I didn't kill an elk on Saturday. :( I did see some elk, but they were on private property and wayyyy past the time I wanted to start dressing a large dead animal. I'm kind of a fairweather hunter. After a enough time - say, two hours - of "hard work" tromping around the woods, I'm ready for a hot lunch and a cold beer. Dad isn't of that mindset. In fact, Dad didn't stop for "lunch" (I use quotes because one stale pb&j sandwich does not constitute a meal) until wellll after twelve and we'd eaten breakfast at 4:30. Yep, that's a.m.
I almost got one, though. Elk aren't like deer. They're not dainty little scared things that live their life in constant twitching awareness. Anytime you see a deer it's known your were there since the moment you decided to leave the house that day. Elk, on the other hand, make no effort at quietness. They stamp, snort and crash their way through the woods. They're hairy, they're smelly and they grunt when they eat. (Now who in your life fits THAT description?) The sight of a bull breaking into the open - chest puffed out, steam coming from his nostrils, monstrous rack of antlers held high - is enough to cause one heart-fluttering moment to remind yourself, "he east grass for god's sake!"
When one smashed his way out of the field he was chowin' down in ('field' in this case is an overgrown former clearcut - impossible to see anything in.) I actually ran out of the way. I couldn't shoot him from where I was anyway - that silly can't-fire-bullets-down-a-road law - so I snuck around the woods at a snail's pace trying to catch him for the next hour and a half. And let me tell you, if you've never snuck before, it's tiring. My legs just weren't accustomed to balancing on one foot while the other delicately nudged the ground in front to avoid snapping a twig. By the time that little adventure was over and we'd had our snacktime - some grain and dried fruit bar - I was simply there for the scenery.
That part turned out pretty well. I saw a salamander, a few grouse (one scared the holy hell out of me, but that's another story), a giant hole in the ground, some chipmunks and several noisy birds. On the drive home we saw a handful of elk far, far away and a large fire on top of a mountain. Oh, and I learned that the hiring of illegal aliens to harvest salal and other nursery holiday decorations is actually quite a problem in the Oregon woods, and that the mafia is behind it. Who'da thought?
It was nice Oregon day, and best of all, my dad was beyond thrilled that he could take me out hunting again, after so long.
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I would definitely take up hunting and enjoy every minute of it. Unfortunately, there is that small matter of first learning to get up in the morning, stay awake once up without packing a portable espresso-maker, and move through wooded terrain with less noise than General Patton's Third Army charging through the Ardennes. If somebody could just conjure me up some of these abilities, I might never buy meat again.
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