For the first time in a dozen or so years, instead of sitting around a fire right now with the best of my mates, I'm sitting here at home. Life threw me a bit of a curve this year, and my hunting schedule had to be curtailed. It was my choice, so I cant complain too bad, and the comfort of two loving kids here with me sure make it less painful. I dont have the heart to tell my nine year old son that we're not going elk hunting this year, it amazes me how he seems to know, as if his little heart feels the draw to the mountains just as mine. All week he's been telling me he cant wait to go elk hunting, trying to schedule things around the elk hunt he knows is coming. His innocent love of nature and the camaraderie we share in its bountiful space and beauty inspires my own.
Never has the warmth of a sofa been so cold, and the icy breeze been so inviting. Every time I look out the window, or go outside, my eyes wander to the east, to those frosted beauties with their dark and deep canyons, quietly insulated by pine needles and snow. My heart aches for the dawn, for that moment when shadows flee, and reveal the shapes of nature that take away my breath, and set my heart ablaze with excitement. The morning frost broken by boots, sneaking quietly into places thought out with care, the faces of loved ones, tired, cold and still sleepy, yet who's eye's are filled with energy and hope for a triumphant adventure of an ancient and primitive art. Though I find myself confined in an urban cell, I keep retreating into my humble little man-cave, seeking a glimpse into what could be, what always has been, and I'm sure always will be my favorite passion and pass-time. Comfort comes a little at a time, with a token handling of the tools, scratched and bruised if ever a rifle could be, by miles of traversing over ice and stone, kissed by the branches and leaves of trees. Every mark a memory, like a scarred old warrior, now still, and quiet, perhaps dealing with the same confusion as I. The two of us contemplating the entwined business of our mutual existence.
My best hopes and wishes go out to all those who begin this same adventure in a few short hours, may their eyes be keen, their aim be true, their skills pay off after much diligent practice. Enjoy every moment though it were your last, make every effort to make the kind of memories we will tell as old men. I will return to that mountain, with a renewed love and appreciation for its beauty, both savage and wild, but still inviting like that large warm fire, who's sparks rise into the darkness, surrounded by old friends and family, especially those of them who have gone before us, and left us the traditions and passion of the hunt. The cold having lost its bite, by the overwhelming warmth in our hearts.
Nothing quite brings us together the same way, my two little brothers, who have helped me grow and succeed over these many years, helped pack out my very first elk, and my last one as well, and all the ones in between. Good luck to them both tomorrow.......
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Never has the warmth of a sofa been so cold, and the icy breeze been so inviting. Every time I look out the window, or go outside, my eyes wander to the east, to those frosted beauties with their dark and deep canyons, quietly insulated by pine needles and snow. My heart aches for the dawn, for that moment when shadows flee, and reveal the shapes of nature that take away my breath, and set my heart ablaze with excitement. The morning frost broken by boots, sneaking quietly into places thought out with care, the faces of loved ones, tired, cold and still sleepy, yet who's eye's are filled with energy and hope for a triumphant adventure of an ancient and primitive art. Though I find myself confined in an urban cell, I keep retreating into my humble little man-cave, seeking a glimpse into what could be, what always has been, and I'm sure always will be my favorite passion and pass-time. Comfort comes a little at a time, with a token handling of the tools, scratched and bruised if ever a rifle could be, by miles of traversing over ice and stone, kissed by the branches and leaves of trees. Every mark a memory, like a scarred old warrior, now still, and quiet, perhaps dealing with the same confusion as I. The two of us contemplating the entwined business of our mutual existence.
My best hopes and wishes go out to all those who begin this same adventure in a few short hours, may their eyes be keen, their aim be true, their skills pay off after much diligent practice. Enjoy every moment though it were your last, make every effort to make the kind of memories we will tell as old men. I will return to that mountain, with a renewed love and appreciation for its beauty, both savage and wild, but still inviting like that large warm fire, who's sparks rise into the darkness, surrounded by old friends and family, especially those of them who have gone before us, and left us the traditions and passion of the hunt. The cold having lost its bite, by the overwhelming warmth in our hearts.
Nothing quite brings us together the same way, my two little brothers, who have helped me grow and succeed over these many years, helped pack out my very first elk, and my last one as well, and all the ones in between. Good luck to them both tomorrow.......
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