I Cried at the Shooting Range Then Went on Safari

By Jenna Smith

I am not a traveler. I am not a hunter. I am, in fact, a city girl who had never even fired a gun. So, imagine my surprise when, for our 10-year wedding anniversary, my husband announced he was taking me on a hunting safari in South Africa.

Holy cow. Go big or go home, right?

At first, I thought I’d just tag along for the ride. But as I started reading up on the animals of South Africa, something caught my eye: the Springbok Grand Slam—taking four unique color phases of this graceful antelope. I joked to my husband, “Well, if I’m going to do this, I might as well go all the way and get the slam!” What started as a laugh quickly took on a life of its own. Before I knew it, I was actually committed. I mean, who decides to chase a Grand Slam having never even shot a gun? Apparently… me.

The first time I went to the shooting range, I wouldn’t even touch the gun. I left crying, convinced this was all too much. But over the next four months, I kept showing up. Bit by bit, I grew more comfortable handling the rifle, slowly building both skill and confidence.

By the time we arrived in South Africa, I had settled into a “spectator” mindset. I figured I’d just watch my husband in his element. But our professional hunter had other ideas. On our very first day out, he put me in the hot seat.

Within the first hour, we found ourselves within 150 yards of a common springbok. My heart pounded. My hands shook. But I set myself up, took a deep breath, and squeezed the trigger. The shot was clean. The animal went down immediately.

The adrenaline rush was indescribable—pure electricity coursing through me. And then came the tradition: blood on my face and a bite of the liver to mark my first animal. I couldn’t help but laugh. It was raw, real, and unforgettable.

Over the next several days, I went on to take a copper springbok and a white springbok. I missed my chance at the black springbok, but that only gives me a reason to return.

Looking back, I never could have imagined that a girl who once cried at the gun range would be standing proudly on the plains of South Africa, three springbok to her name. Hunting pushed me far outside my comfort zone, but it gave me something unexpected in return—confidence, exhilaration, and a deep respect for the tradition of the hunt.

I may not have finished the slam this time but trust me—I’ll be back.