I am sitting here are 0400 watching Meat Eater on Netfix and find myself dreaming of the fall when I can venture out into the mountains in search of an animal that I am convinced only live in Estes Park and my mom's front yard (where I can't shoot them). Elk.
I love being out there. In the rain, the snow, the cold, the hot, all of it. I love sitting on a ridge or hillside that I just spent 3 hours climbing and glassing the valley and far side below me. The wind in my face, the sun (or snow) beating down on me. Spreading my maps out, I'm a map guy, and whispering about we we should head to next. Because hey, there may be an Elk near by and I'd hate to spook it.
Spending all morning climbing high up the side of a mountain to where they should be, only to hear shooting going on way down in the valley floor where Elk have no business being. Reaching the top, feeling dejected and grinding out the return trip. Even if Greg is trying to drop into a drainage that will bring us out miles from where we want to be. I won the day on that and kept us on course. Humping my 10 lbs rife up and down mountains, ridges, drainages, hills and valleys when the internet says anything other than a 6 lbs rifle will kill you.
The feeling of wandering into camp at the end of the day, after dark, wore out but content with your effort that day. Light the camp stove, or the cook fire and fixing a dinner and talking about the highs and lows of the day. Maybe sharing a drink before retiring to the tent or camper. Sharing great times and experiences with a great friend. I've only been hunting for a few years and have yet to take an animal but I spend most of my off season planning for a week of hunting in the fall. Why? Because despite all the pain and cold and miserable time spent sitting on the side of a mountain waiting for an animal that does not seem to really exist, I love it. All of it.
I love being out there. In the rain, the snow, the cold, the hot, all of it. I love sitting on a ridge or hillside that I just spent 3 hours climbing and glassing the valley and far side below me. The wind in my face, the sun (or snow) beating down on me. Spreading my maps out, I'm a map guy, and whispering about we we should head to next. Because hey, there may be an Elk near by and I'd hate to spook it.
Spending all morning climbing high up the side of a mountain to where they should be, only to hear shooting going on way down in the valley floor where Elk have no business being. Reaching the top, feeling dejected and grinding out the return trip. Even if Greg is trying to drop into a drainage that will bring us out miles from where we want to be. I won the day on that and kept us on course. Humping my 10 lbs rife up and down mountains, ridges, drainages, hills and valleys when the internet says anything other than a 6 lbs rifle will kill you.
The feeling of wandering into camp at the end of the day, after dark, wore out but content with your effort that day. Light the camp stove, or the cook fire and fixing a dinner and talking about the highs and lows of the day. Maybe sharing a drink before retiring to the tent or camper. Sharing great times and experiences with a great friend. I've only been hunting for a few years and have yet to take an animal but I spend most of my off season planning for a week of hunting in the fall. Why? Because despite all the pain and cold and miserable time spent sitting on the side of a mountain waiting for an animal that does not seem to really exist, I love it. All of it.