Shirley Grenoble never set out to be a trailblazer. When she married in the early 1950s, she figured to spend her life the way most women of her generation did: raising a family, going back to work after the kids were grown, living the suburban American dream.

But that was before her husband took her rabbit hunting. Soon she was out-hunting him; after a while she began writing stories about her experiences and selling them. Within a few years she had become a well-respected hunter, and was being published regularly.

Her husband couldn't handle it. He bailed out, leaving her with bills, mortgage, kid--the whole works. Somehow she survived.

For the eight of us listening to her talk, Shirley's story was a good example of just how hard it can be for a woman breaking new ground in a primarily male profession.

ALL OF US THERE WERE OUTDOOR WRITERS, women who write about guns and hunting and shooting. For me, just being around a group of women who do the same thing I do was a new experience. Until we got together, I didn't know any other women hunting writers. I did know some women who write about fishing. And I knew of a few female hunting writers; I've read (and admired) their work. I've attended professional meetings with some of them. I'd just never met them face to face.

Then last fall John Falk, a friend of mine who works for Olin-Winchester, called. "Would you like to come to Nilo Plantation for a few days and do some shooting with us?" he asked.

Nilo (Olin spelled backward) is a very private shooting preserve near East Alton, Illinois, owned by Olin-Winchester. John was making up what he called the "First Ever Winchester Women Writers Only Nilo Hunt." The guest list included two writers by whom I was thoroughly impressed, two whose names I knew, and three I'd never heard of. No boyfriends, no husbands, just women shooting sports writers and the folks from Olin.

Would i like to go? Count on it, I told him. By the next day I found myself booked on a flight from Tallahassee, Florida, to St. Louis, Missouri, three weeks hence.

When I arrived in St. Louis, no one was at the gate to meet me. I wandered into the ladies' room and walked straight into Betty Lou Fegely, one of the two writers by whom I was so intimidated. She introduced me to Sherry Fears, a writer I didn't know, and the three of us headed down to the baggage claim area.

By the time we had collected our bags and found someone from Olin-Winchester, we'd picked up a fourth writer, Jo Anne Hall- Aune. As we rode out to the motel where we'd be staying, Betty Lou, Sherry, and Jo Anne talked about hunts they'd been on and shoots they'd been to. I realized these women knew each other well; I was the odd woman out.

I was beginning to wonder why I was there when the talk turned to babies. Jo Anne had left her 5-month-old daughter at home with her sister; I'd left my 20-month-old son at home with his daddy. Suddenly I was the one with more experience. I told Jo Anne about cutting ear plugs so they would fit my son, and sewing ear muffs out of carpet padding and soft cloth so I could put him in his backpack carrier and take him hunting. For the first time, I felt I had something to contribute to the conversation.

My feelings of inadequacy resurfaced at dinner that night. But as I listened to the conversation, I began to see the strategy John had used when he decided who to invite. Three "generations" sat around the table: Shirley, the grande dame of the outdoors; a group of mid-career women such as Betty Lou, Sherry, and Outdoor Life's Kathy Etling; and a couple of us who, though we've been writing about the outdoors for several years, don't have the industry contacts the more experienced writers do.

THE CAMARADERIE WAS INCREDIBLE. We swapped stories about the stupid things men sometimes say when they encounter a woman hunting. I found it exhilarating to be readily accepted into a group of women hunting writers, most of whom have quite a bit more experience than I.

As we talked, I had sudden insight into a problem that's plagued me. During the past 11 years, I've gradually worked my way up through low-paying markets into some mid-range publications, and stuck there. At the same time, I've watched writers who started after I did pass me by and move into higher-paying markets that I've been unable to tap. My inability to take that "next step" has frustrated me.

Listening to the conversation swirling around me, I suddenly understood the problem. Most outdoor writers come to freelancing already knowing how to hunt and fish. What they have to learn is the writing game.

When I began writing about hunting and fishing, I was also just starting to experience the outdoors. I wrote my first fishing story about the same time I started fishing. I wrote my first hunting story about my first successful deer hunt. But while I was struggling to figure out the difference between a bass and a crappie, other writers were taking years of outdoor experience and writing about what they already knew.

That one revelation was worth the entire trip to me. We were supposed to spend the next day shooting: ducks, pheasant, and chukar in the morning, clays in the afternoon. We made it through the mallards and the upland birds and lunch; then the heavens opened and rain chased us indoors.

At the lodge, the men from Olin-Winchester discreetly withdrew into the kitchen, leaving us women alone in the living room. That was when Shirley told us her story.

Sherry, who is a PR writer, picked up the conversation. She said that much of the blatant discrimination she experienced 10 years ago has stopped. She talked of being at a trade show as a company representative, and having male buyers walk past her to talk to a man, something that doesn't happen often today.

Kathy Etling told us that several years ago, after trying for more than a decade, she drew a Wyoming sheep tag. On her hunt, she located a magnificent ram bedded down. She had to set up and wait for hours for the ram to stand up so she could shoot.

While she waited, another hunter from the same camp set up his rifle beside her. When she asked him what he was doing, he told her he would shoot the ram for her if she missed it.

Kathy was indignant, but the other hunter wouldn't back down. Finally the outfitter insisted that the other hunter go back to camp. Kathy put the ram down with one shot.

AS I LISTENED TO THE CONVERSATION, I kept on thinking about Shirley's experiences and how different they were from the rest of ours. I realized that Shirley truly is the mother of us all. Without her pioneering spirit, the second generation of women outdoor writers--Kathy Etling, Sherry Fears, Betty Lou still would be struggling against the basic prejudices inherent in a male-dominated sport. And without that second generation of writers, those of us in the third wave would face a much more difficult challenge than we do.

I felt, too, a new appreciation of my husband, and his support of me. He is neither a writer nor a serious hunter, yet he has encouraged me to pursue both aspects of my career. Though by the end of hunting season he sometimes complains about the amount of time I'm spending in the woods, he's supported my fishing, my hunting, and my traveling in pursuit of stories, sometimes at the expense of having to stay home from work himself with a little kid underfoot.

That trip to Nilo has helped me make a significant step in my work. For the first time, I'm part of a "network" of women who are doing the same thing I am. I've interviewed three of them, and borrowed photos from one. I've also found understanding of the problems I've faced by being a woman in what is essentially a man's profession--and found out that some of my problems aren't nearly as bad as I thought they were.

That trip also marked a change in my relationship with other segments of the outdoor industry. One way hunting and fishing writers gather story material is to participate in company- sponsored trips such as the Nilo hunt. Thanks to several similar trips since then, I have more story material than I know what to do with.

Perhaps the most gratifying experience stemming from that shoot was the chance I had three months later to help one of the other writers who had been there. At the SHOT Show--the Shooting, Hunting, Outdoor Trade Show--I ran into Jo Anne. A magazine with which she'd had a contract for several years, and from which she'd derived much of her income, had dropped her for budgetary reasons. Because I've worked on a strictly freelance basis, I was able to give her the names of several editors I thought would be interested in talking with her. It was, I think, exactly the sort of exchange John Falk had in mind when he invited us to Nilo.