Elk Country-High

    The high mountains; that is where i seek solice.  All year-round neighbors and friends share stories of the great elk chase:  climbing through thick timbers, wading through grassy meadows.  My brother, my dad, my friends and myself:  we have all had a taste of the elk country-high.  That adrenaline, that peace and dominance that comes from topping a ridge, leaving camp and any worries, and dropping into pristine hunting grounds.  That is why I do it; for the adventure and for the tranquility.
    The adventure begins weeks before our first hunt each year.  Dad quits work early for the weekends, so we can gather up our hiking gear, go scouting, and start making plans for the coming season.  Though archery season comes first, we take our .22 rifles on these scouting trips, dropping birds and squirrels along the way.  When we return home we dive into sorting our camp gear,starting with the kitchen box.  This box gets heavily stocked with Dinty Moore's beef stew, Nalley brand chili, Top Ramen, dehydrated potatoes, a little bit of salt, and some pepper.  Then there's the blue tub of camp necessities:  an old saucepan without a handle, a pair of pliers (to use as a handle for the saucepan), toilet paper, a folding Army-issued green shovel, matches, a lantern, a propane fueled Coleman camp stove, and a cribbage board - in the shape of Montana - with a deck of cards.  After all that we load up Ol' Blue (Dad's '70 Chevy) with sleeping bags, tents, firewood, and cold weather gear, binoculars, gilly suits, and the Primos elk bugle and Hoochi Mah-Ma cow call.  My bugle of choice, however, is a simple cardboard tube left over from a role of Christmas wrapping paper.
    Finally after weeks of planning and dreaming, the season opens and most weekends from then on are spent in elk camp.  Fridays after school we pack up our bows, arrows, and overnight bags, then jump in Ol' Blue and ditch town.  Before dark rolls in on top of us we make our slow and steady way up Bridger Creek, into our favorite site.  Some days we have to chain up the rear wheel-drive pick-up to get through the wet and sticky clay on the road.  When this happens we use two full sets of chains; front wheel chains for braking and steering, and rear wheel chains for the muscle.  Some nights, however, there is no chance of making it to camp without sliding off the edge, so on those nights we sleep in the topper at the bottom of the road, or we hike into camp if it is early enough.
    Before the sun shows up the next morning we are well on our way to setting up an ambush.  With our wool pants and camouflaged saddle-cloth coats we find our way to the creek, or to the saddle where the elk often pass in the early morning.  Trees, bushes, snow and our gear all help to break up our figures so we can just wait for the elk to show up.  These morning ambushes are where we sit, waiting for the first shooting light of the day.
    As the sun warms the sky, branches snap and snow crunches from the weight of big game moving through the trees.  I slowly reach for my cow call, squeezing it to draw out a bull.  We hear grunts and snorts, so we know there is a bull interested.  Now I break out the fun toy, bugling out a long and loud challenge that the bull can't decline.  Fairly soon we hear a bugling response, and it is moving in our direction.  So long as the wind doesn't change directions on us we may have an elk in front of us in pretty short order.
    Sometimes our ambush works, sometimes not.  If not, we get to chase; we get to set out well after dawn, find tracks or any sign of game, and follow the sign through the woods.  Freshly rubbed trees, stamped-down grasses, tracks and scat are the sign we are looking for.  My dad and I move quickly but quietly through the trees, moving from creek-bottom to hilltop as we please.  When we realize we have stumbled right on top of our prey our wild heartbeats instantly change from thumping from exertion to pounding from thrill.  Sometimes we see the elk right away, but other times they slowly appear from upwind of us.
    Dad and I take cover in separate trees, backs to each other, some thirty or forty yards apart.  We hope for the big bulls to show themselves, but the young ones are just as much fun to have moving around us.  One year we were set up on a ridge in just that manner when two spikes showed up.  Dad watched the vow we had stalked, while i kept my eyes on the spikes.  Then, without warning, the yearling withing fifty yards of me started charging right for me.  My heart jumped and breath caught just in time for him to turn from the bluff and book it down the mountain and out of sight.  Those moments among the animals are where the stories come from, and when the memories and dreams are made.
    We usually hike all morning, then again in the evenings.  these long walks are what make the trips so rewarding whether we come home with fresh meat or not.  We climb and hike for hours, with nothing but the thrill of the hunt driving us on.  We top a ridge, and I can see what it's all about.  Being there, standing on top of the world, is the best high a person can get.  There is nothing but the cool breeze against the cheeks, the smell of pine, and the noises of the birds and insects.  Trees groan and sunlight gently blankets the body of the land, truly showing what is out there.  From there I can see in all directions.  Every pleasure and trouble of the journey already traveled, and every fork in the trail ahead.  Possibilities and potential lay out ahead o me, so I can choose the easy path through the clearings along the water, or I can take the risk of the steep slopes, thick timber, and jagged weather-beaten rocks.  I believe that I shall choose the more challenging , the more fun direction.
    Whatever I do, with Dad along side me or not, there is an endless dream out there for me to chase.  The hopes and dreams that float around my mind most days are fully clarified by the clean, fresh air.  These mountains, so far removed from people and stresses hold a freedom that can't be beat.  These mountains are where we play this primitive game with two sticks and a string, where we build our fires, and harvest our meats.  This is where we come when we need to be reminded of simple peace, and that life isn't so tedious after all.  These mountains, any mountains, are the best places on Earth.