The sky was still dark as we drove through the South Texas Brush Country to the spot where we would set up for the morning.
My heart was pounding in my chest as I hopped out of the truck, shotgun in one hand and a strong coffee in the other, which I’m sure was not helping with my nerves.
I’d never been hunting before, and here I was standing in a field at the Chaparral Wildlife Management Area with a group of women, most of whom I’d just met a few days earlier, about to take part in an all-female mentored dove hunt. I had no idea what to expect, but I knew I was ready to try out something new. What I didn’t know was just how much of an impact those few dove-filled days in South Texas would have on my life.
Growing up, I knew my dad was an avid hunter. He’d tell stories about going hunting with my grandfather and the fun they’d have out there. But by the time my sister and I were born, he’d hung up his gear and thrown the shotgun in the closet, and hunting never became a part of my family experience. So, when the opportunity to join a mentored hunt came along, I knew this was my chance to try it out in a safe, accepting environment.
The mentored hunt spanned three days, with the first two being dedicated to gleaning the ins and outs of dove hunting. We learned how to identify legal game and to understand bag limits and regulations. We also learned how to properly clean and care for firearms, with a strong emphasis on safety.
The day before the actual hunt we spent the morning at the shooting range, getting familiar with our shotguns. After breaking a few clays (and missing plenty more), I was starting to feel somewhat confident. Of course, I also knew that a bright orange disc flying in a straight line didn’t quite mimic the erratic flight of a live dove. That evening, we got to choose our mentors, and I got paired with a lady named Meagan — yes, we chose each other because we shared the same name.
Sleep didn’t come easy the night before the hunt. A mixture of nerves and excitement kept me tossing and turning. By the time my alarm went off at 5 a.m., I felt as though I had just barely closed my eyes. I got dressed in some old jeans, boots, my favorite ripped-up and very loved Texas hat, and a camo shirt I had picked up from Academy just a few days earlier — mostly so I could at least look the part of a hunter.
After arriving at the pasture, we were given a few encouraging words to calm any lingering nerves. We paired off with our mentors and got into position before legal shooting hours — sunrise, which today fell at 6:53 a.m.
My mentor Meagan and I found a spot in front of some thick brush. Then, we waited.
A handful of doves flew through the area where we were stationed. Each time one passed by, Meagan quickly confirmed that it was a legal game bird and encouraged me to take the shot. But when I raised my shotgun, I couldn’t bring myself to pull the trigger. I kept telling myself it was just delayed reaction time — that the doves were too quick in the air. But deep down, my head was swimming with self-doubt.
Can I really do this? Do I actually have what it takes to kill an animal? What if I only wound it? What if I shoot something I’m not supposed to? I was letting my nerves, anxiety and uncertainty hold me back from fully stepping into the experience of hunting.
Thankfully, Meagan understood how I was feeling, as she was a mentee herself for a dove hunt the year before. She told me to remind myself of the reason I was here — to step outside my comfort zone, to learn and to experience the reality of hunting firsthand. So, I took a deep breath, steadied my hands and promised myself that the next opportunity, I’d take the shot.
From the right side of the field, a dove darted into view — fast and erratic, like a missile zigzagging through the sky. Once it flew within range and I felt like I had a real chance at hitting it, I raised my shotgun, nestled it into my right shoulder, pointed it at the bird, took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.
BOOM.
The shotgun kicked back hard into my shoulder, a heavy thud of force that surprised me even though I knew it was coming. I watched, almost in slow motion, as the dove folded midair and fell, landing about 20 yards away.
Colorful words of excitement tumbled out of my mouth — I couldn’t believe I just did that. Meagan patted me on the back and said with a grin, “Great job! Now go find your bird.”
Uh-oh. In all my excitement and celebration, I’d forgotten to track exactly where the dove had landed. But Meagan, ever the steady guide, pointed me in the right direction. I clicked the safety back on, slung my shotgun over my shoulder, and started out across the field, the tall grass brushing against my legs as I walked, head down, scanning the ground carefully.
Before long, I found it — a mourning dove, lifeless and still. I knelt and picked it up carefully, holding the small, warm body in my hands. A wave of emotions washed over me — gratitude, awe and a solemn respect for the life I had just taken.
From either side of the field, I heard cheers and laughter.
“Go Maegan!”
“Congrats! You got a dove!”
I smiled through the swirl of feelings, holding my first dove close, knowing I would never forget this moment.
I ended the day with two more birds, both white-winged doves, and each one filled me with the same wild mix of adrenaline, respect and gratitude.
I had no idea that those few days at the Chaparral would change my life. I came into this hunt nervous, unsure and, honestly, a bit terrified. I stepped out of my comfort zone, made incredible memories and, most importantly, I surprised myself, in the best way. My dad’s hunting days may be long over, but mine have just started.
