A Woman on a Mission

By Mary Ann Tupper

I was a rifle hunter like the rest of my family until two years ago.

I could say that it was archery’s challenge that drew me in. Or it could have been the extra time granted to bow hunters. Or it may have had something to do with being able to hunt during those last warm days of summer. In actuality, I think it was the luxury of having a season all to myself when I could sit in peace and quiet! At any rate, like a lot of hunters, I moved from using firearms to bows and arrows.

I purchased my compound bow from a woman who decided she preferred rifle hunting. I already had a rifle license, but I could still use my bow to harvest a buck during rifle season. I had seen plenty of does, but had never got a chance at a buck. I was, however, privileged to be with my daughter Gina, when she shot her first buck, a spike. She was fourteen years old and it was a perfect shot. I was proud and happy for her!

As archery season’s opening day approached, I spent more time getting accustomed to my bow, practicing regularly. I spent the summer sighting in my bow, making repeated adjustments. My growing belly was changing my form, causing the string to slap my arm, leaving huge purple bruises.

September 1 was opening day for archers, but it was also my son Michael’s second birthday. I had accompanied my husband bear hunting the day Michael was born, so it came as no surprise to my family and friends that I intended to hunt pregnant in 2007, expecting my sixth child.

It was lighter than I had expected on opening morning as I waddled into the woods sporting maternity camo. In case of emergency, I kept my cell phone with me. Also, my family was very familiar with the area I chose to hunt. Once sufficiently into the woods, at one of my favorite spots, I sat patiently in the company of a chipmunk and a drumming woodpecker. Watching and waiting, I listened to the leaves fall from the trees. But there came no sign of deer.

The next day I made the same trek into the woods. This time my only excitement came from catching a flash of tan in thick brush. Unfortunately, despite waiting over an hour, I never caught another glimpse.

By the third day, I could barely trudge the trail to one of my favorite deer spots. Sitting on the ground made my legs go to sleep, so I tried to lean against a tree. But the exaggerated curve of my spine made that uncomfortable. The best perch I could find was a mossy stump, but it offered no back support. Tired and discouraged, and just a few days short of nine months pregnant, I was running out of time to harvest a deer this season.

"Lord,” I prayed, “I am tired and I really need this to be over!”

A short while later I heard a doe snort on the hill above me. I became giddy as I heard brush breaking and more snorting. Then, about twenty yards away, a doe’s head popped up through the thick brush. She saw me and held my gaze for several minutes. I scanned the hill behind her to make sure she was alone. Our eyes locked again. One of us was going to lose this staring contest and it ended up being me because I realized I had to back off. I circled briefly to the right out of her sight, hoping she’d step into the clear. When I returned to my spot, the doe emerged, facing me. She finally turned broadside and watched me as I positioned myself at full draw.

Don’t jump the string, I thought, as I set my pin behind the doe’s shoulder blade. I didn’t want to wound her.

I released my arrow. Like a gymnast, she somersaulted head first off the bank and disappeared into the trees.

I let out a loud, “YES! Thank God!”

I grabbed my cell phone and called my husband for help. 45 minutes later we tracked my doe approximately 100 yards. I found her behind a fallen tree and yelled, “Here she is! Here’s my deer.”

Photo courtesy of Mary Ann Tupper Mary Ann harvested her first doe with a bow when she was almost 36 weeks pregnant.

As if it would be any other! She was a Blacktail doe, weighing in at 125 pounds.

Seventeen days later, I delivered a healthy baby boy. We named him Hunter, of course!