Once the wild wapiti is refracted through the glass of my binos, I’m more likely to be stunned in amazement that I’ve actually seen an elk, rather than snapping a quick shot off.
Being around too many other hunters bothers me, so I go where the trucks are not parked — even though those other hunters are where they are for a reason.
I like moving and exploring, when I probably should be sitting.
When I’m sitting, I should probably be moving.
Snow is cold, especially when you’re crawling on your belly for anything over five minutes.
I hunt in areas where we backcountry ski, so scoping new ski lines distracts me.
If you have a bull tag you’ll get cows in your sights, and if you have a cow credential you’ll see nothing but bulls. Thus, if you score an either gender tag, like me this season, you’ll see little of either.
Snow capped peaks loft in the alpinglow as I glass the hillsides in the last 10 minutes of the season’s last hour. I pinch myself because I’m hunting in the middle of elk country worthy of a magazine cover.
Pinching myself doesn’t bring hunting success. But somehow that’s okay.