Light wind glides across my face as the winter sun shines upon the face of the sheer cliff to my left, bright sunlight glaring off the rock face contrasts sharply with the dark timber and deep snow where I now stand surveying the raw beauty of this high land. Bighorn sheep feed above me on the windswept ridge, watched closely by a lone eagle who sits at the highest place along the ridge line. For some people the wilderness in late December may see like an unlikely place to celebrate the birth of Christ, for me the only place to celebrate such a birthday is where I feel closest to the creator. Every sight, sound, and wondrous display of natural beauty reminds me that there is truly something sacred about the land I now walk. I have often wondered if Jesus sat upon some rock and admired the natural beauty of all creation in the same way we do. Sunlight dances on the high ridge as the eagle suddenly takes flight, golden wings catch the wind currents lifting the majestic bird skyward as if on a tether. I watch as the eagle soars over jagged peaks, heavy timber, and frozen creeks, confident that his view from above mirrors my own only from a different perspective. I place my hand upon a weathered old fir tree, the fragrant aroma of fresh pine meets my senses as I move slowly through the forest. Tracks of elk, deer, bobcat and martin crisscross the white blanket of new fallen snow laying deep and cold across the land. Sometimes the simplicity of natural movement across a wild landscape is all it takes to stir the soul, I say a prayer of thanks for the Love in my life,(of my life) for my children and for every breath I have taken thus far in this journey since my first breath. Hopefully tomorrow will bring forth another journey, another breathtaking vista and another day of truly living... like my father has always said, no matter where your at... there you are... and it is sure good to be here. Happy birthday Jesus, and tell the old man thanks for the view today, for the clean cold wind, and for the stirring in my soul.. Hawk

Little gals and Big rivers..

The sound of whistling wings brings the hunter to full alert.. Three feet away the dog grips the sky in a perfect stare, waiting for the teal to come into sight. The birds slide by on whistling wings and begin the sweeping arc around and over the river preparing for a landing among the decoys at the rivers edge.With practiced perfection the hunter guides the birds into range with a crescendo of whistles and calls.As the teal lower their wings in a downward V and webbed feet emerge from their undersides the hunter rises and takes three fast shots. Two drakes fall from the sky, one falling straight and upside down into the water, the other goes into a fast spin finally crashing headlong into the muddy river. The dog launches with perfect form into the water, the current carrying him directly to the first bird, he retrieves the bird and returns to the bank where the hunter takes the beautiful teal in her hands and says "good boy Willie, now go get the other one.. Willie launches himself into the water again and returns with the second trophy of the morning.'Well done my friend'. she says as she pats her faithful friends head. Whistling wings glide by , combined with the gentle lull of the river, a fish breaks the surface as a whitetail emerges along the far bank. yes she thinks to herself, this is living, just a girl and her dog, a river and a shotgun what more could a girl need. Gretchen reaches for the hand line connecting the floating decoys to the bank, Willie stares at her as if to say "we aren't leaving are we".Gretchen smiles and tugs on the line...... she is still smiling as the world around her suddenly goes bright... Staring at the ceiling she is still smiling about the look Willie was giving her as the dream fades, pain racks her body as she awakes, pain is no stranger to this warrior woman and she quickly pushes it aside and stares at the ceiling for a moment. Yes she thinks , sometimes life takes a turn for the worst, sometimes we just have to fight a little harder than the other folks. But this is all water under the bridge for a country gal like Gretchen..and under that bridge flows a river.. and on that river she will be standing as soon as she heals from all they had to take. Yes she thinks,big rivers and little gals.. a love affair that will forever be going on... As long as good dogs still launch from muddy banks and whistling wings remain just along the horizon .. she will be there just a girl and her passions, waiting for the perfect shot. Hawk

Tracks..

Snow falls silently around me while a soft wind teases the edge of my silk neckerchief. West winds spell trouble up this high, I can already feel the change coming on in the weather. Ominous grey clouds seem to close in on the mountain peaks, lodge pole pines in this thick forest begin to creak with the first comings of new wind. The tracks I am following have been getting fresher as the last hours have wore on. With each step I can almost see the person I am following through the sign he is leaving. Tracks tell more of the story than just slight scuff marks along broken terrain.I can tell that this man is about One hundred and fifty pounds by the depth of depression and his length of stride matches mine perfectly telling me his height is somewhere near six feet . the staggering steps over the last hour tell me he is getting tired, twenty yards ago he placed his hand on a rock in the new snow. Pulling his fingers together he made a small snow ball and more than likely ate it in a bid to secure moisture from the small ball. his fingers left small lines in the snow. little flakes have formed a thin line down the center of the hand print, given the rate of snowfall and the lack of wind i believe he was here less than an hour ago. I quicken my pace, breath comes in ragged gasps up this high when it gets cold. Laboring up the slope I follow his tracks to the edge of a long finger ridge heading west right into the heart of the fast approaching storm. He slid down the slope mostly on his backside, telling me he is getting very tired , near the bottom I find where he sat and ate more snow large hand fulls of snow all around his sitting spot. Thirty minutes later I labor up another steep ridge, his tracks are fresher now and his plodding even more labored and erratic. Suddenly the sky opens up snow begins blowing from all directions at once, I follow the fading racks in the storm with renewed vigor, if this turns into a whiteout he is going to perish up here. Plodding forward as the tracks fade with wind driven snow falling on the trail, I pray to the creator for a break, well to be honest i cursed him for the weather and hoped for a break anyway. A small stream half frozen over cascades down the mountain at breakneck speed, ice forms and breaks loose causing a constant creaking noise as the water moves. The tracks are little more than depressions on the other side of the creek and filling up fast, I blow warm breath into a track depression and the new snow moves away with my breath leaving only the weathered track. This works for a few more yards and I am forced to track by last line of sight instead of by actual sign.After a dozen yards the snow becomes so fierce I am forced to take cover beside a large boulder on the opposite side of the pounding winds. I pull my wool coat closer around me and hunker down, cursing the wind and the driving snow even as it threatens to drive the life's warmth from me.So close, two days of following this track and this is where it ends, Come next spring some mushroom picker or antler hunter may find his bones ... but probably not up this high. I am still cursing my luck and the snow when I hear something on the wind, singing singing ... I rise into the storm and search the timber, there he is, ten yards away and singing at the top of his lungs. Shall we gather at the river, the beautiful riivver... the eee beeauuutiffful riiiver.. I stand over the half frozen mad and offer a hand, "My name is Hawk I have come for you"...."I ain't dead yet am I." he answers. "No! But you and I both will be if we don't hunker down and wait this storm out. I pull a tarp from my pack and we hunker under it near the large rock for the rest of the night and most of the next day. A small fire keeps us alive, food and water bring his strength back and long hours of silence surround us as we wait out the storm. I built a large signal fire and made enough smoke for the space shuttle to spot and rescue found us by noon. We drew our names on the rock in charcoal and his date of rebirth, of my finding him before his almost certain demise. As the sun shone on a white wonderland I silently said a prayer of forgiveness to the creator after all my storm cursing. Larry, the man I was tracking lived and last I heard was happily married and had seven children I survived to track another day and was fortunate to have many survivors over the years as I tracked missing persons and fugitives in the wilderness. Sometimes all our efforts, training and vigilance comes down to nothing at all....even failing faith can be answered with a miracle....Hawk

VICTIM! OR VICTORY.. YOU CHOOSE

Rocks falling across the cliff face raise Aspen's heart rate instantly. The enemy warriors are closing on her position quickly in the darkness. Every nerve is on edge as she crouches against the cold hard surface of the canyon wall.Out of the gloomy night a painted face emerges, as soon as their eyes meet Aspen turns to flee, she knows full well the fate of women captured by the sour belly people. With a wicked grin the painted warrior darts after the slender woman along the treacherous trail. Aspen can hear the man gaining on her in the darkness, every ragged breath is answered by another from her pursuer close behind, lending speed to her legs as she flees for her life.

Many Dogs is sure he will catch the young woman in moments, he quivers with excitement just thinking about all the things he will do to her once the race ends. Many dogs loves the thought of inflicting pain on weaker people, since his childhood every moment spent hurting others has been his life's ambition. Rounding a corner in the canyon he sees the lithe figure darting down the trail,quickening his step to match his pulse he charges forward reaching for the girls hair with his left hand. Suddenly he feels something slam into his chest followed by another and yet another hard impact, driving him backward despite his size and great speed. he is surprised to see two arrows protruding from his chest and another driven to the fletching in his now painful groin. Aspen slows to a walk, warriors from her tribe surround her and a bloodcurdling chant begins to rise on the night, all along the canyon she can hear the screams of the raiders as they are dispatched one by one. Aspen approaches her would be attacker, he is nearly dead when she spits in his face and kicks the arrow buried in his manhood. She watches as his life fades away and silently prays that her sister Willow will be there to greet him on the other side and inflict even more pain and humiliation on the dirty enemy of her people who raped and killed Willow in her thirteenth winter. Aspen looks to the warriors who defended her with their lives and offers a sign .. hands over her heart she shows them she is grateful. as the night sounds continue around her, Aspen moves down the trail confident that her safety on this night is complete.. tomorrow the enemy may well catch her alone and inflict horror on her and her people, but tonight her well being is almost certain, thanks to well armed warriors and guards at every high spot along the canyon.

Today in our modern world a girl like Aspen would not stand much of a chance, most would look away and pretend that nothing was happening, or not get involved because it is not their problem. It is all our problem!!!! every day thousands of people are harmed either because they were alone and unable to defend themselves against their attackers or because someone who could have helped simply stepped aside. Arm our people, teach them to defend themselves against the evil doers, don't go looking for a fight but don't be afraid to bleed if it means doing the right thing. Hawk

The wind gusts bringing with it the scent of rain, a chill touches my skin as the first cold drops of rain mixed with sleet begin to fall. Up here in the high country these storms come and go with the ferocity of a charging grizzly. lucky for me a thick stand of limber pine protects me from the onslaught as the rain turns to sleet and coats the meadow with a white blanket. The soft drumming of sleet on my stetson drowns out the sound of why I am crouched here. At the far end of this alpine meadow a five point bull grunts his challenge at a rival hidden in the deep timber. His challenge is answered by a crescendo of cow calls and one growling bugle from the shadows. Suddenly the dark timber is exited by a small group of cows and calves followed by a wide racked, heavy horned bull. I raise my bow very slowly and await the opportunity that is sure to present itself as the herd passes by at twenty yards. The old bull is covered in scars, his left eye is blind, the blue grey color tells me the story of his injury. Both antlers are huge, heavy mass and wide long main beams. he stops at twenty yards and bugles one more time, I wonder as I draw my bow, if he knows that this may be his last bugle on this earth.He must know, I can tell by the way he raises his head and bellows a perfect wilderness song. Long and majestic is his growling bugle, followed by a sharp and perfect three part squeal. I feel the arrow and string slip from my fingers, the flight of feathered death seems so slow as it races toward the the old warrior. He reacted so fast I can hardly believe my eyes, one minute sure and sudden death is upon him, the next he is in a complete spin. My arrow grazes the front shoulder, opening a small slice about eight inches long and just barely through the skin. I watch as he barks an alarm to his harem and melts back into the forest like mist along a morning river. Adrenaline combined with cold mountain wind invigorates me as I rise from the ground raising a hand to the creator, thanking him for the hunt... I pick up my cast arrow and touch the crimson line across the razor sharp point. So close ! I bet many hunters, predators and adversaries have thought the same thing about the old warrior throughout the years. The rain/ sleet stops as I merge with the shadows along timber line. A ragged bugle drifts up to me on the wind, the five point is still on the fight, I put the wind in my face and move forward .... Still remembering a blind eye, scarred hide and lightning quick reflexes... yep that old warrior bull reminded me of my dad only slower and less alert.. Hawk

Love

Love... what is it that determines what or who we attach this most sacred of emotions to? some people attach the word to everyday living .. such as I love this restaurant, I love the way this car drives or as The big dog daddy himself said.. I love this bar.. I personally like to keep the word along with the emotion it represents, refined to the things I truly do love like my family and friends. For example I love my country.. I love my god .. I love life and living it to the fullest. I would never stoop to the level of saying I love politics, sports , or any other unnecessary reason for using the word. I do like bowhunting, archery and anything outdoors i am the first to admit that it does consume my life and fill my thoughts most of the time. But Love.. hummm I will say that the one I truly do love does the same thing to me, fills my thoughts, completes my world and occupies a place in my soul that no other could touch.. .. when I am away from her my heart hurts.. when we touch my world lights up like a lightning storm on the highest ridge during a summer thunderstorm. Yes I do believe I am an expert on love, I have felt it , lost it, held it, needed it, cherished it, even pursued it. I have wanted it, despised it and prayed for it in my life.... funny how such a simple emotion, can rule our lives so completely, maybe love is more than just an emotion, maybe it is a way for two people to touch souls through this simple emotion. Love I believe comes in many forms.. and in many degrees of intensity.. I have friends who I love, and whom I would lay down my life for.. I have relatives who would do the same for me and Whom I love and cherish, Yet the intensity and total consumption of an individual by true and complete love is hard to define must less explain. My true love, my lady who owns me heart body and soul through devotion, respect, and absolute commitment. My girl, who occupies my every thought, who completes me with a single look.. She is more than I deserve, all I have ever needed and everything my heart can handle . I guess I am no expert on love at all.. only a willing student..and she is the teacher.. beautiful, intelligent, and all there is for me and this simple emotion we call love.. Hawk a/ho

The long walk

The bear was obviously not going to change direction, we had been watching him feed our way for the last half hour tearing clumps of grass up by the roots and rolling every rock along the meadows edge in search of succulent grubs, ants , and any other high protein treat he could find. My friend is one of those individuals who has no fear of anything that moves on this great planet of ours.He also has no love for grizzlies, I am not sure if he was just born with this dislike of the bruins or if some encounter left him jaded. Whatever the reason, this bear has no idea of the wrath that is about to burst forth from this hidden patch of gnarly windswept limber pine. At thirty yards the bear suddenly stops, every hair on his back bristles and he rises to his full height in a bid to see the threat he has just winded. My friend is staring straight at the huge bruin, his eyes bulging and a very serious expression locked on his adversary. The bear slams back to earth with five hundred pounds of angry flesh, grunting his disgust at having intruders invade his most sacred meadow this far back in the wilderness. I am worried for a moment that this may well be my last encounter with a grizz, he slowly moves forward oblivious of the fact that i as a human should not be trifled with, my friend is literally shaking with anticipation as the bear moves forward. At ten yards the bear crosses an imaginary threshold, a place where bears are never allowed to go, my friend utters a low guttural growl and on my command launches from the stand of timber. With lightning quick reflexes he charges straight at the surprised bear, I always assume the bruins are quite surprised to be attacked on their own turf by this fierce little warrior. I have seen huge bears turn and run simply at the sight of my friend bearing down on them. this bear is no exception, he takes two hurried steps backward and kicks it in high gear, dust and torn grasses from his huge paws and long claws fill the suns rays along the ground as he beats a hasty retreat off to safer ground. My friend stops the assault in a fury of growls and high pitched whining. His hackles are at full height and the grin on his face , complete with one exposed tooth over his left lip. He makes two complete circles of the meadow, stopping to mark his territory everywhere the bear had the gall to step as it fed. After the customary marking of new territory, I call him back and am answered by a look of absolute disgust that would have made him the envy of any married woman on the planet, he returns to my side with a quiet arrogance and a bounce in his step. I pet his ears and he leans closer for more attention, as if to say I deserve this, I think to myself, would I charge a fierce grizzly to ward off a possible threat to my friend, probably not, yet he has done it many times and only asks for my friendship in return. Ditch the bear dog went to the happy hunting grounds yesterday afternoon, he was my friend and faithful companion for eleven years, we walked hundreds of miles together in the high lands and have spent many days in places where others have likely not walked in quite some time. When the wind is just right, and the forest speaks to me I will hear a quiet whine, and see a black and white friend checking the trail ahead for bear sign. Thanks little warrior for all the trails we shared, ill see you on the long walk someday. Until then rest easy in the shade of a high mountain pine my friend, ill keep my eyes peeled, stay to the shadows, and remember to check the wind.. you taught me that.

Silent language..

Wind stirs the foliage surrounding the Aspen as he crouches behind a downed spruce tree. Elk ghost through the forest alternating between shadow and light, softly speaking to one another in a language only understood by elk. A sleek and graceful cow walks only feet from the hunter hidden in the thick tangle of brush and towering forest . He draws his horn bow and looses an arrow into the crease directly behind the cow’s shoulder. The arrow deflects off of a branch on the way to the elk and slices through her abdomen quartering forward to her chest cavity. The hunter knows the shot is not a good one, he follows the wounded cow silently, hoping for the opportunity for another shot. At the edge of the forest she stops and stares back in the direction of her pursuer, suddenly an arrow pierced her shoulder burying to the fletching, the elk launches forward on wobbly legs and collapses in the meadow.
Aspen stealthily approaches the downed elk an arrow knocked to the string, a buckskin clad hunter slips from the shadows from the opposite direction on moccasin clad feet. The two hunters are from different tribes and do not speak the same language, but the language of the hunter is sometimes unspoken . Through sign and gestures they decide to butcher and share the kill.
Although these ancient hunters never shared their names, tribe or clan lineage or even conversation, they communicated through sign and understanding of the wilderness and her unspoken language. In this modern world we still have encounters where a look, gesture or maybe even the moment tell us all we need to know to assess the situation at hand. In the animal kingdom these wordless moments are what communication is all about, I have never heard a deer say “HEY! Watch out there is a hunter out here someplace.” But I have seen them catch the scent of danger ,raise their tails and somehow the whole herd instantly knows that danger is a possibility . Sometimes they speak to one another as a warning ,challenge, or a whole array of vocal sounds whose meanings we hardly understand. But for the most part animals communicate on a level far superior to our written and spoken language. I enjoy being around people and trying to read their unspoken body language and expressions. Often times their words contradict with their unspoken communication. Our train of thought as a hunter can be the deciding factor between success and failure, often our frame of mind will be noticed somehow by the prey we hunt. I have tested this theory on several occasions. When a deer is getting close enough for a shot I never make eye contact , always try and concentrate on a prayer of thanksgiving for the moment at hand and never allow my mind to think about the killing. These things have alerted animals to my presence on more occasions than I care to recount, through some sort of unspoken energy between hunter and prey. Even if you are not a hunter but just a lover of nature and all things natural, try stalking closer to natures creatures with your mind in a good and sacred place. You may be surprised at how close we can get to our natural brothers and sisters when we keep our minds and mouths silent… Hawk a/ho

War!

A light rain drizzles down upon the dense forest, the pitter patter of falling raindrops hitting the leaves and branches drowns out the sound of moccasin clad feet on the wet earth. Every step taken brings Grouse and his fellow warriors nearer to the enemy. Grouse is a young man, he received his name as a youth among the Huron people after the medicine man saw him drumming on a log with a stick. A roughed grouse was answering the challenging call with drumming of his own from far off in the forest. Today the only drumming is his rapidly beating heart as he slips through the dripping wet foliage. He is afraid as he moves forward, this is his first battle and although Huron warriors are the bravest most feared peoples of the forest he cannot help but be afraid even as he readies to pounce from cover and attack the bearded men who carry thunder sticks and have killed so many of his people in the last few months. With the cry of a warrior Grouse raises his osage war club and launches himself into the fight of his life!

This desert heat is unbearable! Sand and wind, trackless landscape and well worn roadways meet Sergeant Hall as he stares through an armored windshield at the head of the convoy. “God I wish I was back home in Huron Michigan right now,” he thinks to himself. For the last few days the enemy have been becoming more and more active. Roadside bombings, public executions and every atrocity one could come across have plagued Sergeant Hall these last few weeks. This is his fourth tour in this war on terror and he has been fortunate so far to have been unscathed . Beside him sit’s a green recruit, the sweat on the young warriors brow and the too large eyes tell of a youth who is scared and yet determined to do his duty. The Tink Tink Tink of small arms fire against the armored vehicle announce that they have finally found the enemy. With practiced precision Hall locates the telltale dust from approaching enemy fighters in the mirage of sand and trains his weapon on them as he barks orders to his fellow warriors. Rapid gunfire erupts from all directions as the convoy comes under attack.

Grouse stands over the body of a slain enemy, blood leaks from the corpse as the rain from creator above stirs it, leaving small splatters on the green grasses and small plants. Grouse fought bravely for his homeland today and two white eyes fell to his knives and war-club. The forest is silent after the battle and all grouse hears are raindrops as he looks to the sky and gives thanks for his survival after the intense battle. He shivers and wishes for some warmer weather as the rain falls all around the battlefield.

Private Lucas looks down on the body along with the other survivors from the sudden attack on the convoy. None can believe how young the enemy soldier is. He could only be about fourteen. ‘Mount up.” cries the sergeant. Two of their fellow warriors won’t be going home alive on this day, seventeen enemy soldiers were taken out and a cache of weapons was found and destroyed. As the convoy pulls away from the battle Lucas wonders how Sarg! can be so cool under pressure and during battle. Hall just stares intently ahead and searches the horizon for any sign of danger, he cannot let another of his warriors fall today, his heart is breaking as he remembers the brave ones who have fallen over the last few years. He looks to the sky and asks for mercy and protection, at least until he can get them all home safe, And maybe just a little rain!

The outcome of war is never certain, but the honor, integrity, and bravery of those who fight it can never be questioned. Hurry home brothers and sisters who guard the gates. Happy hunting over there, and be safe, we will never forget and we salute you… I wrote this for Doug Jackson.. A warrior.. Thanks for all you do brother! Hawk

Nature bounty..

A late winter wind cuts through the morning like an obsidian blade through new leather. Russian olive trees, chokecherry and alder fill this river bottom landscape and the smells of willow and sage fill my senses. Canadian geese and golden eye ducks float upon the clear cold waters of the river here beneath the majestic peaks of the Beartooth range. My wife Stacey and I are bow-hunting cottontail rabbits today and she is somewhere west of me stalking the heavy cover for the fleet footed long eared warriors. I see an antler tine sticking up out of the snow, for some people the finding of a shed whitetail antler would probably seem insignificant. For me it is like finding a rare treasure, the deer who carries this heavy rack all year has left his mark upon the smooth bony surface. Long gouges announce the fighting with other bucks during the rut, a broken tine tells the story of a possible battle with another warrior buck. a slight bend in the third tine tells me that this buck had an accident which left his right antler bent and mis-formed while still in the velvet. By days end eight cottontails have fallen to our arrows and we have found four sheds and one broken main beam from an obvious fight between two rivals. Eagles hawks and waterfowl have graced the skies this day. Deer, fox, bobcat, coyote, mink, rabbit, weasel, coon and skunk have left their tracks upon the trails we walked. pheasant and chuckar partridge have busted from the heavy cover and spawning rainbow and cutthroat trout are all along the icy riverbanks. Nature surely abounds here in the wild places, I feel fortunate to live here and even more fortunate to share this wild adventure with my wife today in this majestic place. The true bounty is not in the found sheds, or bunnies taken, nor in the wildlife seen. It is in the life we live, being included in the magic of it all, the circle of life all around us. As a great horned owl watches me from a nearby cottonwood branch, I am reminded by this nocturnal hunter that what I have witnessed in these few hours is only a fraction of what must go on here day and night.a whitetail buck busts from cover and races toward safety with raised tail and one lone antler still clinging to his head. I smile to myself and realize that as much as I would like to believe that I am one with this place , I am nothing but an invader of their homes. However I will return.. because my adventurous soul craves the wild places,my being would not be complete without natures Bounty surrounding me!