We'd go hunt in the high meadows and ridges of the Bighorn Mountains in early October. In those days it seemed like "hunting season" was October, and I don't really know if that was a rule from the state or a tradition from my father. He worked hard in the early years of my life and spent the weekends of the summer taking care of the house, cutting firewood, or working around the family cabin. Unlike me, he didn't have an avocation for sports, and didn't obsess over gear and training and planning.
He had one hunting rifle and he shot all of his animals with it. It was an .06 Remington with a 1.5x post sight and it got the job done. He didn't carry optics, but a pair of binoculars rode on the dashboard of the truck. He wore a Knapp beltknife and saw kit, and it was the only gear he carried save a lighter in his pocket.
Dad was an architect, but a cowboy first. He wore boots and jeans and a button-up shirt daily, and did so whether drawing plans or running a chainsaw or hunting elk. He wore no sunglasses, no hat, and gloves rarely. On the cool October mornings in the mountains, he's wear a black and grey windbreaker. It was the same one he wore hunting and skiing.
We hunted as hard as a man towing two young boys could. My brother and I in our ski jackets and hats, gloves, and hiking boots. Dad in jeans, cowboy boots, and that windbreaker. Rifle over his shoulder. He told us if we went "out," we should have a pocket knife and a lighter "in case something happened." It's good advice, and I still heed it. In addition to those two items, however, I have several thousand dollars' worth of probably superfluous gear with me.
Dad took down deer and elk and antelope when he went out, same as I do. In my $700 pack, though, I have $500 in rain gear, a $200 puffy jacket and $200 pants that match. I have a $800 phone and a monthly GPS subscription. $1200 binoculars, a rangefinder, $100 sunglasses, and $1000 worth of baselayers and hunting clothes. A $1200 riflescope on a $1500 high-power rifle. A siltarp and $400 ultralight sleeping bag. $250 lightweight Goretex boots. Fucking $40 underpants, for god's sake. And I drive it all out to the trailhead in a truck way beyond my paygrade.
We were at a place called Bald Ridge in the late afternoon and the sun was setting and there were snow squalls blown in by a cold wind out of the basin. We were outbound and it was going to be a short trip. I was cold and he knew it was too cold for a child and he had his collar turned up. "Well, we better start chugging or we'll get real cold," he said. So we upped the pace to the fastest my 13-year-old legs could handle until both of us were breathing hard. Slowly warming from the movement.
We crested a rise and saw the animals below, right at the edge of the trees. They were maybe 200 yards off. Dad dropped the rifle from his shoulder and half knelt and looked through the scope. Safety off. He pulled the butt in tight to his shoulder like he showed us, and then paused. It would be an easy shot. I remember the cold wind and holding my hands on my ears waiting for the shot. He looked west to the last of the sun. Looked at me and the sky and then relaxed and stood up.
"Well, maybe tomorrow, Steven."
We walked downwind back to the Jeep and it was a short drive through the hills back to the warmth of dinner and a fire in the cabin.
I wonder if I would take that shot today. Am I better prepared? Would my young daughter accept the suffering that would come from spending the night taking apart an elk in the snow, or would she come to hate that experience? Am I better at this game, or just more equipped to make bad choices?
Maybe part of running that light is knowing how light you're running.
Love this. Thanks for sharing. As a fellow architect Mies van der Rohe put... it 'less is more'.