The following is a somewhat true, maybe snippets of a somewhat exaggerated recounting of my experience as a hiker gone hunting.

Background.  It was over thirty years ago that I spent a day out with an elder neighbor friend with the plan of going bunny hunting.  What I remember is that I didn’t particularly like the taste of bunny.  Flash forward to now, a time when I spend more days of the week outside than inside, where I often see the beasts that provoke fear and worry amongst the inexperienced and trophies for the patient.  Striking a deal with a new neighbor friend it went something like this, “You spend a few days with me hunting and I’ll spend a few days making my backpack my buddy with you.”  Sounded like an excellent trade to me!

Sidenote. I don’t have a rifle, haven’t been to hunter safety classes (which I encourage all hunters to attend) just haven’t had that type of exposure.  My task is to follow and wait and assist with the carry out if we are patient enough for a kill of our own.

Day One. With temperatures in the low 60s you couldn’t ask for a more beautiful day to be outside.  The prescribed burns had tired and snuffed themselves out leaving clear skies for as far as the eye could see.

My new camouflage pants fit perfectly – not too snug, not too loose.  My hands fit into the pockets that could handle the requisite chapstick that protect my lips from the dry air but at the same time avoids leaving an indention on my leg from too tight of pants.  On my head is a bright orange hat with a black fleece liner.  Why does this hat cost $10.99 when my hiking hat has less material and sells for $36.99?  Worn over my favorite tan hiking shirt is a bright orange vest which will keep me from being shot.

As is the norm, my backpack is loaded with water and food.  I’ve got maps, binoculars and a camera just in case the perfect picture presents itself (it won’t).  We cross into public lands and begin the slow, animal creep as silent as possible up northwest slopes.  Scat is prevalent.  Lots of scat.  Wrong kind of scat.  This is a very active bear.  We are looking for elk.  Sign is limited and we give up, load up and drive to a new location that we hope will bring better luck.

The roads are dusty and choked with trucks of all makes and models each with orange caps sitting in the front seat.  Some drivers waive.  Some scowl.  All are looking for elk which leads to a conversation that goes something like this.

Driver 1 – “Seen any elk?”

Driver 2 – “Nope, how about you?”

Driver 1 – “Naw, ain’t seen a dang thing.”

With limited insight we peer from truck windows and stare at game paths wondering which will be the correct pick.  After finding our choice we head up for a scout not really expecting anything but instead finding three elk who had laid down for an afternoon rest.  Their nervous exit in trees where no shot is a clean gave them the edge for another day.

Momentarily disenchanted we again loaded into our truck and headed east on the same dusty roadway that was caking the interior of the vehicle.  Shots rang out throughout the day but the hunter rumor mill is that all were a miss.  Call it excitement, jitters, bad scope sights it doesn’t matter.  If someone did kill their elk today we didn’t see ‘em in the back of any truck.

For whatever reason we determined to sit it out in the spruce thicket on the edge of a small meadow (I understand that the window of success is limited in comparison to the early morning hunting).  Fighting sneezes, watery eyes, cold butt, stiff knees and cramped feet I didn’t dare move for three hours.  Peering left and right; then right and left.  I glassed.  I spied.  I saw not a dang thing.  Not even the birds spoke.  And, just after the sun set and darkness enveloped the last wisp of light I stood and stretched and walked back to the truck.

It was disappointing to have spent so many hours on the lookout and search.  To have eaten two pounds of dirt and glassed until my eyes were blurred to come home with the same number of bullets I’d had this morning and an aching back from the quiet wait.

But, the second rifle season has only just begun.  Day one may be of no success of the killing sort but it was a day outside and there are still many days left.

Photograph 1 – Rod from Texas and Jeff from Arizona

Click here to read Part II – http://www.pagosa.com/adventureguide/hiker-rogue-hu…ntry-last-cont/

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