Yeah, it's definately the journey now days, and has been for many years. This post reminded me of a hunt in California a long time ago. Thanks for the reminder. Hope you don't mind me posting up the short quip I wrote about that hunt, kinda sums things up for me pretty well.
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I recall a mountain range in northeast California, not far from the Nevada/Oregon border I was hunting one year. That entire area is a high mountain desert, where the lower flat lands are filled with various sagebrush plants, western cedar trees, and a smattering of mountain mahogany. Running through the center, a small mountain range some eighty miles long melts into the skyline. Some of the tallest peaks are snow capped deep into summer, even though they only reach some 9,000 feet.
The great majority of time I have spent in the mountains, I have been alone: It seemed to fit me better, not hearing foot steps that weren't mine, not hearing a voice that didn't come to me as my own thoughts. This trip was no different. I had never been to this area before, so every hill, every canyon was a new adventure to be explored.
This one particular morning stands out in my memory, as it was unusually cold for early October in California. Frost covered the ground like a billion snowflakes shimmering and glittering against the beam of my small flashlight as I made my way up a gently sloped mountain. I hoped I would make it to the top just as dawn began to blush over the high peaks. Shortly before I hit the summit, the tall pine trees filtered out into clumps here and there, with small meadows filling the gaps in between. I was almost to the top when day began to break, so I quickened my pace to reach the crest.
I can still see that scene in my minds eye as clearly as I did that morning, and it has been over twenty years! From the top, I looked northeast into a wide canyon valley that stretched down until it melted into the sagebrush flats, some five miles below. The tall pines seemed to be brushed into the scene by an artist on canvas, forming fingers down several small ridges until they were replaced by aspen trees, their leaves shimmering with the first dusting of gold. Large patches of brush, flaming in crimson and scarlet, separated several small trickles of water born from springs higher up, bubbling out below giant boulders of granite. Towards the center of the valley, the creeks merged, winding down through meadows of tall yellow grass that swayed to the gentle breeze gliding down the valley.
Late summer flowers were still in bloom, with splashes of blue, red, yellow and white spilling out from the small stream until they melted into the high brush. The quiet noise of that scene filled my ears with sounds so soft I had to strain to make sure I was hearing them. The tiny stream's flow tinkled like fine crystal against the smooth stones that lined its path. I could hear the almost imperceptible swish of the tall pine tops moving against the wind. Across the canyon a lost pair of crows calling to each other faded to soft echoes as they flew over the far rise. I was so taken back by the beauty of it all, I hadn't noticed the three deer lying just below the large boulders near the top of the canyon, a couple hundred yards away. They lay facing away from each other, each set of eyes surveying for potential danger in different directions.
I knew instantly they were all mule deer bucks. Two were similar in size. The third was clearly much larger. Their dark gray coats served them well, as they mimicked the color of the surrounding rocks. I shifted for a better look, but moved too fast. The largest buck caught my movement and immediately stood, looking directly at me. His antlers were dark, very dark. The tips were almost white, polished from weeks of battling brush and small trees in preparation for the coming rut. His body was nearly black. His upper chest near his throat veined a patch of white that stood out boldly. Even at this distance I could see the full outline of his front shoulders, like a heavy steer, blocky and full of muscle. When he turned his head, the mountain behind him seemed to move as his large antlers followed his nose.
The other bucks stood, and all eyes were focused on me. I froze. My rifle was cradled across my thighs as I squatted. HE was the reason I was there. HE was the reason my leg muscles burned like hot needles from the miles they had pushed up and down the mountains. I knew they would look for only so long before they would disappear over the nearby ridge to safety. I moved slowly, bringing my rifle forward. In the scope, I could see his grizzled face, gray with age and marred with battle scars from many answered challenges. I held steady, aiming where I knew I should. Time seemed to stand still, and the entire scene moved in slow motion. I watched him turn again, slowly moving up the hill to the right. My thumb held against the safety of my rifle, but did not move. I watched him crest the saddle, where he turned once more, looking at me briefly before he disappeared out of site down the other side, his partners quickly following suit...
I still remember the smile that stretched across my face as I looked east and watched the sun inch above the mountaintops. It's brilliant morning light set my little mountain valley on fire with colors so bright it almost hurt to look at them. This new place would forever be etched into my diary of memories; a place of magnificent serenity and beauty that would haunt my dreams for years to come; a place I had found in my solitary travels, along the paths chiseled by hoof and claw...
It was a really special hunt for me. I still don't know why I didn't shoot that buck. Maybe, deep down in my subconscious I knew the deafening sound of my shot would destroy the serenity that filled my soul at the time, or perhaps I knew that killing that magnificent animal would somehow take away from that particular experience. I don't know. Being a hunter, to me, means many things. As my years pile behind me, I find it is the journey and not so much the destination that fuels the fire within to return again and again to a little valley just behind the next mountain top?
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