by Cronk, LN
“Git some sleep,” Hawk advised us after dinner. “We’ll ride out first thang in the mornin’ and git in ta base camp ’fore chow time tomorrow nite. Sound good?”
Tanner and I told him that it did and he said good night to us as we turned to trudge up the stairs. Once we reached the landing, Tanner looked at me before we went into our separate rooms.
“How are we riding to the base camp?” Tanner asked. “Four wheelers?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted, casting a worried glance back down the stairs. “I just hope it’s not with him driving that truck.”
After a mammoth breakfast in the morning that managed to satisfy even Tanner, the chef put out a tremendous display of foods and told us to pack our lunches.
“Take plenty,” he urged us. “Riding’ll make you hungrier than you expect.”
Tanner took this comment to heart and packed enough food to feed a small squadron of Navy Seals. After the chef had finally managed to fit everything into a cooler, he hoisted it onto his shoulder and set it on the front deck where we had put our gear earlier. I was disheartened to discover that Hawk was loading our things into . . . the truck.
“I can’t ride with him all day,” I whispered to Tanner. Tanner’s response to this was to laugh at me. “I’m serious Tanner!” I cried. “I’m going to be sick as a dog by the time we get to base camp!”
“Aww, you’ll be fine,” Tanner said, pounding me on the back. “Suck it up.”
I climbed into the cab and buckled up . . . tight. Hawk started the truck, it lurched forward, and I closed my eyes, trying to remember tips and hints for avoiding motion sickness.
Don’t read (as if anyone could actually keep hold of a book as we veered sharply down the road and knocked against one another). Look straight out the window (this was difficult to do since the road was so winding that “straight” out the window changed every second or so). Use acupressure (I remembered someone once showing me wristbands that you could wear that would prevent motion sickness by putting pressure at a specific point on your wrists).
If I remembered correctly, that specific point was located right where you would slit your wrists (if you were so inclined to do so). I pushed a thumb into that spot on one wrist and then tried to get my other thumb onto the same spot of my other wrist. This was not an easy task and I was fully aware that I must have looked like an idiot.
“What in the world are you doing?” I heard Tanner ask (he may not have actually said “world”).
“Shut-up, Tanner,” I replied, and I laid my head back and closed my eyes.
After a fairly short amount of time, the truck slammed to a halt. Certain that we’d hit an elk (or an elephant), I tentatively opened one eye.
“Are we at basecamp already?” I asked hopefully, not seeing anything dead in front of us.
“Naw,” Hawk said, shaking his head. “We’s at the trailhead. Time to saddle up!” And with that he climbed out of the cab and slammed his door shut.
Uneasily I cast a sideways glance at Tanner. He turned slowly and eyed me questioningly.
“Saddle up?” he asked.
“I . . . I told Dorito no horses,” I stammered. “Maybe that’s just a term people use around here for getting on a four-wheeler.”
“You’d better hope so.”
“Hey!” I cried. “I didn’t arrange any of this! This was all Dorito’s doing!”
“He’s your son,” Tanner said, opening his door.
There were no four-wheelers anywhere in sight. Just troughs and saddles and reigns and horses.
“Smell that?” I asked after I’d climbed out behind Tanner. I inhaled deeply and stretched my arms wide, just like he’d done yesterday when we’d arrived at the lodge.
“I’m going to kill Dorito,” he promised, glaring at me. “I’m absolutely going to kill him!”
“Aww, you’ll be fine,” I promised Tanner, pounding him hard on the back. “Suck it up.”
We “saddled up” and if I hadn’t of felt so sorry for Tanner’s horse I probably would have laughed. His horse gave him what I’m sure was a dirty look and Tanner gave him one right back, then I grinned, pressed my heels into my horse’s side, and said, “Yee-haw, giddy-up!” and we took off.
After a few hours we stopped for lunch and then continued on. Along the way, Hawk pointed out signs of recent elk activity: a rub where an elk had scraped away the velvet from his antlers, and a fresh wallow where an elk had rolled around in the mud to cool off (because apparently the bulls get overheated while trying to find dates). He even showed us where an elk had urinated, explaining to us how he could tell that it had been a female (“Girls splash. Boys stream.”). This was almost more information than I needed to know.
Eventually we arrived at our campsite where there was a spacious wall tent waiting for us. We unloaded some of our gear and set off on horseback again, this time to check out a nearby ravine.
Hawk showed us where elk had been traveling lately and why he felt that this area was where we should return in the morning and where we would start and how we would use the bull and cow calls. He let both of us practice and when Tanner was bugling, he actually got a bull to bugle back. It was fairly far off and we couldn’t pursue it since dusk was falling, but it was pretty exciting just the same.
That evening, after dinner, we sat around the campfire, watching it slowly fade into embers. The night was clear and the stars were brilliant – their grandeur reminding me of Alaska.
I looked at Tanner, his face illuminated by the dying fire, and I remembered the promise I’d made to myself about getting him alone and talking to him about his relationship with God.
Then I looked at Hawk, who hadn’t been more than twenty yards away from either one of us all day, and I wondered how exactly I thought that was going to happen.
We had only been out for about an hour the next morning when we saw a small herd of elk. Through the spotting scope, we determined that one of the bulls was definitely worth our time and then Tanner and I got into an argument about which one of us was going to go for it.
I wanted Tanner to take it because Hawk felt we’d be able to circle around and get close enough for Tanner to get a shot with his bow and arrow. (He’d also brought a rifle and a handgun along, but he wasn’t going to use them unless he had to.)
“If we spook it we might screw up the only shot we have all week,” Tanner argued. “I’d rather get some meat in the freezer first and then we can work on getting up close.”
I was finding that dealing with Tanner these days was a lot like dealing with Laci. Both of them spent all their time and energy trying to do things they thought would make me happy while at the same time acting like it was what they really wanted to do. I knew the real reason Tanner wanted me to take this elk was because he had a lifetime of opportunities ahead of him, but that this might very well be my only chance.
Now that I’d caught on, however, I decided two could play at that game. I looked at Hawk, who shrugged at me, and then I agreed to take the shot. I figured if I got my elk now, then we’d still have three full days left to work on getting Tanner one.
The wind was in our faces so we crept as close as we dared until we were finally about two hundred and fifty yards away. By the time I was set up and ready to go, however, the bull was facing away from me. Tanner rattled some antlers and peaked his interest and when he turned broadside to see what all the commotion was about, I dropped him.
He was a nice bull, with six tines on one side, seven on the other, and a decent spread. We field dressed him, carted him back to camp, quartered him and took care of the meat and hide, and then it was time for lunch.
The area where I’d taken my elk had now been disturbed. Unlike whitetails, Hawk explained while we ate, elk are not territorial. We had spooked the herd out of that area and they wouldn’t be back. It was time to find new hunting grounds.
We found not only new hunting grounds, but fresh signs, and huge tracks as well. We also found a urine
stream which Hawk assured us had been made by a large bull. (I don’t know how he thought he could tell – I contended that maybe it was a small bull who had just had a lot to drink – but he seemed pretty confident.) By dusk we’d only seen two cows, however, and Hawk said we should come back the next day.
“I thought they weren’t territorial,” I said.
“They ain’t,” he agreed, “but if they got a good spot and don’t get spooked they’ll keep comin’ back day after day. He’s got good cover and a food source and water . . . trust me – he’ll be here.”
The next morning we were up early and we returned to the place where we had last seen signs of (what Hawk had now become convinced was) a monster bull. Sure enough, fresh signs appeared over and around the ones we’d seen yesterday and the tracks he’d left in the newly fallen snow convinced me and Tanner that he was a monster bull too.
Finally I sighted him through the spotting scope about a mile away, at the top of a meadow, grazing quietly with two cows. I showed him to Tanner, who whistled quietly through his teeth and could not suppress a smile.
“Well, well,” I smirked. “No wonder you were so anxious to pass on that elk yesterday.”
A look of concern crossed Tanner’s face before he realized I was joking and then he grinned.
If the elk stayed anywhere close to where it was, there was a very good chance that Tanner would be able to work his way out into the nearby timber and take it with his bow. Since the wind was in our favor, we decided to ride in a big loop to the other side of the wood and hope that Tanner would be able to sneak close enough to take it.
We turned our horses around and set off.
A branch was digging into my neck. I stepped away from it and reached my hand up to my neck to rub it gingerly.
Hawk was a few yards away, on his horse, looking at me. Tanner, who was off his horse and holding his rifle, was looking at me too.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, still kneading my neck. Tanner had a look about him that I’d never seen before. He was pale, shaking, and had a frantic expression on his face.
It took me a moment, but I realized that Tanner was scared. I tried to remember if I had ever seen Tanner scared before in my entire life.
I finally decided that I hadn’t.
I looked over my shoulder, half expecting to find a bear towering over me with saliva dripping from its jaws. There was nothing behind me except for my horse and a Ponderosa Pine. I turned back to Tanner.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Everything’s great.” He swallowed hard and turned away, putting one foot in a stirrup and hoisting himself up onto his horse.
I turned back to my horse and started to do the same, when I suddenly realized I didn’t have my rifle. I turned back to Tanner and looked at him carefully, finally understanding that he hadn’t been holding his rifle, but mine.
“Why do you have my gun?” I asked him, taking a few steps toward him.
“I’ve just got it,” he said, slinging it over his shoulder.
“Why?” I asked again.
He glanced uneasily at Hawk and then looked back at me.
“I just do, okay? Now get back up there and let’s get going.”
His voice quavered and his hands were still trembling. He squeezed his heels to start his horse forward, but I reached up and grabbed her reign before he got started.
“What’s going on, Tanner?”
“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “Everything’s fine.”
“Obviously not,” I said. I glanced at Hawk, who continued to stare at both of us, poker-faced. “What happened?”
“Everything’s fine,” Tanner insisted, reaching forward and removing my hand from the rein. “Now let’s get moving.”
He pressed his heels into his horse’s side again, shook her reins, and made a little clicking sound with his mouth. She took off at a brisk walk and Hawk followed on his horse.
“Can I have my gun back?” I called after him, but he didn’t answer.
When they were both about thirty yards away they finally stopped and turned around to stare at me. I had little choice but to catch up. I hopped up onto my own horse and started after them.
It soon became obvious that we were no longer stalking a monster elk, but were instead headed back to camp. When we arrived, Tanner dismounted and didn’t even take the time to secure his horse to the hitching post. He stalked off into the woods, muttering something about going for a walk. He still had my rifle with him.
I dismounted too and took the reins from both horses and hooked them over the post.
“What happened?” I asked Hawk as we started unbuckling saddles.
“I dunno,” Hawk shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “You got a little bit . . . upset, that’s all.”
“Upset,” I repeated.
Hawk nodded.
“Would you just tell me exactly what happened?” I asked. “What did I do?”
Hawk undid another buckle and lifted a saddle before he answered me.
“Ya was behind us,” he finally said. “Didn’t notice right away, but ya’d stopped . . . got off yer horse. We kept goin’ fer a minute or so – when we saw ya weren’t there, we turned ’round and went back. It was like it scared ya – seein’ us comin’ at ya like that outta the woods. Don’t think ya knew who we were for some reason.”
“What did I do?”
“Told us to get back,” Hawk said, matter-of-factly. “Said ya didn’t want us comin’ no closer to ya.”
“Did I have my rifle out?” I guessed.
Hawk nodded.
“Did I point it at you?” I asked in alarm. “Did I try to shoot you?”
“Not me,” Hawk said, matter-of-factly.
“Tanner?” I cried. “I tried to shoot Tanner?”
“Well,” Hawk shrugged, “ya said ya were gonna.”
“Oh, man,” I said quietly, shaking my head. “No wonder he looked so scared.”
“Naw,” Hawk said, shaking his head. “That ain’t what scared him.”
“What scared him then?” I asked quietly, almost afraid to find out.
“Well, he hopped down off his horse, purty as you please, and jus’ started walking right up to ya, tellin’ you that you weren’t gonna be shootin’ nobody and that ya needed ta give him that gun.”
“And then what?” I breathed.
“Then ya turned it on yourself – told him if he didn’t get away from ya that ya was gonna blow your brains out. That’s what scared him.”
“How did he get my rifle?” I was almost breathless.
“He talked ya out of it,” Hawk shrugged. “I dunno exactly, but he just started talkin’ to ya real nice and easy like and reasonin’ with ya, and purty soon ya set it down on the ground like he’d been tellin’ ya to and then ya started backin’ away. He picked it up and just kept on talkin’ to ya, and that’s when it was like ya just kinda came outta it.”
He picked up a brush and started to curry-comb one of the horses. I started to reach for a brush, too, but he waved me away. I heard leaves rustling behind me and realized that Tanner was back.
“I got it,” he assured me as I looked to where Tanner was emerging from the woods. Tanner ignored me and wordlessly headed into the tent with a lantern.
“Okay,” I agreed, quietly. “Thanks, Hawk.”
He nodded and I knew he was going to make himself scarce. I followed Tanner into the tent.
He was sitting on the edge of the cot, staring at the blank wall of the tent. He didn’t acknowledge that I was there.
“I’m sorry,” I finally said.
He dropped his face into his hands and shook his head.
“I’m ruining our trip,” I went on.
“This isn’t about the trip!” Tanner cried angrily, whipping around to face me. “This doesn’t have anything to do with the trip!”
He turned back away from me and covered his face with his hands again.
“I’m so
rry,” I said again.
“Oh, my God,” he said, a sob escaping him, “I thought you were going to kill yourself.”
Tanner knew better than to take the Lord’s name in vain around me, but I didn’t say anything about it. Instead I stood there, unable to believe that Tanner was crying. I’d never seen him cry before.
“I can’t believe I almost let you do that,” he whispered, shaking his head.
“You didn’t almost let me do anything!” I said. “It’s not your fault. How were you supposed to know I was going to pull something like that?”
“I should have known,” he said quietly, still not looking at me. “You’ve been . . . you’ve been getting worse. You haven’t been yourself. I wondered if you should be carrying a rifle or not, but then I convinced myself that it was okay because . . .”
“Because why?” I asked when he didn’t go on.
“Because I wanted it to be okay,” he said finally. “I knew it wasn’t a good idea, but I let you do it anyway.”
“It’s not your fault,” I said again, but he shook his head and I knew I wasn’t going to convince him. I walked around the end of the cot and sat down next to him.
“I’ve been getting worse?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Since when?” I asked.
“I first noticed it when we were in Alaska,” he told me.
Three months ago.
I nodded even though he still wasn’t looking at me.
“Worse how?” I asked.
“Just . . . there’ve just been times when you don’t know what’s going on. Times when you’re obviously not yourself. One time you didn’t know where we were . . . you didn’t know who Dorito and I were. You get confused, but then it’s kinda like you wake up or something and then you come back.”
“Dorito knows about this?” I asked quietly.
He nodded at me.