Panting up the steep slope - slung rifle, shooting sticks and back pack filled with license, knives, flashlights, water and sweater - my mind relaxes as the worries or work and the world are lost on the trail behind. A blustery wind whips the naked aspen branches, most of the leaves have fallen to the ground now. On the trail below my feet are tracks from a horse who has been over this trail since last week's rain. The toe prints of a deer can been seen every now and then. I see no sign of elk until I have walked - climbed - for over an hour. Their tracks are few and not very fresh.
Sneaking into a grove of heavy bushes and aspen, that feeling of being the prey prompts me to look around. I feel like something is watching me. Look up for a mountain lion. Look around for a wolf. Look behind for a coyote. I get this feeling during most hunts. That feeling of prey vs. predator.
Overhead, a bald eagle leaves its high perch and soars out against the wind. Envious, I wonder if he sees an elk. He banks at the mountain's shoulder and returns with the wind behind.
The climb continues. I am sweaty enough to dig in the pack for a sweater. A bush offers cover and I sit to watch dusk arrive. Nothing moves. I have, thus far, seen chickadees, giving me away with their chick-a-dee-dee-dee calls and a mouse jump across the trail. That is all I will see this evening as I creep down the steep trail home, thinking of my Grandfather and his bad knees! The sky darkens, the wind blows around my head, and I am happy.
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