Women of the Wild : Armed with curling irons, enthusiasm--and doubts--they entered a new turf. But after days of hunting and fishing, they found a love for the outdoors.

Call her a “Bambi killer” and Yvette Adams--a petite, soft-spoken woman who personally hunts the meat she puts on her children’s plates--gets very upset.

“People eat animals like veal that are caged up and full of hormones,” says Adams, 28, of Fillmore. “My animals have less fat. I feel no sadness or remorse killing them because I know I am going to feed my family.”

Adams recently joined 103 other women who paid $175 apiece for a weekend adventure called Becoming an Outdoors Woman, at a Boy Scout camp deep in the Los Padres National Forest outside Santa Barbara. Their goal: to master outdoor skills in a safe and supportive environment.

Some, like Adams, were already experienced hunters and anglers. Others wouldn’t have known poison oak from a peony. But they arrive one Friday morning armed with sleeping bags, makeup cases and a spirited desire to learn.

“Life’s too short to stay in the comfort zone,” says Aileen Kroll, 39, of Ventura, relaxing beneath the live oaks after a day in which the women studied firearm safety, bow hunting, fly-casting and field orienteering. “Even eating this food is past my comfort zone.”

Kroll nods toward a table spread with beautifully presented bear nachos, venison sausage and elk stew--previously hunted but prepared that day by the outdoor cooking class.

Tammy Peterson, the 31-year-old co-founder of the Outdoors Woman program, flew in from her home in Alaska to attend.

In 1990, she was a specialist in environmental education for the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources when she and some colleagues began to wonder why so few women sought fishing or hunting licenses. Encouraged by her department, she and friend Christine Thomas, a professor of natural resources, identified 21 obstacles facing women who might be drawn to the outdoors. Chief among them was cultural bias: Outdoor activities are typically handed down from father to son. But women also expressed fears about entering what they perceived as men’s domain and frustration because manufacturers did not design gear that fit them.

More important, many of the barriers had to do with the lack of opportunity to learn.

“So we said let’s create the perfect opportunity where women aren’t threatened, where it’s fun, where the emphasis is on learning skills instead of showing off,” says Peterson, polishing off her last bear nacho.

Since 1991, 29 states and two Canadian provinces have brought the program to the public, she says. The California Department of Fish and Game hosted the program for the first time last year on the Feather River in Plumas County.

A key is camaraderie. A hearty dinner in the mess hall is followed by skits and storytelling. By lights out, the women are exhausted and head for their bunks, ready for a good night’s sleep.

For many, this is their first night outside a house or hotel, so even though the outdoors experience might be more intense in tents, the camp’s dorms with squealing metal bunk beds, sparse bedding and scarce showers are rustic enough.

Some of the dorms lack bathrooms, which means late-night sojourns through the dark, ducking bats and praying that none of the bears have a taste for human nachos.

And, in case anyone ever wondered, they prove that women can snore up a storm.

*

Come sunrise, women clamor three deep for mirror space--armed with curling irons, eyeliner and lipstick. Others, such as Marilyn Droz of Huntington Beach, avoid the mob scene and roll their hair in curlers at their bunks.

Whatever their morning routine, all are spry and raring to go after breakfast and a few cups of joe.

There’s a class for everyone, from aggressive workshops such as California Big-Game Hunting and Riflery to more passive activities such as Map and Compass.

Kroll, sans makeup and wearing a pair of Flintstones shorts, heads for the firing range while Adams, her long hair a mass of silky curls, makes off for the Santa Ynez River to try her hand at fly-fishing.

And the Diaz sisters--Camille, 35, Diana, 33, and Kristina, 30--who drove 3 1/2 hours from Irwindale, set out for the hiking trails in a class called Reading the Woods.

“Except for the fact that there’s no beer, I like being here,” Kristina says. “I realize at some level you have to say screw the rules. Women don’t have to stay indoors and cook and clean and host parties. At some point, you have to do what you want.”

Meanwhile, dressed smartly in perfectly fitting waders, Adams stands knee-deep in the river. She looks like a natural as she brings her rod back and gently flicks her fly onto the surface of the water.

Until this morning, she has never cast with a fly rod. But by nightfall, she’ll have several hits and one catch, an 11-inch trout.

“It’s all been fabulous,” she says with great satisfaction. “I can’t wait to take my husband out and teach him.”

Deep in the forest, the Diaz sisters are learning about native wildlife and its habitat from plant ecologist Mary Meyer and wildlife biologist Morgan Wehtje, both of the Department of Fish and Game.

As they prepare to hike the dusty trail of chaparral and scrub oak, Wehtje is asked by an obviously nervous city dweller what to do if stalked by a mountain lion.

“Never run,” she admonishes. “Make yourself look as human as possible.” If one actually attacks, fight back in any way you can.

“Kick him in the you-know-what,” says Kristina Diaz, flashing her urban sensibilities. As city dwellers, she and her sisters found the nature-oriented classes appealing but were glad to skip the target practice.

“We had no interest in doing the gun stuff. We live with guns all the time. Why would you want to deal with that on your time off?”

After dinner, the Outdoors Women gather around the campfire. Peterson, an aspiring comedian, keeps them in hysterics (and some of the male instructors blushing) with an hourlong routine--replete with graphic demonstrations--on “Outdoor Potty Positions for Women.”

“There are two things you need to know to avoid wet tennies and yellow socks,” she jokes. “One is balance. The other is forget humility.”

Then comes a fashion show of outdoor clothing designed especially for women by such manufacturers as Orvis and Zanika. Among the showstoppers is a turkey-hunting outfit and a pair of pants that unzip from stem to stern--continuing the theme of Peterson’s earlier demonstrations.

But soon exhaustion sets in. This night, despite the snoring and squeaking, no one has trouble sleeping.

*

Next morning, headed for breakfast, the women stride confidently through the rocky camp where only two days ago their steps were tentative and uncomfortable.

They talk of how fast the time is going. Over bacon, eggs, muffins and fruit, they swap phone numbers and business cards and solidify new friendships with promises to hunt and fish together.

Louise Fiorillo of Fish and Game sits alone, surveying the crowd. She was responsible for organizing this event and, like the women all around her, hates to see it end.

“We’re not here to convince women to hunt deer and cook the meat over an open fire,” she says. “They’re here to build their self-confidence, so they won’t be intimidated or feel stupid doing activities normally reserved for men.”

Two days ago, many of them couldn’t have set up a tent, let alone name the parts of a shotgun. As they prepare for their final day, the sun makes a brilliant showing over the austere Santa Ynez Mountains, and in the distance, Lake Cachuma sparkles.

High atop a hill, Adams and about 10 other women await their shot at the clay pigeons. Despite her evident finesse with all things outdoors, Adams chose to end her weekend with this class because “I couldn’t hit a quail worth nothing last year.”

Wearing a red, white and blue jacket with “NRA” emblazoned on the front, she approaches the shooting platform. Although her small frame seems at odds with the big 12-gauge, her stance is decidedly natural, her interaction with the weapon graceful and dignified.

But after seven attempts, the clay birds are unscathed.

“Can’t you make the targets bigger?” she jokes.

“Yeah,” someone adds, “like the size of a Frisbee, maybe.”

While others take their turns, Adams balances her disappointment against the successes of the weekend.

“I came here to meet other women who enjoy the outdoors and appreciate nature like I do. It’s been exciting and it’s sure nice to get away from city people who don’t understand.”

Finally, up again, she chooses a lighter gun and raises it purposefully to her shoulder.

“Pull!” she yells, and the clay pigeon hurtles into the sky.

BAM!

This time, she nails it.