Photograph by Jamie West McGiver
“I skinned and broke down an entire squirrel,” offered my table-mate, Kelsey, between bites. “It was much easier after I cut the head off.”
It wasn’t your usual pleasantries-over-brunch exchange, but this was no ordinary weekend. It was B.O.W. in the Snow, the winter version of Becoming an Outdoors-Woman, a nationwide program designed to build women’s confidence in outdoorsy skills. The three-day retreats—stuffed with workshops on everything from gun safety to campfire cooking—have been offered in New York through the Department of Environmental Conservation (DEC) since 1993. The program’s popularity has grown so much over the years that organizers now use a lottery system to fill the slots—limited to about 60 to 130 participants, depending on season. Sign-ups come from across the state, as well as New England and beyond.
I attended one of the retreats last January at Paul Smith’s College’s 14,000-acre campus on Lower St. Regis Lake, a postcard-ready snowscape that sparked an almost universal kid-at-Christmas glow in those coming from unblanketed lowlands.
Kelsey, the young professional from Brooklyn who’d tried her hand at squirrel skinning, was one of those gushing about the “proper snow.” Along with Wild Game Butchering, she’d gotten to play in the powder during a snowshoeing workshop, a sport she admitted had intimidated her before she had the opportunity to try it out. It was her first trip to the Adirondacks and, she said, “I know I’ll come back.”
That was a consensus view, even if frosty temps meant bundling up in tuques and ski pants and our accommodations were a throwback to dorm life—complete with roommates, super-single mattresses, shared bathrooms and (surprisingly tasty) dining hall fare. Or maybe that was half of the fun.
The other half was, of course, the workshops. Along with butchering and snowshoeing, there were map-and-compass sessions, where participants learned to navigate with and without paper bags over their heads, as well as lessons in fire starting, cross-country skiing, ice fishing, hunting, trapping, K-9 first aid and more.
My first course was Animal Tracks and Sign, co-taught by trappers Angie and Lou Berchielli and small mammal biologist Mandy Watson, who was assisted by her friendly pup, Boone. We learned that otter droppings will be speckled with fish scales, how to spot a raccoon’s sausagey fingers, and that the tracks of squirrels bounding through fresh snow can look remarkably like bunny trails from a distance. (But there’s a tell: if the tracks start and end at a tree, it was probably Rocky J. Squirrel and not Peter Cottontail.) Then we followed a neighborhood fox around the campus, taking turns sniffing at one of its scent mounds so we’d recognize the distinctive cologne.
Next up was a class on shelter building led by outdoor-skills instructor Melanie Sawyer, whose survivalist chops include living off the frigid Saskatchewan backcountry for the History Channel’s reality show Alone. Sawyer took us through the basics of bushcraft, gear, and the pros and cons of trench, wigwam and A-frame shelters before setting us loose with saws, cordage and emergency blankets. Though my drooping efforts stayed upright-ish, I was not a star student.
It was a lot to absorb in one weekend, but a bonus of bunking on campus was the fluid boundaries between class and play. Sit near an instructor at a meal and you might be treated to a mini map-and-compass seminar. In the evening, newly minted outdoors-women swapped skills over drinks at the on-campus bar. And unlike stuffier retreats, bodily functions were an acceptable—even encouraged—topic of conversation, including the benefits of using a Kula Cloth when peeing in the woods (it’s a reusable, antimicrobial toilet-paper alternative, if you’re wondering) and the joys of bucket potties. (A “luggable loo” was one of the most popular prizes at the Saturday night raffle.)
I put another dent in my star-student ambitions on Sunday morning by skipping my last class—Dutch Oven Cooking—to head home and show off my new skills. But first I grabbed breakfast at the dining hall, sitting down with Nat and Maria, a couple of 20-somethings who were first-timers like me.
Nat, who’d driven up from Johnstown, said she’d had to talk her friend into coming. “I never would have thought to do something like this,” said Maria. “But this is cool. Learning from all women surrounded by all women has just been transformative.” Nat—another happy student of squirrel skinning, which she called “definitely metal”—added, “I’ve really liked the whole vibe.”
Visit dec.ny.gov for more information about Becoming an Outdoors-Woman.
