Hunting Season-The Ones That Got Away

This is a post that never got posted last November. Jeff and I were too busy getting up early to hunt and spending time with our dear friends in Seeley for me to spend much time on the computer. Since it's November and all Jeff and I can think about is Montana-I thought I would share:Every year there is a magical season where the leaves turn color, the air becomes clean, crisp and fresh, and the skies turn a hue of beautiful blue. It's a beautiful picture to see and imagine. Squirrels frolicking on the ground collecting their last few stores for the winter, birds chirping, and the call of the geese to each other as they fly south for the winter.

And so hunting season begins. Every year thousands of men and boys rush to the woods to spend countless hours sitting on their butts waiting for that trophy deer or elk to venture into their site. They hike miles upon miles, following poop trails, braving snow and rain in hopes of running into that antlered fiend who would look so good on their wall at home. And this year-Jeff and I joined the throng. Jeff and I have been venturing into the woods, scouring the game trails for fresh signs of animal existence... and I swear, I SWEAR that these animals are not nearly as dumb as they look. All summer as we would see elk and deer as we went hiking and ATVing around, I marveled at their stupidity. They were ALWAYS in places they shouldn't be, doing things they shouldn't do and just getting underfoot because they were everywhere. You couldn't go 2 minutes without seeing one. Until hunting season. They suddenly understand where not to be. I haven't seen a deer/elk/anything-worth-shooting on public land since the day hunting season opened. (Neither has Jeff-but that's because of a different reason.)

Except the other day. Jeff and I went to our "spot" that we'd been scouting out for a couple months. Dawn had barely cracked, and as we softly trodded through the trees to get to our spot I saw them. Munching on some frozen grass, scarcely 20 feet away were two young bull elk. They were beautiful, chowing down their grass breakfast and thinking they were alone. I stopped dead in my tracks and pondered for seriously some 15 seconds. "Are they big enough? Yeah.. they're big enough. Do I want to waste my shot on a young bull? What if I run into a bigger one? Should I? I don't know, I think I could get something bigger. Well if I don't shoot them do we just sit here and stare at each other?" Since they were still so young, I decided to let them go. Suddenly they saw me, I dropped to one knee and for a moment, we just stared at each other. Then they took off-and all I could see was the flash of a hoof as it ran away. Realizing that it was probably the only chance I'd get at an elk, and feeling a little rush I took a shot in their direction. I knew I'd miss. I just wanted to take a shot. When Jeff caught up he was horrified I'd let them go.

(Next time this will be our truck)

And sometimes, I am too. We never saw another elk on hunting grounds the rest of the time we were there. But there's always another season, and next time they'll be bigger.