This last weekend I crossed another item off my bucket list: Complete a Marathon. I can now proudly say I've done that, and also have an extra sense of accomplishment knowing my first race was a tough one ... the highest marathon in the nation, in the historic mining town of Leadville, CO. The course was beautiful and wound it's way through the mountains just above town, crossing melting snow run-off and reaching the highest elevation point of 13,185 ft. Once again shortly after crossing the finish-line, through tears of joy and pain, the first words out of my mouth were, "I did it! But I'm not sure I'll ever do it again. Remind me how bad that hurts when I think about signing up for the next one." Those words are short lived because I'm already looking at the Leadville 100 mile race, simply out of curiosity. As a first time marathoner, I thought I'd share some of my lessons learned: SALT IS YOUR FRIEND. I'll admit that if I have the choice of salty snacks over sweet snacks, salty usually wins the guilty pleasure snack attack. However, when pushing through intense workouts, I've never thought, "A handful of potato chips sure sounds good right now." Last year, while running the Pikes Peak Ascent 1/2 marathon, I eyed the baskets of potato chips at each aid station curiously, while opting for a handful of grapes. Why would anyone want chips as a fuel choice?!? Oh... the things I have yet to learn. Around mile four last weekend, I found myself reaching for my right calve muscle that cramped up as I slightly twisted my ankle going up one of the first incline series. The muscle was an instant ball of tightness. It felt like it twisted up in a knot around my shin, and was not going to let go. Instant looks of sympathy were given to me and two nice guys stopped immediately to ask if I was okay. I remember leaning over and hanging on to one of them, so I didn't fall down. The other kindly offered me a salt tablet and said, "If you are cramping already, you need to eat this now!" He handed me a salt pill and said, "Bite down on this and wash it down with water. It will be salty as hell, but your muscles need it." He was right ... pure salt filled my mouth and I did my best to swallow all the salt. I'm not lying when I say, that almost instantly the muscle cramps went away. Granted, I was slowly stretching them out, but I was able to push through and get to the top of that incline. The rest of course, as I passed by aid stations, I was grabbing a handful of potato chips and licking the salt off as I proceeded down the trail. YAY for salt! The reason why your muscles need salt? Read This. KNOW THE COURSE. There really is something to knowing what lies ahead and mentally preparing for the race ahead of time. Starting at 10,200 feet, with 6,333 feet of elevation gain throughout the course, I knew that I had to pace myself. There were cut-off times at mile 16 and mile 19. While actually experiencing the course is the best option to knowing what to expect, I was thankful that I had studied the map course and elevation map ahead of time. After reaching the highest point at Mosquito Pass at the turnaround point, I knew that I only had to push through a 2.6 mile climb and the rest of the course was relatively downhill. If you aren't able to actually run the course ahead of time, do all you can to study the course online or glean from those who've already completed the race. Ask questions ... Is the trail rocky? Will you be crossing streams? Is it paved? One thing I think I'd do differently, if I did this race again ... train more for the incline. Honestly, my lung capacity wasn't an issue. Although that could be that I'm used to altitude and it's never really bothered me. I need to train my leg muscles better ... I'd love to be able to push through some of these inclines, with less cramping and maybe actually run more of the steep sections. Correction. Jog slowly. ENJOY THE VIEW. I knew I wasn't trying to set a speed record; I just wanted to finish! Therefore, I had my cell phone in hand the entire course. Granted, I was living on the edge slightly because I carried it screen-saver-less. I did drop it once too... up towards the top of Mosquito pass. Yikes! Having my phone handy allowed me to quickly snap some pictures along the way. It also allowed me to check my time along the course, keeping me on track to meet the cut-off times. I think next time, I'd prefer to wear a wrist watch, allowing me to keep track of time. Then as an alternative to carrying my phone, I'd find shorts or top that allowed me to keep my phone snugly tugged in place, just in case I wanted to access it for a snap shot or quick text to family waiting at the finish line. MAKE FRIENDS. Running a trail marathon in the mountains provides the opportunity to quickly become friends with those who are experiencing the pain alongside you, I mean ... thrill of running the trail alongside you. Most of the uphill climbs become a fast hike, allowing everyone to catch their breath, and even chit chat while keeping pace. The usual questions, before the conversation thins out in correlation to the air toward the top, are usually ... "Have you run this race before?" and "Where are you from?" Those from Colorado or a mountain state quickly feel sorry for those who traveled from lower altitudes. I also answered the question several times, "Why in the world did you choose this race as your first marathon?" ENCOURAGEMENT IS CONTAGIOUS. By the time I reached mile marker 10, I knew that the next 3-4 miles were going to be treacherous. Boy was I right! Head down and each step up the mountain, I started a little chant in my head ... "At least I don't have an elk on my back. At least I don't have an elk on my back." Towards the top of Mosquito pass, I must have had a look on my face that read, "Am I there yet?" because several times, I heard form those making their way down the switchbacks, "Just a little bit further" or "You've got this - keep going!" After reaching the top and making my journey down the switchbacks, I quickly returned the favor to those still making their journey upwards. It felt good to offer that encouragement. I was just in their shoes moments ago and was pulling for them to not give up. INVEST IN GOOD SHOES. Two and half weeks before toeing the starting line, I decided that I needed different shoes. I had purchased a pair of HOKA ONE ONE shoes several months ago, in an effort to save my feet. They are wonderful shoes, and I'd highly recommend them. The only problem is that I realized after completing a rocky trail run with steep inclines and downhill slopes, I probably needed something with a little more traction. I purchased the more aggressive trail running version HOKA offered. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to sufficiently break them in prior to the race. It was risky, but I lucked out ... my feet didn't bother me once during my run! The quality of these shoes are amazing. They definitely were worth the money. I've struggled on and off this last year with healing from plantar fasciitis. I can honestly say, my feet felt great during the entire course! BELIEVE IN YOURSELF - I can't tell you how many times I wanted to curl up in a ball and just be done. I was mad at mile four when my leg cramped up because I was not ready to be done, but not sure if my body would let me keep going. The climb to Mosquito pass was grueling. Reaching the last aid station at just over mile 20 meant I could carefully navigate my way downhill over the rocky trail with just around 5 miles to the finish line. However, even with the mostly downhill, it was a mental effort to stay on course and keep moving. My legs were trashed. At one point, I even crossed over a tape line and veered off-course onto another trail. I have no idea why. I was heads down, probably reminding myself I wasn't carrying an elk, trying to conquer the last little hill before I could run 2 miles into town. Thankfully, a fellow runner quickly said, "Aren't you going the wrong way?" I looked up, smiled and laughed. I quickly said, "thank you" and was back on track. A 1/2 dozen or so of us were spread out now within several hundred yards. The finish line was near. A dash of determination and Norwegian stubbornness took over and I began running toward town ... every muscle burning and begging me to end the torture. I knew I could make it. One step in front of the other. "Your better than you think you are. You can do more than you think you can." Ken Chlouber - Founder of the Leadville Trail 100 I've you've ever contemplated running a race like this, I'd encourage you to go for it! Trust me, it's worth the pain. The pain will subside, but the memories will last. Knowing that you accomplished something great is a feeling no one can take away. In fact, it will keep you moving, pushing, and reaching for the next goal. So, my question to you is simply ... What are you waiting for? "Dig deep into that inexhaustible well of grits, guts and determination."
Ken Chlouber - Founder of the Leadville Trail 100
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To freeze a moment in time, until the joy overwhelms the sojourner ~ we've all longed for the possibility. The beauty of life sweeps over and the allure of drinking in the moment, causes eyes to be closed in an effort to relish the seconds before they multiply, slipping from present to past. Almost dream-like, the mist passes over, leaving a frost-laden kiss of the moment. With heavy breath, Jack Frost does his best to freeze the moment in time, yet it's a futile attempt to lasso the grains of sand as they slip through the hourglass. As eyes open once again, the joy is prolonged only by the impressions left on the heart. It's the first cry from a newborn. A lightning flash. Morning light dancing across mountain tops. A finish line crossed. A last kiss. The splash of Northern Lights in the night sky. A bull elk's bugle. A fresh blanket of snow. The release of an arrow. A final goodbye. A shooting star. The laugh of a loved one. The list goes on ... Momentary beauty is but a glimmer; It lingers, and then slips away. With a hunger to write the next chapter History seemingly wins day. Not to be outdone, Future pulls forward, allowing hope of a beauty that someday will never fade away. We grasp, willing time to stand still a bit longer. Pressing down on the hands of time, only creates the illusion that we have the power to stop the spinning. The onward progression towards the future wins, while History simultaneously reaches for the present. It's a battle. Or is it? It's more like a story. One that we write each day ... one we all play a part in. What fascinates me about time is how hope weaves a pattern through it. While there's an important balance of cherishing the little things that make up life, allowing us to live in the moment, the value of hope for the future can't be overlooked. Life is so much more than living for the moment. There is something to be said about slowing down and learning to appreciate the little things in life, but I think there is incredible worth in looking forward to what lies ahead ... it is what allows the story to continue, encompassing hope. The hunter knows this rhythm well. The release of an arrow finds it's mark. A moment of joy surrounds the hunter, clouding all of the hard work it took to get to there. Time appears to be eclipsed by the momentary thrill of success. A season ends just as quickly in that moment, and in the next breath the following season is eagerly anticipated. Great planning and preparation is made for what lies ahead. Hope for a bigger buck, another story, and future memories lie waiting on the horizon. The next story is waiting for the hunter to step into, so he counts the days. "Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom." ~Psalm 90:12 But I'm not really referring to hunting. It's a nice illustration and one that I relate to well. I've been contemplating lately how we all look forward to these little events in life .. the next hunting season, a promotion, a well-earned vacation, life-milestones, etc. Honestly, sometimes it is what gets us through the day. The next adventure or whatever it is we hope for, pushes us on, providing excitement to reach that goal or hoped for moment, somewhere just around future's bend. I think God gives us these things in life to look forward to, as a glimpse of ... what it looks like to have hope for something more. There's a longing placed deep within in our hearts, fueled by Hope. It is what drives us forward because we want to see what is around the next bend in life. After all, "hope that is seen is no hope at all." So we press on. "Now faith is the confidence in what we hope for and the assurance of what we do not see" ~Hebrews 11:1 Beloved reader, my challenge to you is simply this ... Remember to hold loosely to the joy of the now, while resting in the assurance of the hope on the horizon. Press on. Write your story well, with the knowledge that the best is yet to come. Having faith in that assurance is up to you.
Walking along train tracks and crossing old, worn down "bridges" parallel to train trestles, caused memories of younger years to come flooding back, where careless teenagers gave in to the temptation to jump from trestles into a river below. A whistle sounds in the distance, breaking the silence of the morning and giving warning of an approaching train. We journey on, making tracks to reach the top pasture before daybreak. Being careful to open and close the gate quietly, we cross over into the designated pasture. A gesture that almost seems laughable considering the screeching train that has just rumbled down the tracks above. This was just one of the sequence of events from our recent turkey hunt in Kansas that will remain embedded in my mind. Memories of younger years somehow clashed with the present, as I remember the joy of being a carefree teenager, daydreaming in pastures, throwing rocks into a river below, and walking by train tracks. Now, this sequence of events, will cause new memories to come flooding back as Spring approaches each year. Memories of a recent turkey hunt. A hunt that ended with me shooting my first turkey. This is the story of trains, thunderstorms and tow ropes ... Earlier this year, Troy and I were invited to come with our friend Jeff and hunt his family's property in eastern Kansas. On Friday afternoon, as close of business rolled around, I was out of the office door at 5:00 on the dot. The guys were waiting for me at the house with a loaded down truck full of turkey decoys, shot guns, bows, blinds, etc. A weekend of hunting memories was waiting on us and we were anxious to start writing that story. As the highway miles added up, stories of previous road trips were easily recalled. Jeff, Troy and I have known each other for awhile; days of Chris Ledoux, rodeos, and bull riding had brought us together years ago, but this road trip was leading us to a different kind of rodeo. Now the entry fee to play only cost the price of a turkey tag. Upon arriving at the ranch late Friday night, we stepped out of the truck, took a deep breath of country air, which smelled like grass, blooming trees and cow feed all jumbled together. The cattle lingered next to the feeding trough, as the moonlight shone down on them. Someone closed their truck door just loud enough for a turkey roosted in a nearby tree to shock gobble in response. Our hearts skipped a beat, and moon beams danced off lit up eyeballs. Upon arriving at the ranch late Friday night, we stepped out of the truck, took a deep breath of country air, which smelled like grass, blooming trees and cow feed all jumbled together. The cattle lingered next to the feeding trough, as the moonlight shone down on them. Someone closed their truck door just loud enough for a turkey roosted in a nearby tree to shock gobble in response. Our hearts skipped a beat, and moon beams danced off lit up eyeballs. Introductions to Jeff's family were made and stories rolled off tongues, as thick as the mud kicked off our boots, collected from the short trek in from the truck to the back door. Guns, whiskey, brands, hunting ... on and on it went. By now, it was well past midnight and the roosted turkey in the tree just outside the door was still on my mind. I gave in and called it a night. I think the guys stayed up until well past 2:00 AM before crawling into bed. We all moved a little slower than anticipated in response to the 5:00 wake-up call on Saturday morning. As a result, when we attempted to make our way into the first tree line in the pasture across the road from the ranch house, the turkeys beat us to it. We were caught and decided to carefully set up our decoys in Steve's front yard! We laughed at how funny this looked and also chuckled because all night Steve had been teasing us about the fact that a big 'ol Tom kept visiting his garden; therefore, hanging out on the porch might be the best idea instead of going out and doing all this "hunting stuff." We ended up watching three huge Toms cross the back of the pasture as they chased a couple hens through the tree line. They apparently weren't interested in picking corn seed out of Steve's garden that morning. The rest of the day, we chased those darn turkeys all around the ranch. Convinced that it wasn't all for naught, we made ourselves feel better and decided we now have a good feel for lay of the land, and figured out the turkey's routine. In all honesty, we laughed a lot at ourselves at all the mistakes we made, and the fact that we could give great advice on how not to turkey hunt. There's a lot we could have done better, but that's part of the experience and fun of the hunt. For example ... We decided after a few unsuccessful set ups, it would be smart to try splitting up and increasing our odds. Jeff headed to the North, while Troy and I made our way to the South. Not long after Troy and I nestled into the tree line, we saw several turkeys feeding in the next pasture. They eventually moved on and we were left wondering if we should circle back and move to a different location. As we turned around, there was Jeff, walking down the ravine headed our way. Up above him, out of his view, were several turkeys walking along the ridge. I motioned to Troy to alert Jeff that turkeys were up above him. Jeff was oblivious. Finally Troy stood up and motioned for Jeff to stop. However, he then proceeded to perform a turkey dance mixed with random hand signals to alert Jeff. Troy's re-enactment had me rolling! There was Troy, trying to keep Jeff from spooking the turkeys, yet he was flapping his arms, squatting like a turkey and putting his hand on his chest, moving it up and down, which I could only guess meant that one of the turkeys had a tow rope hanging from his chest. Where was the video camera for this impromptu turkey charade moment in the woods?! As we finally laid our heads down on Saturday night, rolling thunder in the distance lulled us to sleep. However, not even thunderstorms looming in the distance could keep us from jumping out of bed the next morning. We learned our lesson the previous day and were ready to get in the woods well before sun up. Adding to the excitement was the fact that we'd put a turkey to bed the night before. In fact, we tore down our blinds and reset them up in the dark to get in the best position for the morning. That was an experience in itself! As the storm kicked up, I started to worry a bit if perhaps finding a storm shelter might be a better idea then huddling in a blind. At the first crack of thunder, we quickly learned that we were tucked in our blinds almost directly under not one, but several roosted turkeys. The storm kicked up, along with the crescendo response of the thunder / gobble chorus echoing through the turkey woods, followed with an exclamation point of lightening after each interlude. Eventually the turkeys flew down from their roost and as the storm raged, all we could hear and see was rain pounding down around us. Once the storms past, we regrouped and decided to head to the top pasture later that afternoon. A lazy river flowed through a deep ravine, below us. We guessed that the turkeys that disappeared in far pasture yesterday, flew up to this secluded pasture above, a corner pocket of land, tucked next to the train tracks and out of view from the nearest road. The plan worked because after a short calling sequence, the first turkey snuck in on us. Again, cue up the "how not to turkey hunt" instructions because we were reading straight out of that play book! For some reason we second guessed our set up, and after placing the decoys in the open pasture above, we decided to face the section of land that stretched to the ravine below. Yes, you read that correctly. We were not facing our decoys. Turkey hunting basics 101 ... face your decoys! Anyway, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. My peripheral vision picked up four young Toms making their way RIGHT THROUGH our decoys, only 20 yards from where we were sitting. (Stop laughing. Okay - laugh. We already have.) I slowly tried to switch positions and get my shot gun pointed at the biggest Jake, but they kept moving away with the same speed as my shot gun. By the time Jeff realized what was going on, they were on his side of the tree, but now Troy was right in the middle between Jeff and the turkeys. Jeff slowly moved into position, waiting for the turkeys to make their way safely past Troy. From my angle, all I could see was turkeys behind Troy and Jeff eyeing the turkeys walking behind Troy. I kept whispering loudly ... "Don't shoot Troy! Jeff, don't shoot my husband!" Troy simply covered his ears and mouthed the words, "#$%!"(Well, I can't repeat exactly what he said.) The turkeys didn't read the cue cards, or maybe they did, because they continued right up the hill behind Troy, never giving Jeff a safe shot on the other side of Troy. Our Monday morning hunt brought with it hopes of not going home empty handed. We had one more chance before throwing in the towel. We decided we wanted revenge on the turkeys that snuck up on us the day before. This time, Jeff and I sat against the same tree. I had an 180 degree view of one side, and Jeff had the other 180 degrees covered. Not long after settling in, four turkeys made their way along the ridge on Jeff's side of the tree. It was a different group of turkeys than yesterday - all shooters! He was able to pull off a 40+ yard shot and dropped the biggest turkey of the group. For the first time, I got to see up close how big these birds really are. It was my first time experiencing a turkey kill. What an amazing medley of ugly and beautiful ~ truly an amazing animal! Jeff's 2014 KS Rio A mixture of emotions washed over me as we left the ranch that Monday. I was thrilled to have had a chance at a turkey, experienced the joy of being with Jeff as he shot his first multiple-beard turkey, and once again enjoyed the thrill of the hunt. However, I'll admit that I was sad to have an unpunched turkey tag safely tucked in my pocket once again. Fast forward to a few weeks later. An impromptu weekend hunt was about to unfold ... Troy finagled a last-minute trade, allowing him to get the weekend off. We were headed back to Kansas for a quick Sat / Sun hunt. This time, I was able to sneak out of work a little earlier on Friday, which allowed us to roll into the ranch as the sun was slipping down over the horizon. Once again, a turkey was roosted right across the road from the ranch house. However, this time everyone knew that once the 5:00 alarm went off, we had to make tracks and get set up before the first crack of dawn. By the time the sun slowly swept across the horizon, we were already nestled against the bases of trees, waiting for the first gobble. Almost on cue, a chorus of gobbles and clucks filtered down from the trees above. Then, not long after... flap, flap, swoosh, and we were watching turkeys make their way into the field below. The only problem ... they flew down into the neighbor's 80 acres that we didn't have permission to hunt on. So we waited and hoped the turkeys would make their way towards us and cross over the fence. After a while they slipped out of our line of vision. Jeff cautiously made his way to the fence to see if they were still in the field and if we could move up the fence line to put us in better position, if they crossed over. A tree stand made for a quick way to scope out the situation. Sure enough the Tom and his hens were on the Northern edge, and he was strutting around showing off for the ladies. Jeff grabbed the decoys and whispered, "Let's get this bird!" Careful to stay close to the ground, we worked our way up the pasture, dodging fresh cow pies. Troy was left with the camera in the last section of cover, while Jeff and I crawled onward. At the last bush along the fence line we watched and waited. Nerves almost got the best of me, as I watched through my Hawke sport optics and realized that the bird we were now chasing was probably the biggest one on the ranch. Jeff then looked at me, and smiled saying ... "This bird has a TOW ROPE! We are getting this turkey. I want him dead, and you are going to kill him!" We sat and watched as he finally made his way back onto Steve's property, maybe a 100 yards off. At one point we thought we might be able to pull him off his hens, as he cautiously looked our way, but then proceeded to cut away from us to the edge of the property. As Mr. Tow Rope proceeded to head towards the road, Jeff got excited. I was confused. The conversation went something like this ... "Here's the plan, Emily: We are going to RUN back to the house, get permission to hunt the neighbor's property across the road, unload our shot guns, pile in the car, drive over there and cut this turkey off. I want this bird dead. I'm tired of him messing with us. It's going to work." I smiled and promptly replied, "You're crazy, Jeff. That's not going to work, but it sounds fun. Let's try it!" Troy simply hook his head as we grabbed the decoys and ran through the pasture. Upon reaching the house, we were a sweaty mess. I made quick time of unloading my gun, tossing gear in the trunk and climbing in the back of the back seat of the car, placing my now cow-pie laden boots strategically on the floor mats. Within seconds, Jeff was running from the house with a smile now spreading from ear to ear, giving away the good news ... permission granted! The plan was coming together. I am not starting to believe this might actually work. As we drove down the road, those turkeys had pitched over to the field below and were working towards the tree line. We drove on ahead and piled out about 100 years in front of them. Troy whipped out the video camera, as Jeff and I quickly loaded shot guns. I grabbed my heads up decoy, knowing that Mr. Tow Rope would not like another Tom messing with his girls. I glanced back to see both Jeff and Troy simultaneously motion for me to go for it, except they both wanted me to belly crawl. On the side of the road. What? That is not happening. I figured if I couldn't see the turkeys yet, then they couldn't see me. I opted to duck walk up the road to keep my profile low. In my mind, I was thinking, "Oh dear Lord, I really hope that a car doesn't drive by about now." I'm sure I looked hilarious, but I didn't care. If hilarity meant a dead bird in a few minutes, I was okay with that. Shot gun in one arm and decoy in the other, with my butt low to the ground, I waddled as fast as possible up the side of the road. As I reached the edge of the pasture, I knew it was time to start belly crawling, down the ditch and up to the ledge. As I crested the ledge, through the weeds, I could see "Tow Rope" about 60-70 yards off ... strutting his stuff. Then I heard, "Putt!" and a hen's head pops up within a few feet of where I'm laying. "Putt, putt" Going through my head about now is the thought, "Oh Emily ... either make something happen quickly or you are about to get busted!!" Mrs Put Putt's boyfriend is now starting to get nervous and begins to walk away. I slowly raise up the Heads Up decoy to get his attention. Boy did it ever! He took one look at the Tom right next to his hen and got all kinds of upset. He turned, and proceeded to walk towards me in a huff. I then realized I had a Tom coming my way fast and it was time to put the decoy down and get the gun up. Bead on the head ... Boom! As soon as my gun went off and I saw "Tow Rope" take a nose dive in the dirt, I dropped my gun and ran as fast as I could into the ditch by the road. I had just killed my first turkey and it was a big one! Mr. Tow Rope is dead. Shout out to Heads Up Decoy - pulled in my first turkey nicely! 1 1/4 inch spur and 1 inch spur (tip was broken off 2nd spur) Emily's first turkey - Kansas Rio
Beard = 11 1/2 inches Three hours past midnight, the alarm sounds, marking the beginning of the day's events. Sleep is quickly wiped away from the hunter's eyes. An adventure is about to unfold, she is sure of it. She doesn't mind the early rising, because it means arriving at the base of a tree, shot gun in tow, before a sleeping bird roosted above has a chance to detect the base of the tree is now wider and longer than the day before. As a reward for being willing to chase the early morning hours, before they slip into the shadows and give birth to the first rays of light, she now leans against the security of a tall pine and waits eagerly for the day to awaken. In silence, she waits. Patches of snow give evidence of a recent spring storm in the mountains, leaving the only foot prints between the hunter and the truck parked just off the road. In walking in that morning, sounds of broken snow shattered the silence. In response to the crunch, a dozen or so eyeballs met the hunter as a family of deer looked up from their morning snack of new growth on the forest floor. A quick text to a friend to verify the location, and she is sure that the spot over-looking an open meadow might be the lucky location for a first turkey kill. A fence line, sprinkled with unblemished no trespassing signs, warned to go no further than the first clearing. With the wind picking up, dampening the sounds of any nearby gobbles, she strains to hear the first call. All is silent, except for the wind whistling past pine branches and whipping the loose strands of hair that escaped from the braid under her camouflage hat. A nearby private section of ground was just due east of her location. Clearly marking the claimed land, a fence line stitched a seam into the land, and making sure to be respectful of the owner, she faces away toward public land. A great roosting tree was just over that line, giving proof that the turkeys seemed to know where the safety zone was located each night. Maybe, just maybe, a turkey would wander out of the safety zone this morning. The hunter settles in, and waits. The business of life attempts to ruin the tranquility of the moment. Not used to sitting in silence, without an agenda, no meetings, phones to answer or "to do lists" to cross off, the waiting almost becomes a chore. Almost. It is peaceful and the sounds of the forest quickly wash over a tired soul. Just as she is letting it all sink in ... An unsuspected sound cuts through the morning air. In a moments notice, a figure appears on the hill above. The sound of a round loaded into a handgun is as clear as day, which become mixed up in muffled, unclear words about trespassing and being on private land. She methodically stands up, showing her shotgun and taking off her face mask slowly. Once the man is within hearing distance, she apologizes and points out the fence line and yellow public land signs. Upon realizing that she didn't intend to trespass and had legitimately reviewed maps to respect his land, he was appreciative. This was my experience two weeks ago, when I met Sprite, the hippie Indian. It's true ... he even showed me his driver's license! I got such a kick out of meeting a hippie Indian in the mountains. Who can say that? However, I never imagined that the encounter would begin with having a gun pulled on me. No one wants to come face-to-face with that reality. I now know, in a small way, how I would react if someone pulled a gun on me, after Sprite threatened me that morning. I feel like I handled it appropriately, and read the situation well. Granted, he didn't hold a gun to my head or anything crazy like that, but the threat was apparent. Pulling the slide back and then waving it in my general direction was enough to get my attention. I later learned, that the issue he had, was that the public land I was on, he said was annexed for a future build. He was gracious and brought me onto his property, introduced me to his wife, showed me maps, etc. I asked exactly where the annexed property was and let him know we would be back up in a couple of weeks. I felt like we left on good terms ... he even reassured me that if people would just talk to him, he'd show them around and let them know where the turkeys were. In my mind, I had done just that, made a friend who wouldn't bother me again during future turkey hunts ... we even stopped to chat with his wife as we drove down the road later that night. After retelling my morning adventure to my friend, Jeff, who met me on the mountain to hunt turkeys that day, we became curious about the whole annex thing. He was also concerned about the gun incident, which I understand as a normal protective reaction that any guy would have. This is also the reason I was hesitant to tell my husband, Troy ... I might never be allowed to hunt solo again! Since there was a local Forest Service building in town, we stopped in to get more information regarding the annexed land, get updated maps, verify boundaries, etc. We simply wanted to do the right thing, and make sure that we could still hunt the property to the North ... there was a section marked as public, but the fresh private property signs were a bit confusing. This is the side of the property that wasn't annexed. The law official at the Forest Service station mentioned that he didn't know anything about that land being annexed and would stop by Sprite's house to have a chat, to get the scoop. He also mentioned to us that the yellow public land signs were legitimate because they had just recently surveyed the land, and as long as we stayed on the public side of the signs, we were fine. It was our land. We thanked him and let him know we appreciated his time. Honestly, I felt good about the whole situation. However, the story of Sprite continues ... a few days later, Jeff was kicked off the other side of the land by our hippie Indian friend, even though Jeff was on the public land side, according to the signs. It saddens my heart, because I had thought we did the right thing... talk to the land owner, talk to the Forest Service, obeyed the signs, etc. However, I can see where Sprite thought we "called the cops on him." Yes, during the course of the conversation, we let the Forest Service know that he pulled a gun on me and told me I was trespassing ... I was still a little shaken up by the whole thing. Honestly, I'm not sure if I'll hunt that area again. If I do, maybe I'll stop in and bring Sprite a 12 pack of soda as a peace offering. I haven't decided yet. So what about you?
Have you ever encountered any issues while hunting public land? Do you think I handled the situation well? Would you have done anything different? I want to know ... This time of year, it is easy to find yourself going a little stir-crazy. Some call it Spring fever. I call it ... the Hunting Interim. Hunting friends, I know you can relate. The snow is beginning to melt, my chives and daffodils are forcing their way out of the dirt, giving the dull, brown ground, an instant splash of color. My camouflage and hunting gear have now been sorted, rearranged and inventoried more than once. Turkey season is looming just around the corner. Fall hunting tags are in the process of being submitted, with hopes that accumulated preference points will help in finally drawing that once-in-a-lifetime tag. My check lists are getting crossed off, one by one ... e.g., closets are cleaned, the basement is almost completely cleaned up, and I really shouldn't make one more batch of cookies. So to help pass the time, and yet still be productive ... I decided to get creative and make camp towels! You know those old towels that have begun to fray at the ends? You can only cut off the fraying ends so many times. You wash it only to have a bigger mess than what you started with. Don't throw those old towels out! Here is an easy way to fix up those old towels and turn them into hunting / camp towels. Although, I have to admit that some of these beauties have found their way into my kitchen. I really like the way they've turned out. Step 1: Cut your towel into the desired hand towel dimension Step 2: Sew the top and sides to prevent fraying - make sure to tuck in the frayed part. It should really almost be folded over twice. I then stitched two rows down each side to give it added reinforcement. See below picture. (FYI ~ Don't be tempted to just cut your towel and make rags. The next time you wash them, it will be a mess ... little pieces of towel will show up everywhere! Trust me. Don't try it.) Step 3: Cut out fabric trim for the end. (I used old camouflage scrap fabric - which gives it a perfect accent, especially if using for camp / hunting towels) Make sure to leave a little extra for each side. You'll fold it over after it is attached and hem it on the back side. Fold fabric over about 1/2 inch, and iron. Then sew it to the front, top part of the bottom section of your towel. (See below) Step 4: Once the fabric accent is attached, fold over the bottom piece and pin to the bottom of the towel. You can either machine stitch it or hand sew. I opted to hand sew it so that I didn't have a seam on the bottom (front side Step 5: Fold over the sides, using the same process as the bottom. Again, I hand stitched the sides so the seam doesn't show on the front.
All done! You can easily make 4 hand towels from an old, frayed towel. It's been said that there is joy in the journey. A true statement, but while you are in the middle of the story, there are times when it's easy to get lost in the struggle. Lactic acid builds up in the muscles and momentary pain gives the sojourner a short-lived amnesia, forgetting the reason they came. Soreness clouds the vision, bringing with it a temptation to give in ... dismissing the fact that the pain is temporary. Oh. My. Aching muscles! The thought of climbing up and down a mountain again, had us thinking twice about whether or not we left our sanity down in that hole yesterday. Once again, Rudy, Troy and I found ourselves at the top rim, packs fully loaded for a day of chasing after the bulls in the bottom. This time, we were going to take our time, locate the elk and then go on attack late afternoon. The sun broke through late morning, and we sat comfortably on a berm as we glassed the elk haven, just across the way. Banana chips, swedish fish, and a cup of coffee were consumed as we verified where the elk were hanging out. Spread across an open section of the mountain, scattered with rocks and pines, this berm provided the perfect cover as we peered down. The warmth of the sun was welcomed as it heated the rocks around us and continued to dry out the saturated ground. I picked up a stick and began to draw in the dirt, then proceeded to braid grass and create a bracelet for my wrist. Rudy and Troy compared GPS data. We were passing the time, waiting for the right moment to advance further down. As the sun crept higher in the sky, the elk slipped into the shelter of the pines. We decided it was time to sneak down to the bottom section. Taking caution to stay in the shadows, we moved down. A few more hundred yards down and we were now level with the entrance to the elk haven. All that needed to be done was navigate across the beaver dams, and we would be in a good position for the afternoon hunt. However, it was still a little early to move across and take a chance of prematurely waking a sleeping bull, or two. Over a freeze-dried mountain house meal, I pestered Rudy about his camera equipment and he briefly showed me how things work. I received a quick 5-10 minute lesson on how to run Rudy's camera. I was loving it, but a little overwhelmed. Wow! Everything on his camera is set up to be used manually ~ sound, focus, brightness, etc. If I had to operate this camera with a bull screaming at me, I'm sure that I'd forget to do something! I now had a new appreciation for Rudy's videography skills. Finally, it was time to navigate through the beaver dams. The trick we discovered was to find the game trail. It still isn't the easiest of paths, but there is definitely an advantage. Now familiar with the drill ... Up and down we went. It felt like dejavu, a reoccurring dream, or something that had been previously rehearsed. However, if yesterday's hunt was the dress-rehearsal, the opening curtain was about to be lifted. Periodically, we'd let out a bugle, and receive a response that echoed back to us. We were now playing a game of Marco Polo with a bull in nasty territory, his back yard. So far he was winning, but we were closing the distance. Knowing the general area of where he was located, we decided to go in quiet and set up before giving away our location. This time, I chose the high spot, 50 yards above where Rudy and Troy were situated in front of a huge pine. In front of us were 30-40 yard lanes, then a ditch that contained a small grove of aspens that blended into the steep terrain on the other side. An incline, held together by pines reaching upwards to the ridge above, contained a bull who was destroying trees in a display of dominance. With a Heads-Up decoy pinned to a branch behind me, our set up seemed perfect. I let out a couple cow calls, signaling to the guys below that I was ready. Troy challenged the bull above with a bugle, and the games began! I saw a flash of brown, as the bull ran through the pines on the ridge. Back and forth, from one side of the ridge to the other, he would slip in and out of view. Bow at the ready, I was sure at any moment, I might have an opportunity to release an arrow. Then silence. These are what I like to call "adrenaline confused" moments ... with all your might, you try and constrain the adrenaline rush that is about to surge through your body, but some of the pre-adrenaline sneaks through and you are on high alert, red bull status. If you could bottle this, it would put all energy drinks out of business. Then from down by Troy and Rudy ~ a warning bark broke the silence! It was close. Really close. What I couldn't see from my vantage point, was a spike elk that had snuck up on the guys below, and was about to give away our location. Troy and Rudy were pinned down, and couldn't get the curious fellow to leave them alone. Knowing that a bigger bull was on the heels of the spike, Rudy told Troy, "Just bugle as loud as you can at the spike." Troy ripped of one of the most gnarly bugles I've ever heard. I thought it was the bull! The challenge worked! The spike tucked his tail, left without spooking the other elk, and the bigger bull was drawn in, like a moth to a flame. Seeing the bull come in, down and up the drainage, Rudy began to give Troy a play-by-play. "Here he comes, stop him. Troy, call. Stop him." However, Troy, quickly responded with, "Not yet. I'll stop him when I'm ready." The bull continued past the pine tree, forty yards in front of Troy, and a single cow-call escaped from Troy's lips, stopping the bull in his tracks. Not seeing any of this from my vantage point, I was up above still thinking the bull was in the ditch below. Then I heard the familiar sound .... THAWK!! I knew that sound immediately. I began to cow call and sat down with a big old grin on my face. We were going to be packing an elk up this mountain tonight. After several minutes I received the hand wave to come down and join the guys. Troy was worried about his shot because it was a little farther back than what he wanted, but with a good angle and deep penetration, we were positive the bull would expire soon. Since we didn't want to push him any further down the mountain, we decided to give it an hour before following the blood trail ... just to be safe. While we waited, we practiced our cow calling and quietly formulated a plan on the best way to carry the elk up the mountain. Maybe it would be best to go straight up and try to find the trail from our FUNT several nights ago. We appeared to be just below that area, and it would mean shaving off 1/2 a mile. A short distance on flat ground, but a world of difference when carrying an elk UP a mountain. When Troy could no longer take the torture of waiting, he slowly began to follow the blood trail down the ditch. Just as we were about to make our way out into an open section, Rudy's eyes got big and he waved us over. "Elk!" There was a bull nonchalantly grazing just below us. Troy and I both simultaneously told Rudy, "Get your bow!" As Rudy advanced down the hill in stealth-mode, I somehow found myself holding his camera, and motioning for Troy to bugle. The bull seemed to care less that another bull was above him making a commotion. Troy would run back a hundred yards, bugle and cow call and then make his way back down to me. Several times, I'd motion Troy back with the instruction, "Keep calling - He's still down there." The bull wasn't interested in fighting, or talking. He was simply hungry, and if there was a bull with cows up above, that was cool with him. He'd come up when he was done. Rudy sat patiently waiting. Finally, this bull decided he better make his way up the hill and see what all the fuss was about. Troy was doing a great job of sounding like a herd of elk! As the bull broke through a section of pines, Rudy had a perfect fifty yard shot. THAWK! The arrow found it's mark. The bull pin-wheeled and was dead thirty yards from where the arrow sliced through both lungs. We now had two dead bulls within a hundred yards of each other! Troy came over the hill, not knowing what happened, and wondering if I was going to motion him back again. This time, I had the front-row seat, and somehow managed to capture it on Rudy's fully manual camera. As we sat in disbelief at what just unfolded, I asked the guys, "Do you feel better now?" Rudy's response ... "Yah, let's get some pancakes!" That evening we deboned two bull elk in the back country via moonlight, hung all the meat securely in the trees, and spent the next day carrying our precious cargo up the mountainside. The three of us walked up and down that mountain twice the following day, with loaded down packs. If you ask us, we will still recall how painful that was, but ultimately ... there is joy in the journey, especially when it results in a freezer full of meat. A few of the footsteps permanently burned in the hillside are from us, and if you listen closely, the sound of "elk steak, elk steak" still echoes through the pines down in the DMZ.
Remember what it was like to dance in the rain? A soft steady rain on a late summer day became the perfect reason to toss socks and shoes aside. Bare feet splashed carelessly through puddles. Water sprayed upwards and clashed with raindrops descending down, a collision of pure joy. This mixture of mud, rain, and the smell of it all somehow brought an uncontrolled smile to the dancer, and in a way cleansed the soul. That is kind of what it is like to hunt elk in the rain. I'm brought back to those moments of carefree dances, and a smile slowly creeps over my face. I can't help it. There were plenty of moments last season when the rain had us wanting to throw in the towel, and exchange cold, wet camouflage for dry clothes back at camp. While huddled under a pine tree it is tempting to complain about getting wet, but those are also the times I often reflect back on. It is the pivotal point where the story is unfolding. The magical moments in the rain collide ... the smell, the sound, the struggle; and produce hunting opportunities that hold us captive. A pine branch offers temporary shelter, redirecting the rain until it can no longer retain the water. Drip. Drip. Splash! The hunter is then left with a choice: wait for the storm to pass, call it a day, or maybe, just maybe .... hunt in the rain. In other words ~ Step in the puddle, get a little muddy, and dance. This is where we found ourselves this morning. More rain was heading our way. We weren't held captive yet by a mountain storm, huddled under a tree, but with the possibility of that becoming our reality, a decision had to be made. We could either hunt close to camp, or don rain gear, put on mud-caked boots and journey back down into the canyon. After experiencing the close encounter with a bull and a few of his cows down in the DMZ yesterday, the allure of trying again was just too great. Our legs were tired, but our spirits where high. Once again, we ended up climbing down the mountainside, while constraining the thought that it meant climbing back up at the end of the day. Like a magnet pulling us down, we yielded to the force of the elk. Half-way down we stopped and decided to glass the hill-side to make sure our efforts were not made in vain. It didn't take long for Troy to spot movement. Sure enough we found our elk! Since they were one more ridge over from the spot where the cow practically licked Rudy's neck yesterday, we decided to move fast and get in a good position before starting to call. The heavy mist in the air began to roll through, and gave the appearance like something out of a dream. It was frightening and beautiful at the same time. At any moment we were sure that an elk would step through the fog, let out a screaming bugle and scare the snot out of us. Choosing our footing carefully, we traversed the beaver lands. Threats of revenge on the flat-tailed critters that caused this mess of downed trees, were voiced as we pushed our way through. Sections of logs and branches reaching heights taller than Troy and Rudy, had each of us momentarily disappearing into the beaver mess, only to pop up again into view as the next section is crested. Up and Over, Down and Up we went. The thought on all of our minds ... what are we going to do if we end up shooting an elk down here! Finally, we reached the first clearing of sorts. Two large pine trees sat prominently on a hill, marking a section that opens up leading to a pond just above. Beyond that, just a couple hundred yards away, a large bowl filled with pine trees reaches up to a mountain ridge ~ a secluded elk sanctuary. Troy broke the silence and let out a bugle. An answer was received! From what we could tell, it sounded like the bull was in the pines lining the bottom edge of the elk sanctuary. He had to be close! After a few more attempts to figure out exactly where he was, we realized it was probably time to put some pressure on this bull. He was still a little too comfortable. We hustled to the next section of pines. From this vantage point we could see the cows on the slope. They were just above a slide. If we played our cards right, this bull might just come down and take a stand to defend his ladies. The clouds became thicker and the rain began to fall. It was honestly beautiful. Slowly and steadily it came down. All three of us were now huddled under a solo pine on a hill that overlooked the entrance to the elk sanctuary. I wish I would have taken a picture of this tree. It had a perfect hole through the center of it. I'm not joking. A round window seemed to be carved out of the trunk just for us, for the single purpose of spying on elk in this moment of time, while the rain fell down around us. Finally we couldn't take it any longer. As we watched the bull circle round and make his way up to the cows, we ditched our packs under the tree with the looking window and made a dash for the pine trees at the base of the mountain. Troy ripped off another bugle as loud as he could. It worked. This bull was mad and came screaming down the hill. Troy was positioned at the bottom of the hill and I was 20 yards behind him to the left. He ran the ridge just 60 yards above us, bugling and straining to see his challenger below. With only an incredibly steep angle shot presented, Troy made the decision to pass this time. The bull worked the ridge-line back and forth, but wouldn't commit to coming any further. He finally decided to check on his cows above and we then advanced up the ridge-line after him. For some reason, our communication broke down a bit here, in the midst of the excitement. Rudy and Troy followed the trail up, and I stayed down half-way on the trail and continued to cow call. Then another bull showed up below us! I don't know what happened, but I spotted Troy motioning me to get back down the slope and try to get in position. We had elk running everywhere! It was actually a bit comical thinking back on it. In all the commotion, I'm not sure if the bull saw me or something just didn't feel right to him. He was mad and running back and forth bugling, but never came back in close enough for a shot. In the end, we were wet, tired and sore. Our gear was scattered all around the entrance of an elk haven. Stomachs were empty and growling in protest of forgotten dinner. Arrows had yet to be released from our bows, but smiles were permanently planted on our faces. We had just danced with elk in the rain. Arriving back in camp, packs were immediately prepared for the morning. Encouraged by our bull encounter that night, it was now time to get serous. No more FUNTS. Come morning, tennis shoes would be exchanged for boots, and packs would be strategically loaded with gear needed for hunting the DMZ. Everything was inspected and ready to grab in the early morning hour: water, rope, GPS, food, knives, rain gear, etc. With packs neatly lined up by the camper door, we were restless but not quite ready for bed. One of the bonuses of hunting from a camper is having the luxury of watching movies in camp. I know, I KNOW... some may frown upon this, but honestly, it is sometimes nice to cozy up in your camper, and fall asleep to a hunting video or movie while the rain dances down on the camper ceiling. So there we were, three hunters sitting on a couch, anticipating the next day, eating bowls of steaming soup, and watching a movie. You are picturing this in your head, right? The movie we were watching? RED (Retired and Extremely Dangerous) The levity of this movie was just what we needed. Rudy, Troy and I laughed until our stomachs hurt. During the last scene in the movie, Frank asks Marvin after shooting a bad guy, "Feel better now?" Marvin promptly responds with, "Yeah. You guys want pancakes?" Heading to town for a hearty breakfast of chicken fried steak and eggs after a successful hunt is a tradition that has developed over the years. The one criteria ~ Whomever shoots the elk is buying! As we all went to bed this evening with thoughts of killing, pancakes and the sound of rain sprinkling down on the camper roof, a new tradition might be in the works. Mmmm... pancakes! The next morning, rain continued to threaten our planned hunt, but we were determined to make something happen. We made our way to our familiar entrance to the DMZ. The hope was that we could catch some elk on the top section and maybe not have to test the strength in our legs. As the fog rolled through the top pasture, we found ourselves at the DMZ overlook waiting for a break where we could scan the section below. If my memory serves me correctly, Troy was a little grumpy this morning. The deal he made with Rudy and myself was that IF we heard or saw elk in the bottom section, we would chase after them. (Confession: We may have prodded him a bit and encouraged the grumpiness.) So we waited for the fog to lift and strained to hear any answers to our bugles. Silence. While Rudy and I gave each other looks, we would tell Troy, "Bugle again." All was quiet. So we waited. Then without saying a word, we would give Troy puppy dog eyes as if to say, let's just go down there. We promptly received the answer, "NO." Troy is an experienced elk hunter and is often my voice of reason when I push him to do crazy ideas. If there aren't any elk in the area, there's no sense in wearing ourselves out. After an hour or so, the fog lifted and we crept a little further down to where we could see the terrain below us and scan the trees. Troy ripped off a bugle, and we received an answer! Rudy and I both immediately looked at Troy, and he replied .... "Let's go!" We hustled down over a ravine, and through an open section to find cover in a grove of pines. We would set up, bugle and wait. Each time, an answer was received. Bugles were exchanged back and forth. In what seemed to be a stand off, this bull was stubborn and standing his ground. He wasn't getting any closer. After fifteen - thirty minutes in each set up, we would hustle to the next location to see if we could call him up. However, he was happy down in the bottom and wasn't going to budge. So we would advance further and further down the mountainside. Once we were near the bottom, there was one final large ditch between a line of aspen and a section of pines. We decided to make one more move. We could tell we were close. Just as we crossed over to the section of pines that marked an entrance to a nasty sequence of beaver dams, the fog increased and the low-laying clouds couldn't hold the rain any longer. We were about to get soaked. A grove of three pines huddled together with a downed tree in front of them became our shelter. We had made it this far, so we decided to wait out the rain. As Rudy broke down his camera equipment to shelter it from the downpour, Troy and I took off our packs and settled in on the opposite side of the pines. Just as we inched as close as we could under the shelter of the huge pine boughs, Troy mouthed the words, "Don't move!" Elk had ambushed us. A cow elk was now practically sniffing Rudy's backside ... a foot or two away! As we tried not to laugh at Rudy's expression, Troy found himself slowly reaching for his bow. A bull was not far behind the cow. The whole experience was comical to us because 1) Rudy had just put away all his camera equipment, and 2) everyone else had seen elk so far this year, except for Rudy... and now one was sniffing his neck! After what seemed like forever, Troy was finally able to get his bow. He quickly stepped up on the downed tree and drew his bow back. The bull was now at around 40 yards, but didn't give Troy a good angle. A quick warning bark from the bull was let out and the elk disappeared back into the dense fog as quickly as they ambushed us, leaving us with a reminder of why elk are often referred to as ghosts of the Rockies.
By this time, the hours in the day were building up. As the rain continued to come down, we made the decision to begin the long haul back up the mountain. It was a good hunt, and we now had a very good reason to try again in the morning. You see, what I didn't tell you earlier, is the fact that we had definitely heard more than one bugle response. There were multiple bulls in this hole, maybe four. The story of the 2013 Elk Double Down ... I'm not sure how or when the area was first coined this name, but we all know the area immediately whenever someone in our hunting camp suggests we drop down into the DMZ, aka the Dead Man's Zone. To some, it is an acronym that has military references, and for fire fighters it has a whole other meaning, but for us hunters ... It's the place where the hunter finds himself looking down into a mountainous canyon, wondering if he can call the elk up instead of venturing down. Sometimes the call of the elk on the ridge beyond is too great a temptation, and the hunter journeys down. This is exactly where we found ourselves last September. Our "Dead Man's Zone" is a valley or hole in the mountain where we've found elk before, but crawling out of the area with an elk on your back will have you quickly wishing for a tow rope. Still echoing across the canyon from seasons past are the sounds of hunters with elk-laden packs ... thoughts of "one more step" and "elk steak, elk steak" seem to be burned into the hill-side with each footstep, as the hunter carries his quarry up and out of the canyon below. Like a fossil of previous hunts, these steps serve as both a warning and encouragement to the next hunter who finds himself peering down from the ridge. They beckon the hunter to move forward, yet warn of incredible fatigue. A choice has to be made. Last September, we chose to venture down. The evening before chasing after elk in the canyon below, we had located a bull. So we knew there was a good chance of having an encounter the next day. Here's what happened ... All throughout the day, unforgiving rain continued to pour out of the heavens. We had become used to the conversation about the cold, wet, and mud. On a whim after a late lunch, as the sun forced it's way through the overcast sky, we decided to not waste the evening. We were restless and ready to hunt. Bows were grabbed, and hastily put together packs were thrown in the back of the truck. We named our stir-crazy attempt at chasing elk that night... a FUNT. Translation? Fun Hunt. Making our way to the top of the canyon, we decided to follow a path down a couple hundred yards. It was a section that we hadn't become familiar with (yet), and often wondered if it would provide an easier way in and out of the "Dead Man's Zone." Since my boots were drying out in preparation for the next day's hunt, I had tennis shoes on. Remember, this evening hunt was to be a low-stressed FUNT; therefore, I carried a light pack, a few snacks in my sweatshirt, and a bottle of water. Of course, as if on queue the elk knew that we weren't taking them seriously. At the sound of the first locator bugle, we received an answer below. And we were off! Down we went a couple hundred yards and set up in anticipation of the bull making his way up the "hill."
Laid across the mountainside, fingers of aspen groves took on the appearance of a hand print impressed upon the slope, as if a giant leaned against the mountain and peeked across the ridge, leaving his mark. Meadows dispersed themselves in between aspen finger impressions. Settled in the edge of an aspen grove, we strained to locate the approaching elk, hoping he would make his way up our aspen finger cut against the ridge or make the fatal mistake of crossing the clearing in front of us. Bugling back and forth, he closed the distance. However, it wasn't meant to be this evening. The bull made his way up an adjacent aspen finger, giving us a brief glimpse of his existence and then slipping back into the shadows. Our FUNT ended that evening, as we said goodnight to the bull and climbed back up the trail in now soaked tennis shoes. Even though an arrow wasn't released, this brief encounter wasn't for naught. We not only discovered a new path in and out of the area, but we went to bed with the knowledge of where the elk were located ... at least one bull. A plan was formulating in our heads that night. Tomorrow, we would venture down. We made it! The first month of 2014 has come and gone. As we launch into February it means that turkey season is quickly approaching. While thankful for the emergence of Spring in the next few months, I'm reminded of how quickly time marches on. I posted an update on some of the products / companies that caught our attention while at SHOT Show last month, and promised a follow-up post. I'm afraid I got a little distracted with the excitement of a football team from Colorado headed to the Super Bowl and have neglected to wrap things up post SHOT Show. By now, us Coloradans are done licking our wounds and have fought back the urge to crawl back in the hole to hibernate with Punxsutawney Phil. Usually I complain through the month of January ... it is cold, hunting seasons have ended, putting away all the Christmas decor is a chore, and did I mention it is cold? This year was different, I don't know what happened, but January came and went in a flash. I think the distraction of SHOT Show helped me get through my January blues, but now that it is February, I realized I haven't shared all the wonderful products that I discovered several weeks ago at SHOT. My initial post after the show highlighted a few of the new products for 2014. However, I have more to share! While meandering through the miles of booths, we had the opportunity to see so many great products. As promised in our first SHOT Show post, here is our second list of products that deserve a shout out: FLASHBANG HOLSTERS Lisa Looper started her holster business after a creating a unique holster design for herself. She simply wanted an accessible, safe way to carry her gun. After quickly realizing that holsters designed for a man's body rarely work well for women, she was on a mission to discover a place to hide a gun without compromising style in order to accommodate a bulky holster. As a result, Flashbang holsters were born which utilizes the space just below the bust line. Word got out quickly about this new, clever design and her desire to simply protect her family developed into a business in concealed carry options for women. As I walked up to the Flashbang Holster booth, I immediately spied a friendly face. Britney Starr was hanging out showing off these amazing holsters. It was so fun to meet my friend that I've been chatting with online now for a couple years. One of the highlights of SHOT was getting to meet so many of my social media friends. She quickly showed me the Ava and the Betty holsters. I've had my eye on these holsters for a while now, and I can honestly say that after seeing them first hand, I want one for my own more than ever now. The soft leather back piece is amazing and am positive it would be comfortable as a concealed carry option. Ladies, if you are looking for concealed carry option, I would recommend checking out the various Flashbank Holster options. Also, new for 2014 ~ competition holster belts and Glock42 holsters As stated in their catalog ~ "It's a Heart Project!" Emily and Britney ~ checking out the Ava Holster My favorite feature ~ soft leather back piece that conforms to the wearer's shape GRIZZLY RIDGE Straight out of the catalog ~ "For outdoor enthusiasts, sportsmen, and nature lovers alike, the Grizzly Ridge line of outdoor meals and snacks is designed for those great adventures in the wild, or in your own backyard." Troy and I are always looking for food options for our backcountry hunts. Grizzly Ridge offers a great variety of freeze dried meals and snacks. We snacked on the honey coated banana slices while walking around at SHOT, and let me just say ... AMAZING! I'm positive this light-weight, potassium rich snack will be found in our packs this summer during our scouting trips. We are excited to try out their main meal options as well. One feature I really like about the packaging is the smaller bag size. While the serving size is comparable to other freeze-dried meal companies, the bag is smaller. Honestly, I've cut a good portion off the top of other packages and then freezer sealed the bag. If you've ever planned a back country hunt, you know how valuable every ounce is. Weight and space in your pack quickly become serious considerations. Check out the full line of Grizzly Ridge products here. LOWA BOOTS A good pair of boots while hunting in the mountains is one of the most important pieces of equipment to have, in my opinion. If your feet are cold, wet or tired, it can quickly end a hunt. Both Troy and I promised each other after last year's elk hunt, that the priority for our 2014 hunting shopping list would be quality hunting boots. LOWA boots are currently at the top of our list. After looking at these boots at SHOT, I'm especially excited about the Tibet hunting boot models made for women: Tibet LL WS and Tibet GTX. FIRST LITE We are fans of First Lite outerwear, merino wool and accessories. So navigating our way to the First Lite booth at SHOT was top of the list. Troy was excited to check out their new Sanctuary Insulated Jacket. Combining warmth and waterproof features, it is bound to be a favorite jacket for many hunters this Fall ... including my husband! Also, included in the First Lite line up for 2014 is a new North Branch Soft Shell Jacket, Halstead Tech Fleece, and Boundary Stormtight Pant. After attending ATA this past January, Aaron Farley offered a great review on his blog, Rustic Man, on the new First Lite products for 2014. I'd highly encourage you to check it out. First Lite: Go Farther, Stay Longer Sanctuary Insulated Jacket
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From the DrawWe are devoted to sharing our bowhunting stories. We have a passion for passing on our hunting heritage to our kids. From the draw in the mountains to the draw on paper, the moments live on. Categories
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May 2019
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