It Takes a Village... a Hunting Story
Part Three

by David Scherer
Read Part One | Read Part Two

The wheezing sound of air being expelled through the narrow passageways in the noses of mule deer came from the aspen grove behind me. It came harsh, full of disgust as it ridded itself of the man-stink it took in. Hooves thudded their departure to safety. Busted! They had not come from the canyon below as I had hoped. My morning chances were dwindling at an alarming rate. This called for a move farther along the canyon with different travel routes and a grand view of the east-facing wall.

I settled back in at my new spot like a second marriage, trying not to think about my lost opportunity. A small plane, with its throaty engine, turned in the blue sky above me. I tracked it with my hearing until I spotted its wings in the empty gaps between treetops. It moved northwesterly and fell silent. Later, a straight, white plume was being drawn in the blue sky above me. A jet traipsed its way to some mysterious destination. The village was awakening. As if on cue, a dog barked from its backyard. I hoped deer were moving into the canyon. A diesel moved slowly along the bumpy road to work. A large piece of wood rocked loosely with a dull thud in the truck bed. Garage doors opened and gas engines moved at staggered intervals, growing fainter as they left the village to go to work. Another truck grew louder, coming closer, and then suddenly still. The builder was arriving at the new house. Soon the pounding of hammers in a staccato rhythm dominated all the sounds there were to hear. A defiant woodpecker challenged those of the village with a sharp rat-tat-tat pecking of his bill. The wood sound was sharp and had a ring quality to it. I awarded him style points and the contest.

These were the sounds that pulled me back and forth. First to the village, then to the forest, and then back again. I marveled at this tug of war. I had never hunted so close to the village before and found the competition amusing. An air compressor whined in fits and starts from the new house. A bird sang its notes to call to his kind from the other side of the canyon. There came a truce of silence before a shot rang out. My kind had found game in his sights. I fought the twinges of envy.

Well into the morning my full ration of hope had sprung a leak. My resolve to stick it out past lunch was going limp. Discipline had to come fierce and strong. The inner voices stiffened my resolve. 'The journey is its own reward.' The canyon was the place I came to in the summer after long hours of writing on the 'Legend.' Slowly, life would ebb back into my soul. The wild of the canyon had the ability to replenish. I had no idea how the powers worked but they did. Emotionally I set aside the hunt and embraced the presence. I sat in the dark shadows of the western slope and watched the golden line of the sun march down the opposite rim as it rose higher and higher.

Finally it struck the canyon floor. The entire eastern wall was awash with an inviting golden hue. I was cold and determined to sit in the warmth of the sun-struck slope. There was a game trail to the canyon bottom and paths that led to water through the thicket. The gurgle of running water grew louder as I approached the creek. It was deep so I walked along the edge until I had found a series of stepping stones to make a dry crossing. I spied a tiny grove of bushes high on the steep slope that would make a good vantage-point and still be in the sun. Eagerly I made my way, looking forward to lunch and a warm embrace. Only a woman is a match for a late October sun after a cold morning. I snuggled in the distance between us and dozed. Nothing more remarkable happened than that, except for a raven's hoarse cackle. Raven is smug in his place. I was reluctant to leave my ledge. I wasn't hunting anymore but found the contentment too enticing. I had found a place of peace that nurtured my inner self. Such places in the village are rare; too often induced.

Eventually the cares of the village broke the trance and I retreated to the fence among the aspen. I stared at the top wire that stood for the division between forest and village. I experienced them both in a single day and now understood the difference. I hesitated to leave. In a swell of determination I swung my leg over that top wire. But I had exaggerated my inseam and was forced to my tiptoes by the barbs. I teetered in indecision, rocking back and forth. Crazy thoughts ran amok; my mind launched a search for the definition of 'eunuch' in Webster's. I mustered a steely resolve and forced my will on the leg still in the forest. It barely cleared and came alongside the other standing in the village. I ambled away thinking, there is a metaphor here, but it eludes me. No, I didn't harvest big game but there was a reaping. I discovered I'm OK! Just a little bit crazy. My self-worth goes deeper than my freezer. Didn't Jesus say ' Man doesn't live by meat alone', something like that? I walk towards the village making a do list. 1. the bank 2. give the dog a bath 3. clean the kitchen and oh yeah! Stop by City Market.

Author David Scherer lives in Pagosa Springs with Minda and Laith. He has completed his first novel this summer titled The Legend of Standing Bear published under his pseudonym David Michael Aarons. The book can be found at Moore Wellness Center; Agape Gifts; Wild Rose T-shirt; Fred Harmon Museum, Fairfield Activity Center, and Wolf Tracks Bookstore.

Top of page