved to see the familiar face of ???Matt, our shooter for the day, running in through the brush to help out. Matt’s presence sent the bear back up, giving us time to grab the remaining dogs. A second later a few more guys showed up and, with the added company, the bear made his choice to slide down with his claws scraping into the bark of the pine tree. Feet from the ground, Matt took aim and he fell to the brush below. Seconds after, the rest of the clan showed up, kids stammering in behind. With the bear’s last breath, we let the hounds loose to claim their victory. The sun was beginning to disappear behind the trees and I was thankful that besides some minor scrapes, all was well. The bear didn't take the dogs for another run and we could head back to camp with a bear to fill a friend's freezer.  

 The thoughts that ran through my head that day and almost every time since the close call of the year before seems dramatic, particularly when written down. It was a scenario I had been a part of many times over the near decade I have been running hounds. The difference for me this year and the one before is that the decisions and safety of the dogs fell into my lap more because I had learned and progressed as a houndswoman. My sole duty for many years was to show up, help when I could, keep the kids happy, and make it to the tree; that meant a lot of snacks, diaper changes, and playing in the puddles, and less being a part of the race. We were told when it was time to move, when it was time to wait, and when they were treed. If the dogs were in danger, I stayed with the kids and Matt with the hounds. It was simple. The last few years as the kids have grown, I have set out to be more involved. I wanted to understand the dogs like my husband does, predict and interpret their movements, and ultimately become a better hunter with the overall goal of taking the dogs out on my own. 

 A few years ago, the fall season was coming to an end and, with a tag in my pocket, we decided to shoot one out to the puppies to reward them for their solid effort. This marked several firsts for me, my first bear kill with a bow and the first time I had skinned, quartered, and packed a bear out myself. An unnecessary feat that particular day but knowing that I learn best by doing, I sent Matt on his way. Happily, he took the dogs for another race and I spent the day preparing my bear before I had to get the kids from school. Simple goals like these that I have given myself each season have built my confidence in so many aspects, and I have finally reached the point where I feel more than capable of taking the pack out solo.  

 There were so many components that I didn't feel ready for and I knew that I never would, unless I practiced. I found what made me nervous and I dissected each part, taking every opportunity to learn. Most of this came just by getting out there hunting with Matt as much as possible. Some came when I practiced hiking deep into the woods by myself. The irrational fears that I once had slowly vanished and over time I have grown more and more confident in the woods and behind the pack. Perhaps my thoughts are excessive but being the perfectionist that I am, I had created this illusion that I must check these boxes that, in my mind, meant that I had earned the privilege of hunting these seasoned hounds.  

Finally, after a few years of being fully involved in each and every aspect, from training puppies, navigating through the crown land, and every kind of scenario, I know that I am more than capable. That anxiety always lingers and I suppose it always will as I navigate this journey of becoming a houndswoman and keeping the hounds safe. I have accepted that fear comes in all aspects of our lives and I have chosen to navigate through it instead of letting it hold me back. What once scared me now exhilarates me, and I look forward to pushing my boundaries and learning. I will continue to learn and strive to better myself in many aspects of my life as a houndswoman, a hunter, a mother, a wife, and an artist. I hope that in the upcoming fall season, I will see my first solo tree, start to finish, and can write about it next year. After that, well I guess I'll need to start my own pack of hounds!