king' s outdoor world - Index

king' s outdoor world - Hunting Illustrated April/May 2008 - Index

46
side and hiked for about twenty
minutes more, my dad fi nally noticed
how far behind Tyson and I were
getting and motioned for us to come
to the top of the clearing where he
was barely in sight and let us have a
rest. We crawled in on hands and
knees. I was busy trying to fi gure out
if the spots dancing in front of my
eyes were bugs or a sign that I was
about to pass out. Tyson stretched
out on the soft grass and I concentrated
on breathing. My dad took off his
pack which meant that this was an
actual rest and not a quick breather
like he had dangled in front of us
before! Hallelujah! He hiked up and
over to another clearing to see if he
could see anything after handing
Tyson and I water bottles. Man, that
guy just doesn’t quit. Seriously,
reality TV - The Hunting Edition, I
think it would be huge! When my
dad was out of earshot, I heard
Tyson’s quavering voice ask me if I
was dead. Wanting to maintain as
much dignity as I could, I asked him
why he was asking me such a silly
question. Feeling no shame and being
as honest as a boy scout can be he
answered, “Because I sure as heck
am! And look at Dad!” That made
me laugh and with a couple handfuls
of trail mix and a bottle of water my
energy was rejuvenated. A few
minutes later Dad came back and
decided that the bull elk that we had
been following was running from us
and bugling back over his shoulder at
us - but he sounded a little small.
Those were his exact words, “He
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sounded a little small.” Now, do not ask
me how an animal can sound a certain
size, but who am I to question an expert?
Dad thought it would be a good idea if
we headed back to the truck to eat lunch
and try a different route. Tyson and I
hobbled along behind the mountain man
that is my dad. Two hours of hiking and
huffi ng later and we were back at the
truck. It was farther than I remembered
and we took the wrong trail once. Tyson
tried to take a shortcut - bypassing the
switchbacks and heading straight up the
steep hills. We met him with his hand
trembling reaching out to us and trying to
pull himself up onto the trail. He ate a
granola bar and was ready to go. Ah, to
be thirteen again. We made it back to the
truck and ate like champs. We had been
resting maybe ten minutes when the
shadow of my dad blocked the sun from
warming my skin and he said that he
usually shot all his elk in the middle
of the day when everyone else was
resting. So, it was time to go. Food
is fuel and Tyson and I valiantly kept
up with him as we walked in the
opposite way as we had that morning.
Almost immediately we heard bugling
again. We all froze. That one was
close! I pretended to understand
while my dad talked with his hands
and “military signed” to me what I
was supposed to do and where the elk
was. I nodded confi rmation although
I had no idea what the devil was going
on. I hoped that I could wing it. We
circled around a couple of places
where we could see that the elk had
wallowed in the mud and water. We
could smell the musk of the big
animals and my heart was pounding
louder than I thought was healthy.
Suddenly, a bugle ripped through the
afternoon and thundered in our ears!
My dad froze and Tyson and I nearly
knocked into each other. He pointed
to his eyes and then through the trees
- that meant he had a visual right? I
nodded like I understood and he
pointed again. A bugle so loud and
close nearly lifted me off the ground.
I looked through the thick timber and
saw him! Or at least I saw part of
him. I saw his beautiful tan body