Chasing Down a Dream at 39 Weeks Pregnant

The following story is a guest post by Heather Strehlow from North Dakota. When Heather shared her story with us, she explained, "I hope my experience can inspire more women out there to hunt. It truly gave me the healing I needed and a place of clarity. I think many women can be a little apprehensive about hunting because it can be such a male-dominated industry/sport. I want to help break that misconception. Hunting can be our outlet, too."

I had never picked up a bow until July of 2024. I grew up around bows, firearms, hunting, etc., but never dove super hard into it myself. Just the occasional hunts with friends or family. My husband encouraged me to pick up a bow; he felt I needed some kind of outlet because I was experiencing anxiety and panic attacks due to us suffering a miscarriage a few weeks prior in the summer of 2024. This was after already experiencing infertility in the past, so it hit me hard. 

I decided to give archery a try, and immediately felt a release as my troubles melted away. My bow gave me an escape. We spent many hours at the Block until I took the initiative to go out on my own to practice. It didn’t take long for archery to edge its way into my identity. It was then that I decided I wanted to try my hand at harvesting a deer. At the time, I didn’t know why, but I just felt the strong need to do it. 

During the 2024-2025 archery season in North Dakota, it was a bit dry. We had a couple of rough winters prior, along with an overpopulation of coyotes. So the deer population wasn’t at its best. My husband and I both ended up eating tag soup. We took the final sit of the season together, knowing we wouldn’t see anything. It was well into the negatives with the windchill that last day. I remember sitting there, teeth chattering, promising myself nothing was going to get between me and my archery deer for the 2025-2026 season. I would do whatever it took to get my deer. 

A few days later, I found out we were expecting again. The baby would be due in early September. 

However, that only fueled my determination more. Instead of shying away because I was pregnant, I wanted to push even harder. I participated in 3D shoots, spent countless hours at the Block, and mentally prepared myself just a little bit better to align with those early-season bucks.

Fast forward to the fall. I was VERY pregnant and still determined. I did almost all my sits solo because my husband was quite busy at work. I would make the mile-long walk in and out of the blind in the dark as much as I could. I battled wind, the WORST season of mosquitoes, cold, and heat. I teetered over barbed wire fences, high-stepped through tall grass and thicket, ducked and bobbed around logs and branches. I didn’t care; I was hellbent on making it happen no matter the conditions because I knew my time was limited before the baby arrived. 

On the evening of Wednesday, September 3rd, I made my usual trek to the blind. There wasn’t much activity aside from the mosquitoes that buzzed around me for a quick meal and the occasional squirrel scurrying across a tree limb. However, around last light, I heard the crunch of grass and leaves and the snap of small twigs. A doe emerged from the brush, followed by a young velvet buck and another doe. Based on our camera, I knew a respectable buck often followed. I squirmed a little in my seat as my hopes got up. Sure enough, there he was, lagging behind his pals, about 40 yards out. A shot I’ve practiced countless times at the Block. 

I watched, and I waited. I didn’t move a muscle as the mosquitoes feasted on me. The buck milled around in the grass, cautiously moving about. He finally stopped, broadside to me. I ranged him at 38 yards, but with light fading and brush partially blocking him, I didn’t feel confident in the shot. Evenstill, I steadied my breathing and drew back my bow twice. I held it, but ultimately didn’t release either time. I let him walk out of sight into the heavier thicket. The shot I had just didn’t feel right, and I wanted a clean, quick shot with no hesitation. I sat there in silence as the evening sky closed in on me. 

Walking back in the dark while coyotes howled around me, I kicked myself, thinking that might’ve been my last chance before the baby arrived. However, deep down, I knew my shot most likely wouldn’t have been a good one with the conditions. Every hunt teaches something, and that night it was patience, humility, and trust. Trust that the right opportunity will come when it’s meant to. I realized that was a moment that defined the difference between an ethical hunter and a selfish one. Hunting isn’t always about filling a tag; it’s about the lessons you take home with you. 

The following Sunday, my husband and I had just returned from a weekend out of town. I was so persistent on getting to the blind for the evening, as I knew it would be one of my last hunts before the baby. It was also a rare chance for my husband and me to sit together. We arrived at the blind a little later than originally planned, and we bumped a small buck bedded nearby in the process. I was worried we’d just ruined our sit. I kept my fingers crossed. 

About an hour in, as the sun began to slowly sink down into the nearby hills, we spotted a doe emerging from the thicket. Then the same little velvet buck from Wednesday night. I tensed up. They hung out for a minute, about 45 yards away. Then they both started walking toward us, with the doe leading the way. She came straight to us, stopping 10 yards in front of the blind. We froze as mosquitoes had a feast on our faces once again. The doe started snorting and stomping relentlessly. I knew she could smell us. I cursed her out in my head, wanting her to give up and move on. Luckily, both trotted off calmly to graze behind us in a tree line. I hoped she hadn’t alerted or spooked anything else potentially out there. Specifically, the buck from Wednesday. 

A few quiet minutes later, my husband nudged me. I figured he was going to say we should call it soon. Instead, my heart skipped a beat. There he was. The same buck from Wednesday night, easing out of the thicket to the south of me. I couldn’t believe it, I had given up hope he would make an appearance as last shooting light was getting closer. He continuously milled around, calm and unbothered. He stopped in one spot; he was broadside to me. Right in the perfect clearing. We ranged him at 43 yards. He was focused on feeding, completely unaware of us. My bow was ready, I was ready. 

Sunset was closing in, and I knew it was now or potentially never this season. Before I knew it, my muscle memory took over. I drew back, took a breath to relax, and hit my release. Time felt like it stood still for a moment as my arrow traveled through the air. Then...thwack! The buck jumped, then bolted toward the thicket out of sight as my husband whispered with a huge smile, “You smoked him, babe!!” 

Seconds later, we heard the crash of him piling up, then complete silence. It was done; I knew he had already expired. 

The adrenaline hit hard. I’m not sure who shook more, myself or my husband. He had taught me so much over the past year with archery, and he was just as proud as I was. I was thankful that we got lucky enough to share this moment together. We hugged, laughed, and I cried—pure joy, pride, and gratitude. I felt the full mix of emotions that come with taking a life to sustain your family. Collin just kept smiling, saying, “I knew you could do it!” Definitely a moment that will go down in our marriage highlight reel. 

We found heavy blood and spray right away and followed the trail. Sure enough, he hadn’t gone far, 100 yards max. A clean, quick kill, exactly what every hunter hopes for. I sat and stared at him for a moment in silence as the birds chirped their goodnights around us. The buck was a beauty in my eyes. He truly felt like MY buck, meant for me. I knelt beside him, gave him a few grateful pats, and thanked him for providing for our family. I gave the man upstairs a quick prayer of gratitude. 

It was getting dark fast. We dragged the deer out of the thicket into a clearing where we could field dress him a little more easily. At a glance, I was worried I’d hit a little too far back on him. I was worried about his guts being nicked. However, once we began dressing him, it was clear it was a nice lung shot. Everything looked great.

My buck wasn’t the biggest scoring whitetail out there, or one in velvet, but he’s a dang nice first archery deer. I’m proud of him. He put meat in our freezer and decor on the wall. The product of patience, ethics, and the will and the heart to get out there and hunt. 

Most of all, though, it felt as if my buck helped me gain control back of my life. I felt like I had lost it when we suffered our miscarriage. He was the final puzzle piece in making me feel whole again. The hunt grounded me. The hunt healed me. Simple as that. 

Being pregnant again while doing it made it that much sweeter. 

I took my deer on a Sunday night. I had our son, Nash, that following Saturday. In less than a week, I claimed my buck, and I had our son. I don’t think things could have aligned any better. The loss of a pregnancy drove me to archery, only to come full circle and take my archery buck while pregnant.

I named my buck LD, short for Labor and Delivery.

Thank you to Heather for sharing your story and experience with us!

You can follow Heather on Instagram at @heather_strehlow.