To the Heavens

I observed him leaving his house upon packing his hunting gear on an early Thursday morning in March. He had a five-hour drive to the hunting preserve and was filled with excitement and anxious to get there. During the drive, he went over his plan for that afternoon and the hunt that would take place once he arrived. He’d made the same trip last year and reminisced about his success. He also knew he’d be picking up his trophy from last year that had recently been completed by the taxidermist who worked at the preserve.

His drive was uneventful, and he arrived at the preserve safe and sound around noon. He was greeted at his vehicle by the owner and the guides and subsequently carried his gear into the lodge. He picked out a room and began to organize his things.

As he returned from his room, he met up with the guide in the main room. They briefly discussed the approach for the afternoon hunt, but prior to leaving they took a glimpse at last year’s trophy. It was…something. He immediately began contemplating where to hang it when he got home.

Soon after, the guide rolled up in the preserve’s main mode of transportation – a four seat side-by-side with a small hauling platform on the back. He leaped on, stabled his rifle, and they drove off and up the hill, which was more like a mountain. Within ten minutes, they had arrived near the top and then drove across the hill. The guide let him out and he walked down about twenty-five yards to a fallen tree and set his backpack on the ground.

He loaded his rifle, took a seat on the fallen tree, and gazed around. From his vantage point he could see down the hill, up the hill, and across the ravine to the other hill – some one hundred yards away. The ground was dry, and the leaves were brittle – just perfect for hearing the slightest movement.

In no time, he heard the crunching of leaves across the ravine. He stared intently across and saw the creatures moving down the hill. They were too far away and there wasn’t any clear shot, so he watched. They made their way down and to a small clearing and stopped, again no clear shot. They slowly turned and moved the other direction – disappearing into the distance.

He waited patiently. He believed they would change course and head back toward him. They never did reverse course so he decided to reposition himself down on the small clearing, but he failed to realize the steepness of the hill. The slope was nearly forty-five degrees and he suffered from COPD. He’d certainly test his stamina. I continued to observe his movements, as he made it down unscathed but that’s when he heard a single shot in the distance. He thought it must’ve been another hunter and so he waited, thinking the creatures would soon come his way and be in his sights.

Not surprisingly, they were headed back toward him only they were crossing diagonally back up the hill and right back to where he had been sitting. He hurriedly began climbing the hill while watching the creatures and making sure he didn’t fall simultaneously. Only, he soon realized that his condition would prevent his body from doing what his mind was telling it. His legs grew tired and weak, and he began gasping for air – and the sweat began to roll from his head and face. He didn’t get halfway when he was forced to stop. The creatures were far enough away by then that he let them go.

He regained his breath and moved about twenty yards before resting again. He eventually returned to his initial spot. He took a hit from his emergency inhaler and waited for the next sign of activity.

After about an hour and with no activity, the guide showed up and moved him to another location across the hill and to a tree stand at the edge of a clearing. The guide would then attempt to drive the creatures toward him.

A couple of hours had passed and there was no sign of the guide and no sign of any creatures. By that time, the sun was nearing the horizon and he knew it would soon be dark. Coincidentally, the guide showed up as he contemplated walking back and they drove across the hill to assist another hunter. It was apparent they’d have just enough time to get back to the lodge in daylight.

After assisting the other hunter, they drove back across the hill nearing the tree stand where he’d been stationed previously when they noticed a herd of the creatures standing in front of and around the tree stand. There were more than forty in total. The guide stopped and they slowly and methodically walked toward them. He took positions at multiple trees as they continued forward, but there was so much movement by the creatures and so many trees in his line of sight that no clear shot could be had. The standoff lasted nearly thirty minutes and he began to tire holding his rifle. It was also near dark, and he lacked the vision to see clearly any longer.

Just as the guide had suggested they quit for the day; the entire herd scattered off in the opposite direction – forcing the end of the day’s hunt.

They arrived back at the lodge just as it got dark. Physical and mental exhaustion had set in, but he believed he would persevere the next day. They sat around the rest of the evening reliving the standoff and second guessing what could’ve been. As they settled in for the night, they took one last look at the pending weather, and it wasn’t a good outlook – rain and wind all day with windier conditions in the afternoon. It was going to be a morning hunt only – so it seemed.

When they arose the following morning, it was raining, cold, and moderately windy, but they decided to plow forward. However, much like the previous day, the guide planned to drop him at the same tree stand and attempt the same driving strategy.

I observed him climb into the tree stand and saw that his spirit hadn’t yet been broken. He took a stance and loaded his rifle. It had begun to rain hard, and the wind was blowing causing the rain to fall diagonally. He remained patient as he scanned the hillside hoping for a glimpse of the herd, but the rain continued. It was unrelenting and he began to get wet and measurably cold by the signs of him wearing gloves and throwing up his hood.

It had rained enough to cause a micro-creek flowing down the hill. The rain pelted the ground and trees so hard that he was solely reliant on his vision but adding to his misery were his glasses fogging and dripping with rain. I wondered how much he could take. Surprisingly, he remained persistent even though his rifle was also dripping with rain and his gloves were so wet he couldn’t pull them off.

It had been two hours since he took his position in the tree stand and the rain and wind had not only persisted but had become increasingly worse. As such, he reached into his backpack and pulled out a white towel to dry himself. As the towel dragged down and across his face he looked to the heavens – and in my general direction.

Then to my surprise, he crumpled the towel and threw it into the clearing – landing in the mud. The towel turned over and over in the micro-creek and soon took on a caramel brown color before coming to rest near a rock.

Moments later, the guide showed up and they drove back to the lodge – getting wetter and colder. On the way back, he considered the idea of hunting the following morning, since the weather forecast indicated a better day ahead. However, after arriving, he noticed he’d lost the magazine to his rifle somewhere on the muddy trail leading back. It would likely never be found.

He stood in the rain retracing his steps trying to determine where he could’ve lost it. He searched his backpack, all his pockets, in and around the side-by-side, and back the trail one-hundred yards or so, to no avail. He then repeated the process with the same outcome – and then a third time. He looked to the heavens once again. It was at that moment, he decided to end his hunt – and trip. He stayed the night and left for home the next morning.

I observed his dejection, but I knew once he arrived home everything would return to order…plus there’d always be next year.