She Leads the Field - Sarah May Northmore

Feral, Unfiltered & Unapologetically Herself

There is a version of countryside life that we have all become familiar with online. Beautiful landscapes. Immaculate tweed. Perfectly behaved dogs sitting patiently beside a pair of spotless boots. Crisp mornings, glowing sunsets and carefully captured moments that make rural life look almost effortless.

And then there is Sarah May Northmore.

Dogs covered in mud. Hair probably not done. A knife permanently in her pocket. A working Labrador who may or may not, remember her recall. Honest conversations about confidence, money, relationships and mental health. And absolutely no interest in pretending that countryside life is perfect when it quite clearly isn't.

It is exactly that honesty that makes Sarah such a fitting woman to feature in She Leads the Field. Because this series has never been about finding the most polished women in the countryside. It is about the women who are living it.

The women working dogs, riding horses, standing on shoot days, building businesses, raising families, learning as they go, getting things wrong, trying again and carving out a place for themselves in a world that hasn't always made that easy.

And Sarah's message is refreshingly simple:

You belong anywhere you decide you belong.

From Holly the Collie to Exmoor

Sarah's countryside story didn't begin with shooting. It began with a Border Collie called Holly.

Growing up surrounded by countryside, Sarah's family had land and woodland, although they weren't what she describes as particularly "country". The farm was rented out, but the outdoors became her playground.

When Sarah was six months old, her parents brought home Holly.

“She was just my best friend. Obviously I had other friends, but the dog was my best friend!”

Sarah describes her childhood as one spent outside with Holly, and looking back, she sees that relationship as the beginning of both her love of dogs and her connection to the countryside.

Field sports came later. Around ten years ago, Sarah moved to Exmoor with a former partner and became involved in shooting. Although that relationship eventually ended, the world it introduced her to remained, and Sarah continued pursuing field sports and working dogs on her own terms.

And perhaps that is an important part of her story.

She wasn't born knowing how to train a gundog. She didn't grow up on a shoot. She didn't inherit generations of knowledge or follow a carefully laid path into the sport. She learnt, she tried, she made mistakes and she kept going.

In fact, Sarah told me she has never even been to a gundog lesson.

Her first working Labrador was bought because, quite simply, she decided she wanted a red Labrador. She found one advertised, drove to Cornwall and brought her home.

“Did I know how to train a gundog? Absolutely not.”

Yet somehow, between instinct, determination and figuring it out as she went, Sarah did.

That willingness to find your own way would eventually become a recurring theme throughout her life.

What You See Is What You Get

If you follow Sarah online, you'll quickly realise that carefully manufactured perfection isn't really her thing.

“Pretty much what you see is what you get.”

There are, understandably, boundaries around what she shares. Social media doesn't and shouldn't need access to every corner of someone's life. But within those boundaries, Sarah wants what she shares to feel real.

No makeup. No filters. Dogs being dogs. Normal days. Difficult days. And plenty of talking.

“A very normal life is led on my Instagram or what I deem to be a very normal life, anyway.”

It led us into a much bigger conversation during our interview about what social media has done to our perception of countryside life.

Because the countryside photographs beautifully. The landscapes are incredible, the animals are beautiful, and a cold morning on the moor, dogs working through cover or horses standing against an incredible view make wonderful content.

But those photographs rarely tell the whole story.

Behind them are wet boots, mud through the house, freezing mornings, veterinary bills, dogs that suddenly forget everything you've ever taught them and days when absolutely nothing goes according to plan.

There is also something much harder that Sarah believes we shouldn't shy away from.

“Where there's life, there is death.”

Those who spend their lives around animals understand that particularly well. There are puppies, foals and lambs. There are incredible beginnings and devastating endings. Country people can be deeply attached to their animals while simultaneously understanding the realities of life and death. And that reality doesn't always fit neatly into an Instagram square. Neither does the work.

“People have to work fucking hard. A lot of the time it's not sunny. It's muddy and cold, the dogs are muddy, and there's mud in every corner of your home.”

For Sarah, showing only the beautiful side creates an unbalanced picture of what countryside life really involves. And perhaps more importantly, it can leave those looking in believing they don't belong there.

You Don't Need the Perfect Picture to Belong

This became one of my favourite conversations of the interview.

There can be an unspoken pressure when entering field sports to already look as though you belong. To have the right coat, the right boots, the right dog, the right background and the right knowledge.

And if the version of countryside life you see online is always polished and perfect, it is incredibly easy to look at your own life and think:

That's not me.

Sarah feels strongly about the danger of comparison.

“You are only seeing the curated external of somebody else's life. You are not seeing their constant internal monologue in the same way that you're seeing your own.”

In other words, we compare everything we know about ourselves every insecurity, mistake and doubt with the tiny fraction of somebody else's life they have chosen to show us. It isn't a fair comparison, and it is one of the reasons authenticity matters so much to Sarah.

“Because you've just got to be your fucking self.”

That statement could probably summarise our entire conversation.

You don't need the perfect working dog before turning up. You don't need generations of countryside knowledge behind you. And you certainly don't need to arrive wearing somebody else's idea of what a country woman should look like.

If you want the pink tweed and perfectly done makeup? Brilliant. Wear it.

If you want battered waterproofs, muddy boots and haven't brushed your hair? Also brilliant.

The important bit is that the choice is yours.

Women in the Field

Field sports have historically been male dominated, and Sarah makes no attempt to pretend that finding her place within them has always been easy.

“Tough at times, especially first getting into it.”

She believes things are changing for women, but she also raises an interesting question about what that progress should look like.

There has rightly been a movement towards making women more visible within field sports. Women's clothing, women's communities and female voices have all become more prominent. But Sarah doesn't want one stereotype simply replaced by another.

She has little interest in the idea that being a woman in field sports has to mean being a particularly polished version of one.

“I feel like there's also this kind of dangerous narrative coming out of it now that you've got to be this pretty woman in field sports, and I completely say fuck that narrative.”

Her point isn't that femininity has no place in field sports. Quite the opposite.

If bright pink tweed, makeup and perfectly styled hair make you feel fantastic, Sarah's response is essentially: go for it. But it shouldn't become another requirement for belonging.

Because women in the countryside don't all look the same. We don't all arrive through the same door. And we shouldn't have to.

Sarah has also experienced the familiar assumptions that many women working in rural environments will recognise. Getting into a telehandler and hearing, “Oh, didn't know you could do that.” Or picking something heavy up and being asked, “Are you sure, love?”

When I asked whether she had ever felt she had to prove herself before being taken seriously, her answer was immediate.

“My entire life.”

That is why, despite being wary of creating another separate box labelled women in field sports, Sarah still believes highlighting women's stories matters.

Traditionally, women haven't always occupied the most visible roles within these spaces. Now they are, and they're not going anywhere.

Finding Your Own Way In

One of the things I have always wanted She Leads the Field to show is that there isn't one correct entrance into country life.

You don't have to be the gamekeeper's daughter. You don't have to marry into it. You don't have to have grown up shooting, and you certainly don't have to know everything before you're allowed to start learning.

Sarah is proof of that.

Much of her knowledge is self-taught, and that has inevitably brought moments of doubt. Despite the confidence people may associate with her online presence, Sarah says the reality is quite different.

“I think people assume I'm really super confident, but I actually come from a place of having very little confidence at all.”

Imposter syndrome has followed her particularly closely within shooting. Because she wasn't born into that world, there have been times when she has wondered whether she genuinely belongs there.

“I sometimes feel like I've just winged my way through it. A lot of the time, I feel like I don't belong.”

It makes her advice to another woman standing at the edge of that world all the more powerful.

“You belong anywhere that you decide you belong.”

Not when someone invites you to belong. Not when you've bought the right kit, or when your dog is finally steady. And certainly not when somebody else decides you've accumulated enough knowledge.

When you decide.

“Get out there and fucking do it, because it might be the best thing that you've ever done.”

Feral Bitches Only

Sarah's desire for longer, more honest conversations eventually outgrew Instagram. She found herself having ideas she wanted to explore properly, only to realise that rambling at her phone for longer and longer wasn't particularly compatible with the algorithm.

So she started a podcast.

Feral Bitches Only.

If the name catches your attention, that's rather the point. But there is much more behind it than shock value.

“I think Feral Bitches encapsulates everything that I want women to be.”

For Sarah, feral doesn't mean uncontrollable or reckless. It means knowing yourself, advocating for yourself and refusing to shrink yourself to make somebody else more comfortable.

“Being feral in the sense of, ‘Do you know what? I'm being me. I'm being me.’”

And, naturally, the name has another meaning. Working dogs.

Most of us who have spent enough time around them have probably known a particularly feral bitch. The one with her own ideas, the one who tests your patience beyond reasonable limits, and the one who somehow still gets the job done.

“They know their own mind, they go and do their own thing, they get the job fucking done, and they don't stop for anybody or anything in their way.”

Suddenly, Feral Bitches Only makes perfect sense.

The Conversations We Should Be Having

The podcast gives Sarah room to talk about subjects that don't always sit comfortably within the traditional image of rural life.

Imposter syndrome, relationships, money, confidence, mental health, making a living online, comparing ourselves to other women, and that uncomfortable feeling that everybody else seems to know exactly what they're doing while you're making it up as you go.

Sarah believes women need more open and honest conversations about those realities.

Country women don't have to choose between horses, dogs, children, careers, businesses or making money. Nor do they have to follow a prescribed version of what a traditional countryside woman is supposed to be.

If that traditional life is genuinely what you want, wonderful. But it should be a choice rather than an expectation.

That philosophy extends into Sarah's own willingness to talk publicly about subjects people often hide. She has spoken about debt, difficult employment experiences and mental health, because pretending those things don't exist doesn't make them disappear.

“We look at everyone else's life from the outside and think it's perfect.”

It rarely is.

And Feral Bitches Only is Sarah's attempt to create somewhere women can admit that.

She doesn't want only influencers or recognisable names sitting behind the microphone either.

“I want anyone reading this who wants to be on my podcast to know: you can be on my podcast.”

Normal women. Different lives. Different experiences. A place to talk.

“It gives normal women a space to talk, and I love that.”

The Dogs Behind the Woman

Of course, you cannot tell Sarah's story without talking about the dogs. Or, as she calls them, her literal pack of feral bitches.

They haven't been assembled through some carefully planned breeding programme. Instead, they seem to have found Sarah at different stages of both their lives and hers.

There is the red Labrador who started it all nearly nine years ago—the dog Sarah bought despite having absolutely no idea how to train a gundog. She figured it out, and that first Labrador is now largely retired.

Then came her daughter.

Sarah's assessment?

“She's frigging mental.”

Four years old and, apparently, still a “bloody nutter”.

Two more arrived at around a year old as second-hand dogs. One had previously belonged to a gamekeeper who reportedly “couldn't handle her” because she was too wild. Naturally, she fitted straight in.

Another youngster joined the family after Sarah whelped a litter for somebody else and was offered a puppy.

And then there is the mixed breed who, despite apparently embracing the feral part of the family philosophy, has absolutely no interest in the working dog part.

“She just does not want to work. Still feral. Just doesn't want to work.”

It's an imperfect collection, which perhaps makes them the perfect pack for Sarah.

What Dogs Teach Us About Leadership

When Sarah talks about leading her “pack”, she isn't only talking about dogs. Her online community has become another kind of pack.

And leadership, to Sarah, isn't about standing at the front and telling everybody else what to do. It is about carving a way through so other people realise they can follow or create their own route entirely.

“It's about showing people that they can do it themselves.”

Her dogs have reinforced much the same lesson. There is rarely only one way to reach an outcome. You adapt, you keep going, and you work with the individual in front of you.

And perhaps most importantly, you need empathy.

“You can boss people around if you really want to, but if you don't have empathy for people or dogs at the end of the day, you're never going to fucking get them anywhere.”

There is another lesson her dogs demonstrate particularly well: tenacity.

Sarah has quite literally had dogs climb trees to retrieve birds.

Her conclusion?

“Climb up a tree to get the bird.”

Perhaps not advice to take literally, but as a philosophy for life? There are worse ones.

Changing With the Seasons

Towards the end of every She Leads the Field conversation, I like to ask what the countryside itself has taught the woman sitting opposite me.

Sarah's answer was:

“Being wild.”

The countryside doesn't remain the same. It changes constantly. Seasons turn, landscapes change, and things grow, disappear and return.

And Sarah believes we should give ourselves permission to do the same.

“The countryside is wild. Things change with the seasons, and you can change with the seasons too.”

You can change your mind, change direction, change how you look, change what you want and change who you surround yourself with.

A different season doesn't mean you've failed.

“It doesn't matter what season you're in. You can still keep going.”

For somebody whose life and platform are built around the idea of refusing to shrink yourself into the version other people expect, it feels like a fitting lesson.

Quickfire with Sarah

Tea, coffee or something stronger after a day in the field?

Tea. Every single time.

Perfect field-day weather?

A really cold, crisp, sunny morning. Not necessarily ideal for the pheasants, but excellent for Sarah.

One thing that's always in your pocket?

An Opinel knife. So reliably, in fact, that apparently calls of “Sarah's got a knife!” have been known to travel across the shoot radio.

One word to describe your dogs?

“Fucking feral.

One piece of advice for a young woman wanting to follow in your footsteps?

“You are capable of doing whatever you want to do. You are the only thing that stands in your way. Don't let circumstance define what you want from your life or what you are capable of.”

What Comes Next?

Sarah isn't particularly interested in standing still. She wants to grow the podcast, her online presence, her brand and her business.

And when I asked what she would still like to achieve, the answer was predictably ambitious.

“Everything.”
“I think I'll be a hundred and still never stop wanting to achieve stuff.”

There was, however, one outstanding ambition that may prove harder than all the others. Something Sarah has always wanted but hasn't quite achieved yet.

“A well-trained dog?”

We'll check back on that one.

As for where Feral Bitches Only goes from here?

“To infinity and beyond.”

She Leads the Field

There is something wonderfully refreshing about interviewing somebody who doesn't want to give you the polished answer.

Sarah's story isn't one of having everything figured out. It is almost the opposite. It is about figuring it out as you go, finding shooting later in life and deciding it belongs in yours, training the dog despite not knowing exactly how, and admitting when confidence disappears.

It is about building something online without pretending the person behind the screen has a perfect life. And about recognising that there is room in the countryside for more than one version of a woman.

The beautifully dressed woman in immaculate tweed belongs. The gamekeeper belongs. The farmer belongs. The horsewoman belongs. The woman who has been shooting since childhood belongs.

And so does the woman turning up for the very first time in walking trousers with a dog that might not come back when she calls it.

Perhaps that is the part of Sarah's story I want people to take away most.

You don't need somebody else's permission to become part of the countryside. You don't need the right surname, upbringing, wardrobe or perfectly trained dog.

You need curiosity. You need willingness. And occasionally, you probably need to be a little bit feral.

Because, in Sarah's words:

“You belong anywhere that you decide you belong.”

And maybe more women need to hear exactly that.

A Final Word from Nordic Field & Sport

She Leads the Field was created to celebrate the women behind countryside life. Women with different backgrounds, experiences and ambitions, but a shared passion for the outdoors, the animals they work alongside and the paths they choose to follow.

Every woman has a story worth telling, whether she has spent a lifetime in the field or is only just discovering where she belongs.

A huge thank you to Sarah for sharing her journey with such honesty, humour and openness. Her story is a wonderful reminder that we don't need to fit somebody else's expectations to find our place in the countryside. It is conversations like these that remind me exactly why I started this series.

And the stories don't stop here.

Do you know a woman whose story deserves to be heard? Perhaps it's someone quietly making a difference in the countryside, building a business, working with animals or simply following her own path. Maybe that woman is you.

I'd love to hear from you and continue sharing the voices of the women who make our countryside community what it is.

Real women. Real stories. Country life as it actually is.

Amanda Hjert
Founder, Nordic Field & Sport