Through the Lens:
The Fight, the Focus, and the Unbreakable Spirit of Jake Hodnett
As the first light of day slips between the grandstands, the arena is still. The red dirt lies undisturbed, its surface marked only by the prints of cattle hooves from the night before. In the alleyway, the stock stands quiet, their breath rising in faint clouds that catch the sun. The air is thick with the familiar blend of dust, hay, and fertilizer — an honest, earthy smell some folks never learn to love, but here it just reads as home.
For a boy named Jake Hodnett, this was home. He had been riding alongside his father, Jim, since he was six weeks old, learning to navigate the backroads to the Elk City Rodeo of Champions. He watched the Beutler Brothers’ cattle come off the trucks, the sunlight turning the dust into a glowing haze. Even then, he knew the rhythm — the way summer led to this week, and how this week set the tone for everything that came after.
It wasn’t the kind of place most people would call beautiful, but it was beautiful to him. The dust, the sun, the sound of the chutes creaking open — even the way the air seemed to make the food taste better. It might not have been his grandmother’s table, but it was his grandmother’s table all the same.
This year, Jake will be here again — camera in hand, just like his father once was. The crowd will roar, the dirt will fly, and Jake will be shooting from outside the arena, working toward the day he can step back into the center of it all. From that hometown arena, Jake’s lens carried him far. In December 2023, at just 24, he stood in the dirt of the National Finals Rodeo in Las Vegas, covering all ten rounds for The Cowboy Channel. The lights, the energy, the caliber of competition — it was a high-water mark in a career that had started in that same red dust of Elk City.
But just weeks later, everything changed.
On New Year’s Day, Jake woke feeling fine. By nightfall, he was throwing up green bile. The illness came and went, but something more troubling crept in: the vision in his left eye began to fade. Still, he pressed on — photographers live for rare moments, and the 100th anniversary rodeo in Tucson was one he wouldn’t miss.
By Saturday of the event, the heat and fatigue had him retreating to the media office. Friends urged him to get checked out. At the hospital, an MRI erased all doubt: a massive tumor pressed against his optic nerve. The Arizona neurologist told him he could travel home, but once there, he needed to be in a hospital immediately.
One week later, surgeons at OU Medical Center removed the tumor pressing against his optic nerve.
Recovery wasn’t gentle. His mother and sister helped him shower with baby soap, careful not to disturb the incision. The grapefruit comparison became a dark family joke — until the weight of it settled in. Radiation and chemotherapy followed — five days a week for six weeks. The first three weeks were spent in a hotel until a room opened at the American Cancer Society’s Hope Lodge. There, patients became neighbors, sharing meals and stories in the big kitchen. When his final treatment ended, Jake rang the gong, grinning through the exhaustion.
Back in Elk City, the community rallied. Mike Adams of Bustin’ Blues Guide Service — whose daughter had gone to school with Jake — knew how much the fight mattered. “My wife beat breast cancer,” Mike says. “I know how important it is to have people in your corner.” Mike launched “Fishing for Jake,” a guided trip raffle on Fort Cobb Lake. What began as one trip became a nationwide effort when Hookers & Bobbers, the small-business promotion team of Chris Goode and Virginia, joined in. They tapped into a network of bait makers, fishing guides, and tackle companies across the country. Donations poured in — gear, custom baits, even fishing jugs — each one another stitch in the safety net beneath Jake.
There were benefit barrel races, too, and quiet acts of kindness: rides to appointments, meals left at the door, bills covered without a word.
“It makes me happy to know people still care,” Jake says. “That’s what’s kept me going through all of this.”
Today, Jake is on a yearlong chemo pill regimen to keep microscopic cancer cells from returning. His left eye may never fully recover — doctors predict 15– 20 percent vision at best — but his focus is unchanged. He works part-time with a local lawn care company, pulling hoses for spraying and watering plants. And he still photographs rodeos, shooting from outside the arena until the day he can return to stand in the dirt.
His favorite rodeo? Pendleton, Oregon — where photographers shoot from the grass as horses thunder past, sending everyone scrambling. His favorite shot? He can’t pick just one. The ones that matter most are still ahead.
“I never dropped my head once,” Jake says. “My whole life has been changed, but I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I want to fight this, even though it’s incurable. I want to keep it gone so I can get back to doing what I love — shooting photos at rodeos all over the country.” From the quiet glow of an Elk City morning to the bright lights of Las Vegas, from the chutes to the chemo ward, Jake Hodnett has learned that focus isn’t just about the camera. It’s about holding onto your vision — even when life tries to take it away.
For more information on how to support Jake’s fight — or to book your own guided trip — visit the “Bustin’ Blues Guide Service” Facebook page. You can also connect with Hookers & Bobbers on Facebook to find fishing gear, small-business promotions, and details on future benefit raffles. Both groups continue to help others in need, proving that the spirit of rodeo extends far beyond the arena.
