Autumn in the Aspens
Campfire Storyteller: Robert Hunt
My day begins at 4:30 a.m. with the alarm's call marking the start of a new adventure. Nestled within the warmth of my sleeping bag, I face the challenge of emerging and dressing for the day's sub-freezing temperatures. Fully layered and pack prepared, I wonder how many miles today's journey will cover.
The trail beckons before dawn, illuminated only by the glow of my headlamp. Darkness consumes everything else. Standing at10,000 feet makes the stars seem within arm's reach, encircling me in their celestial embrace.
I rely on the traditional tools of map and compass for navigation, a skill seemingly forgotten by a generation accustomed to touch screens. Determination sets in with five miles to traverse before the sun's rise. I pick a path through treacherous deadfall and dark timber as I gain elevation. The thin air at this altitude makes every breath a labor, necessitating frequent pauses to allow my heart's rhythm to slow. I could feel its pulsing even in my eyes.
I reach my destination an hour later. My heart races, this time fueled by anticipation. Months of preparation, studying maps, statistics and satellite imagery culminate in this moment. I hope the countless hours spent honing my skills at the range will also come into play.
Positioned at the timber's edge, overlooking an alpine meadow at tree line, the world slowly comes into focus and the landscape sparkles with frost under the sun's warming rays. The stillness feels heavy, with only the wind's pine-scented breath sweeping through the dense forest below. The morning chill intensifies as the thermals descend mountain slopes.
As the day unfolds, the wilderness reveals its inhabitants, each playing a role in the forest's symphony. The rustling leaves betray the presence of small creatures, while the occasional snap of a twig under the weight of larger fauna adds a sense of anticipation to my hunt.
The squirrels, ever industrious, scurry along branches, their chatter a constant backdrop to the forest's melody. The birds, too, add their voices to the chorus, from the piercing cry of a hawk overhead to the harmonious songs of mountain bluebirds. The wind’s roar through the aspens mimics thunder, a sound akin to a tumultuous waterfall, at times overwhelming. The aspen groves, aflutter with leaves like golden coins, provide a haven for these winged residents. I can’t help but admire their vibrant colors contrasting against the autumnal hues.
A distant movement catches my eye. I can see legs moving through the thick pine forest below, advancing in a deliberate dance of steps and pauses. Time seems to stretch, my heart's tempo quickening with each sighting. Memories of childhood lessons in marksmanship surface, my father's voice echoing, "Breathe! Slow down, focus." Composure regained, my binocular reveals only glimpses of the creature's legs and the rhythmic sway of antlers.
With my bow in hand and my mind running through a practiced checklist, I wait for a clear shot. Tension mounts as the animal’s imposing stature steps into view. A majestic bull moose, towering and formidable, yet not the intended elk. I lower my bow, but a sense of exhilaration remains. My hunt continues.
I move through the mountains as the sun arcs higher, the air vibrating with the hum of insects, a reminder of the forest's intricate ecosystem. The rare glimpse of a black bear or the track of a mountain lion serves as a humbling reminder of the wilderness's untamed nature.
The sun's unrelenting intensity pushes my journey to the north slopes as I descend into the cooler, shadowed ravines. The forest's silence is punctuated by my careful steps, a rhythmic pattern of observation and movement.
A midday respite brings a moment of tranquility as I sit suspended in a hammock amidst the aspens’ dance. I contemplate the day's remainder, the beauty of the surroundings vying for attention against the pursuit of elk.
Afternoon breezes challenge my senses and offer a constant reminder of the mountain's capricious nature. As the day wanes, my mind wanders, introspection inevitable.
Evening brings a strategic setup amidst a copse of pines on a dividing ridge. With the wind's favor and the setting sun at my back, the landscape transforms into a canvas of shapes and shadows. My colorblind focus sharpens, seeking out the telltale signs of wildlife amidst the terrain's mosaic.
I notice movement down drainage as a cow elk heads straight toward me about 100 yards away. As adrenaline surges through my veins, my senses heighten. I continue to scan the area and see more elk following in a line. Holding my bow in my left hand and my rangefinder in my right, I position my feet for the anticipated shot and attempt to steady my nerves. I count six cow elk and one bull lagging about 15 to 20 yards behind. I decide to let the cows pass, hoping they won’t detect me, to take a close-range shot at the bull.
I stand statue-still as cows cross just a few yards in front of me. I remind myself that if the cows become aware of my presence, they will scatter. With the last cow passing I glimpse the bull's antlers bobbing 60 yards away through the underbrush. Time seems to decelerate. My heart pounds. Every noise, every shift in the environment feels amplified.
As if drawn by an invisible thread, the sound of dead branches snapping under his hooves grows louder with each step. Suddenly he pauses among sparse pine trees and lets out what seems like the loudest bugle I have ever heard. I can smell his musky, pungent scent only 40 yards away. Then, without warning, he deviates from the path of his harem. All I can do is listen as he walks away from me, a silent admission that I had guessed wrong. Yet, I remain still, bow at the ready, engulfed in the silence that follows as my adrenaline begins to wane.
With darkness, the temperature plummets as I start my return trek guided by the solitary beam of a headlamp. The day's reflections and the next day’s plans occupy my mind with a sense of gratitude for the experiences gained, the beauty witnessed and the privilege of being part of the perfection of nature.
These encounters with wildlife, fleeting yet profound, are the heart of the wilderness experience. They remind me of my place in the natural world and it is in these moments of solitude that I confront my innermost self. It is a world of raw beauty and power that continues its rhythms, indifferent to my presence. Yet I am privileged that occasionally, it offers a glimpse into its wonders.
