There’s something special about the sisterhood you find in the outdoors community. If you’d told 8-year-old me that, I would have asked, “Where are the other girls?” I was raised in a hunting family, but aside from my mom and a couple of family friends who still hunt today, I was usually the only girl. I was always bombing around with my father, brother, cousins, uncles, and their friends. As a kid, I didn’t think much of it—because it was my normal. My dad always treated my brother and me the same. Whether it was helping track his harvest, hanging the camera, measuring the fish, chasing the tip-up—I was included in it all and almost always the only girl.
When I was around 11, my dad told me I was going to camp. I didn’t fully understand what kind of camp it was until I arrived: an all-girls conservation camp in Vermont, where we’d end the week earning our hunter education certification. Green Mountain Conservation Camp was the first time I felt any real sense of sisterhood. My whole world opened up—there were other girls who loved what I loved! Even better, many of the teachers were women, and that made a lasting impression. I went two years in a row and absolutely loved it. But eventually, life moved on, and I went back to hunting, fishing, and loving the outdoors—mostly with the men in my life.
In 2020, during the pandemic, I reconnected deeply with the outdoors and felt called to get more people, especially women, outside. I figured that by sharing my stories and experiences, I might inspire someone here or there. So I dove in, headfirst.
One of the first “events” I hosted was a casual Facebook invite in January 2021 for anyone who wanted to come ice fishing with me. That day, I met a soul sister: Vikki Casey. She knew no one, but still drove from New York to Massachusetts to fish with a stranger she had only ever talked to online.
That spring, I was introduced to American Daughters of Conservation, and I am now one of the founding members and current chapter president of the Northeast chapter.
I can unequivocally say, the women’s outdoor community is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. We are strong. We are welcoming. We are loving. And yes, we are LOUD. I constantly try to introduce other women to this community, and time and time again I hear the same thing: “I finally found my people.” The confidence. The joy. The laughs. The comradery. It’s infectious.
I’ve seen women land their first fish on a fly rod. I’ve seen the shock and delight when someone hears her first turkey gobble thunder through the trees. I’ve watched first-timers battle (and land!) 30-pound stripers, put them in the boat, and beam with pride. I’ve seen a young girl, timid at first because of a past experience, pick up a gun with a lot of apprehension —and by the end of our range session, ask to shoot again and again. I have had a friend on a ladies group hunt accompany me on the track for my first archery deer, and be the biggest cheerleader and squeeze me tight when I finally found my deer after one of the most emotional tracks for a harvest I have ever been on.
I could go on and on.
These connections and this community have built confidence not just in the women learning—but in me, too. And I’ve also experienced it from the other side, when I’m the student instead of the teacher. Whether it’s hunting, fishing, hiking, camping, shooting, or foraging—learning from another woman hits differently. It’s empowering. And these outdoor women are FULL of knowledge.
This community is a force to be reckoned with. So, I challenge you.
Open yourself up to other women. Maybe there’s someone in your life who just needs a little nudge to try something new. Invite a friend to cast a line at the local pond. Bring someone along to sit in the woods and observe a hunt. Or sign yourself up for something outside your comfort zone. Put yourself out there both to learn and to teach.
This amazing community of women will welcome you with open arms, no matter where you are in your journey. You’ll learn more than you expected—and you just might find your lifelong soul sisters.
