Taking Aim: Daring to Be Different, Happier, and Healthier in the Great Outdoors - Hardcover

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Eva Shockey is co-host with her father of Jim Shockey's Hunting Adventures on Outdoor Channel. A sought-after spokesperson on hunting and the outdoors, she is a corporate ambassador for Cabela's, Under Armour, Bowtech, Crosman, Daniel Defense, Muzzy Broadheads, MTN OPS, and other major brands. She lives with her husband, pro hockey player Tim Brent, and their young daughter in North Carolina.

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1

My Normal

A ship is always safe at the shore--but that is not what it is built for.1

--John Shedd

Vancouver Island, Canada, 1995

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” Mom excitedly said to my brother and me. Strapped tightly in the back of the minivan, Bran and I cheered in unison. It has to be ice cream, we thought. Mom was such a health nut, this frozen treat was reserved only for rare and special occasions.

As we pulled up next to the carport, though, Mom revealed that she had an even better treat in mind: “Surprise! Daddy’s home!”

Dad had been away on a moose hunt with my grandfather and uncle and wasn’t expected to return for another week. My seven-year-old self tore out of that van so fast, my glossy black Mary Janes barely came to a complete stop before almost tripping over the hundred-and-fifty-pound hindquarter of a butchered moose. The meat gleamed red, marbled with fat, and rested on an orange tarp laid across the carport floor.

“Daddy!” I squealed, arms outstretched.

Dad put down a blood-splattered knife and scooped me up. “I missed you so much, Eve,” he said, a twinkle in his eye.

I snuggled against Dad’s heavy apron. It was stained red in places and flecked with tiny pieces of moose flesh and fur. I remember, nestling my head in the crook of his neck, that I was suddenly overcome with the scent of raw meat. “Eww, Daddy. You smell stinky!” I said, giggling. But it didn’t really matter to me. I was so happy to see him, I wouldn’t have cared if he smelled like sewage.

Certain memories stick with us over time, clues from our childhood that point to where we are today. Many times these memories stem from something we saw our parents do, such as working double shifts to put food on the table or studying night after night to finally earn a college degree. Or they might bring us back to a time when our parents challenged us to be all we could be. Maybe they pushed us to try out for the school play or refused to let us quit the soccer team. We might not know it at the time, but those moments wield power to shape us. As the years pass, they lead us to do certain things, go certain places, or make certain decisions . . . ones that can ultimately change the course of our lives. And it’s only when that happens that we realize just how poignant those memories are.

So, back to that carport.

Dad peppered me with questions about school as he leaned against one of the counters lining a wall. My attention was so wrapped up in our conversation, I barely noticed that the carport looked like a slaughterhouse. Mounds of raw moose flesh were piled everywhere. Thick slabs of backstrap and tenderloin lined one side of the long tarp. Three massive hunks each of hind and front quarters, rich red, claimed most of the space in the middle. Clearly, the hunt had been successful, providing an entire bull for each hunter, which meant enough meat for all our families for the rest of the year.

This scene might have been out of the ordinary for most kids, but it was just another day in the Shockey household. Before I started visiting friends after school, I didn’t realize that carports were called that because they were intended to shelter parked vehicles.

But “normal” is relative, right?

Our family lived on Vancouver Island, Canada, known for its rugged beauty and protected parkland. Here, the great outdoors rule. You can watch pods of orcas glide past limestone cliffs, soak up sun on a remote beach, and hike through old-growth forests where ancient trees seem to touch the sky. Much of the island is unspoiled, brimming with wildlife. Everywhere, it seems, Mother Nature is at her best.

Though my parents met and married in the city of Vancouver on the mainland of British Columbia, they wanted to raise a family with more greenery than concrete surrounding them. A place where their kids could fall asleep to the sound of chirping crickets, where they could chase frogs, pick berries, and swim in a lake right in their own backyard.

But, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start from the beginning.

Dad grew up in the suburbs of Saskatoon, a city in the Canadian province of Saskatchewan. From digging up earthworms when he was two to trekking through the backwoods when he was fourteen, stalking white-tailed deer with his dad, he’s always been a hunter at heart. A competitive water polo player during and after university, he became the captain of the British Columbia men’s water polo team, and was scheduled to compete in the 1980 Summer Olympics in Moscow. However, in protest against the Russian invasion of Afghanistan, Canada, along with several other countries, boycotted the Olympics that year. Disappointed, the team stayed home. After dabbling briefly in real-estate development, Dad tried his hand at another passion and opened an antiques and folk art store, which, over the years, expanded into three more shops.

A good-looking and charismatic guy, Dad had no trouble finding beautiful girls to date. He just couldn’t find “the one.” That is, until he showed up one night at the dance class Mom taught, hoping to meet a pretty girl.

Louise Johann was a triple threat: a professional ballet-jazz dancer who also modeled and acted. A gorgeous blue-eyed blonde, she was used to getting asked out by celebrities and politicians. For Dad, it was love at first sight. After class that night, Mom was looking for a ride home, and Dad happily obliged. On the drive, after small talk turned into deep conversation about how important their families were to each of them, he asked her out. Mom very sweetly said no. But that was a word my father was not accustomed to hearing; he’s a pretty persistent guy. Six months later, they were married. It was a match made in heaven, although strange in a way, considering that Mom was a strict vegetarian at the time they met and Dad loved to hunt.

In their early days together, Dad focused on his antiques business. He hunted only three or four times a year--just enough to keep the freezer packed with meat--but it was clearly his passion. When he wasn’t working or hunting, Dad was reading outdoor magazines. He noticed that although those periodicals featured plenty of hunting how-to articles--for example, how to form a hunting club, employ the best decoy strategies, or stay warm in a blind in the cold--they rarely offered captivating stories about individuals’ adventures. So he began writing about his experiences in the wild, the magazines picked up his stories, and readers loved the way he packed his articles with color, emotion, and humor.

In 1986, my brother Branlin (Bran, as my family calls him) joined the Shockey crew, and two years later, I arrived. When I was around three months old, Ralph Lauren walked into one of Dad’s antiques stores; it was located in the trendiest part of Vancouver. Enthralled by the beautiful, one-of-a-kind furniture and folk art, the world-famous designer bought out the entire inventory. Every. Single. Thing. While it would take a few years before Dad would start his hunting business, that remarkable transaction allowed him to purchase a commercial property on Vancouver Island, where he opened a new store. He also purchased a magnificent piece of land on the southern part of the island that included a beat-up farmhouse--our new home.

While the dilapidated structure wasn’t much to look at, the land was extraordinary and a child explorer’s dream. A half-mile-long gravel driveway peppered with potholes led the way to twenty-four acres of lush greenery splashed with the bold colors of wildflowers. Golden hayfields and ancient, majestic Garry oaks also dotted the landscape. Our backyard swept...