Passion. Family. Tradition. These three concepts are all deeply intertwined with my love of the outdoors. My passion for the outdoors started early. My father, a professional football player, was an outdoorsman through and through. He dragged me along for walleye season, curling me up in a sleeping bag in the bottom of the boat, when I was just 5. Years later I would wonder: was I that great of a fishing partner or was I brought along to legally allow him to stay a bit longer for that second limit? The answer was irrelevant because I was Daddy’s little fishing buddy, and I was forever hooked.
As soon as I was old enough to carry a gun, a new family tradition began: hunting. My dad and I shared many special years of hunting together, but there are two outings that I remember more than the others.... The first and the last. The first was a fall day in Iowa in which I wore rubber boots that were much too large on my feet for the amount of walking (or running, to be precise) ahead of me. With a combination of natural subtle humor and a physical drive instilled in him from coach Bud Grant, my father would stroll the corn rows and shout with a chuckle, "Hurry, hurry. RUN. Keep up with the dog." I was too young to know at the time that my father’s very well-trained dogs did not usually run that far ahead unless he was engaging in such a prank. Panting, with my 4-10 in hand, I did as instructed and proudly brought home my first pheasant.
Our last day in the field was just another of our traditional outings until my father suddenly fell. Although he quickly rose to his feet, gathered his composure and continued as the strong man he was until the end, I knew deep down that something was desperately wrong. What I didn’t know was that our tradition together had come to an end. My father soon passed away from brain trauma related to concussions he received while playing football and that day in the field was the first time he would exhibit the symptoms that would later take his life.
To this day there isn't a single time in the field that I don't think of him. He taught me etiquette, how to be both tough and to be a lady, and instilled in me a true love and passion for the outdoors. This passion has continued and has played a large roll in the direction of my life. I was introduced to my husband because of his love of the outdoors and together we have built a family that continues with these traditions.
This summer, my husband and I went to extremes to mold our lives around our passion (some might say obsession): Waterfowl hunting. We fell in love with Saskatchewan, and a local duck opener paired with a few trips here and there, were simply not enough for us. We decided we needed a base camp to satisfy our passion and to house our five children, ages 22 down to 2 year-old twins. While construction in a remote part of Saskatchewan proved to be challenging to say the least, in less than five months from locating the land, we got it done.
We live in Minnesota so this project took us not only across the US but also through customs and international borders. The camp was built in less than 3 weeks and in 3 pieces in Idaho Falls, Idaho. Three semis then transported our 17'3" tall camp through many off routes for 4 days to their permanent location. Upon arrival the units were unloaded, set on screw piles, blocked, and assembled with a Canadian crew. Three more trailers arrived simultaneously from our home in Minnesota filled with Big Foot decoys, a four wheeler, duck boats, lots of Sitka gear and every household need down to the toilet paper. Five days after we started assembly, beds were made and our first guests arrived. The hunt was on and a new chapter of our family tradition had begun!
With up to 12 guests at one time, Fall 2013 was a whirlwind of hunting activity. Hunting buddies, old friends, and lots of family and children made their way up to our new camp in Saskatchewan. My sister and the older children were able to experience their first duck hunts. The twins greeted us as we came back to camp with limits full. Local farmers became great friends and joined us for duck taco feasts. I even experienced one of my proudest hunting moments - my own limit of big late season greenies while the guys opted out for breakfast.
Of these, the biggest trooper of them all was my nephew, 8 year-old Hootie. In sleet, wind and cold temperatures with a 4 am call time, Hootie never missed a hunt. The days he hunted were the harshest of the entire season. Twice a day he was wrapped in a sleeping bag in the bottom of his layout blind with snacks and a toy shot gun to practice when he heard "Take 'Em!" I could see his new passion for the outdoors glowing in his eyes as he worked beside us laying out decoys, gathering birds, and putting away gear. It reminded me of the little girl in the bottom of the boat almost 40 years earlier.
Most importantly, the traditions of teaching the love of the outdoors had taken root in another generation.
From early fall hunts to the last bit of open water in Mid-November, I found my Sitka gear to compare to no other. I wore my bibs through construction, hauling, hunting, photographing, and general camp hosting chores. With each few weeks that passed, I simply added another layer, a system that I found to be quite efficient. A self-proclaimed product junkie, I have tried all women's lines, and just about every other waterfowl brand available. Through it all, Sitka waterfowl is MY gear of choice for all my waterfowl activities for the years to come! Thank you for being a part of this family waterfowl tradition.
