A warriors reason.

Sweat slides down sergeant Lawson's face as he stares into the desert heat for signs of the enemy. Every nerve is on edge,a slight breeze of super heated Afghan air stirs his shirt sleeve. He sights down the scope of his fifty caliber rifle and whispers to his spotter "nine hundred thirty yards, wind ten, from our six.." "Confirmed Sargent" answers the voice at his left. He sees a slight movement in the scope of a man shifting in the sand. The spotter whispers" wind still ten ,temperature 110 , range nine hundred thirty even." Lawson adjusts his scope to allow for the heat, wind, and range. With practiced precision he breathes in, starts to let out the air and lightly touches the trigger. The rifle roars and he loses his sight picture for a split second. About the time he reacquires the target he sees the bullet impact the man. A red spray announces .comhis shot was good. The devastation of a fifty caliber round on human flesh is indescribable.Two Taliban soldiers break from the hillside and make a feeble attempt at escape. The enemy having no idea where the shot came from run straight at certain death. Two more echoes from the fifty at eight hundred ten yards and again at seven eighty and the threat is no more. Lawson and his spotter wait two days before leaving the area under cover of darkness. Patience is something that has kept them alive for years and hurrying has been the downfall of many of their targets. They once waited five days for a shot after wounding the enemy from nearly a mile away. The enemy felt the threat must have left after so long and paid dearly with their lives when they finally made their move to retreat.
Flash back ten years earlier and you will find the future sergeant slowly moving through the forest. In his hands is a homemade bow, a self bow made from a hickory sapling he learned to build bows from his granddad. His hunting prowess and skills he learned from his father, uncles, granddad and from good old trial and error. Nothing sharpens the senses like a lesson learned through the school of hard Knox. Lawson is no stranger to the hunt nor to the patience required of the hunter to be successful. By the time he joined the army his skills as a hunter were well refined. Eight years of combat, training, and finding out what it really means to become a warrior have made lawson a force to be reckoned with. He has eighteen confirmed kills some over a thousand yards. Yet his finest shot ever made if you ask him is one at ten yards on a elk while hunting with his dad. The bull went only twenty feet before expiring beside a clear creek. Lawson recalls that last hunt with his father before his passing later that winter and smiles at the memory.

Now here he sits beside his lovely wife trying to enjoy a meal at the local steakhouse. Three loud obnoxious young men who have been drinking at the bar stand and make a rude gesture toward Lawson and his wife. Both avert their eyes from the trouble makers and try to ignore the rude behavior. The leader of the group approaches the table on wobbly legs. He tells Lawson that he believes his lady should be eating with some real men. The waiter asks the men to leave and is rudely pushed aside. Lawson reacts without thinking, he catches the man across the throat with a stiff elbow and follows it up with another fist to the back of the head as the man goes down. The man stays down,followed closely by both his friends who try in vain to protect their fallen comrade. Lawson calmly returns to his seat and his wife sees for the first time in her life a glimpse of the man who defends her, her way of life and her country. She is frightened by what she sees behind those eyes, yet her love and commitment to him remains steadfast and she must admit she is proud this warrior belongs to her.

Outside Lawson is questioned by police and released along with his wife to return home. He never mentions the incident again and she never brings it up. He wonders as he boards the plane for his final tour with the army. Will she still be there when he returns, if he returns. Yes! She will always be there for him no matter how long or how tough. She will remain his closest friend, his ally, his reason for keeping up the good fight. And lord help any Taliban fighters who stand in the way of him returning to her. The shortest distance between two points is through a rifle scope and the quickest way to meet your maker is to stand between a soldier and his reason for fighting. He may be able to shoot farther and more accurate than most. But the boundaries of his love for her are endless and farther reaching than any other weapon in the American arsenal.


High country archer

Wild or mild...

A small piece of broken grass is all that announces the passing of sharp hooves along this high creek. Two feet away the earth is churned up and broken grasses leave a clear trail heading south. I am always amazed at the fact that ten deer can run through the woods and leave little or no sign, while one person on the same trail will leave enough sign to last for weeks. Tracking through heavy timber is usually very hard. Pine duff and leaf litter combined with sticks and stones often make for very hard tracking. Today, however is an exception. The trail is hours old but scuff marks and broken forest debri make it easy to track this person even at a run. I follow the trail through heavy timber for about a mile when suddenly the trail turns downhill toward the river. Following this track had gained me insight to the person I am following. He is about one hundred and fifty pounds and long legged. In great shape considering the twelve miles I have been following his erratic trail and obviously not the brightest when it comes to wilderness travel or direction. Since daylight he has changed direction of travel eight times. He is now traveling back toward the river where he was three hours ago. If he keeps to the line of sight traveled, he will cross his and my tracks near the river . I pick up the pace and make a decision to cut across country to the narrows between a rock outcrop and the river. If he keeps going downhill at this angle he will either have to cross the rushing river or pass through the narrows.

An old elk trail makes travel fast and efficient for me as I race headlong through the forest. Gatherings of light and shadow alternate throughout the wilderness as I sit upon the rock outcrop. Heavy breathing and rapid heart rate pound in my ears as I try to catch my breath after the long run. My plan worked. Thirty feet below me a lanky man staggers through the forest. His face is scratched and he is filthy. His clothes are torn and his facial expression shows worry, fear and exhaustion. I work my way down toward an interception along the trail he travels, careful of my footing on the steep slope. The man looks up and immediately begins yelling, "help!help! Help me! " He runs up too me and in a fast talk and rapid hand gestures tells me he is lost and starving, and lost and he was so cold last night and he mentions he was lost. I offer him some water from my canteen and a bag of trail mix. He guzzles the water and immediately feels faint. I explain that too much water too fast will usually do that. He asks if I can go for help. Maybe send search and rescue, a chopper .. Anything!! I tell him that I am HELP.. I am a tracker for search and rescue and have been tracking him since yesterday evening. I explain that no choppers are coming, we will have to head down the trail along the river. From there we will follow the creek directly to his truck which was only about a half mile from where he slept under the overhang last night. I also explain that he would have been much warmer had he moved uphill away from the creek where colder air settles in the night. He told me that he has been hiking trails in the mountains for ten years, from Colorado to the Alps, and has never been lost.

"Until now I add." He also explained that he may sue the state of Montana for not marking the trails properly. I ponder leaving the man to his fate and hoping the wilderness will be merciful in its dispatching of this experienced woodsman. But the moment passes and I lead him back to a world, where well marked trails and designated campsites make it possible for "experienced wilderness travelers"to traverse our majestic places without fear of what those mean old mountains may do to them.

Oh, and by the way, wary traveler, grizzly bears don't only stay in places marked by the forest service as "bear areas." And unmarked trails are still trails. You can follow them out the same way you follow them in. And rock slides and avalanches don't just happen where signs are posted. So be careful, and have fun.

Spring

Green grasses are beginning to show across the land.

longer periods of daylight lend warmth to the spring morning. Everywhere new life abounds, bluebirds have returned to the mountains, the beautiful song of a meadowlark echoes from a nearby fence post. Deer wear a shaggy coat of ragged hair as they shed the long winter coats, fat bellied elk move through the brigh sunlight nearly every cow is carrying a soon to be born calf the remnants of last September rut. The natural renewal of nature is awe inspiring, flowers blooming at the edge of deep snowdrifts says to the watchful wilderness traveler that spring will not wait. It can't wait, the season of growth, and new life is only a few short months. Sooner than we want to realize it snow and bitter cold will return here to deaden the land and lock nature in an icy grip for many months.I love the early spring time, turkeys strutting, larks singing and freshly dropped elk sheds in the high places. Ground squirrels and prairie dogs standing in bright sunshine surveying their newly dug mounds for the ferocious badger and hawks who eat them and are constant in their search for food to feed their young. Everywhere I look I see new life, new beginnings, and beautiful nature. I breathe in clean spring air, soak up bright sunshine and feel the burn in my legs as I traverse this wonderful mountainside. Fresh bear tracks along the ridge tell me that winter is long gone, I can see where the bear tore fresh grass from the earth, bears eat mostly grasses in the early spring to rid themselves of parasites and clean their digestive tract. A pair of ravens fly by calling to one another, the male flipping over upside down then righting mimself in trying to impress the female. Up against a broken pine tree at the edge of heavy timber a thick beamed elk shed lied half covered in snow, I pick up my newfound trophy and tie it to the pack with the others I have collected over these last few days. Hefting the pack once again I continue along. The ridge taking all the spring day has to offer, yep new life, new beginnings , new trails to walk ... I can't wait to see what is over the next rise, maybe another elk shed, maybe another majestic mountain view. Or maybe just warm sunshine on my face, and freedom for my soul..

Preparedness

What a night , loud music and friends always make the night fly by, add in copious amounts of alcohol and before she knew it two am had arrived.The sound of her footsteps on pavement echo loudly across the early morning darkness, she is still humming the latest karaoke song as she rounds the corner toward her apartment. The best part about her favorite bar is it is only three blocks away and everyone knows her there so it is safe for her to get a little tipsy and have fun on wild Saturday nights. She can see the light from her apartment steps and reaches for her keys, suddenly from behind she hears rapidly approaching footfalls,she turns her head toward the sound she is struck hard on the back of the head, her world goes grey and then black as the night sounds disappear.

When she awakes she is inside her own home, her clothes are gone and she feels faint, trying to rise to her feet she realizes she is bound to the bed with strips of her own sheets, her body is covered in bruises and she hurts everywhere, a man carrying a short barreled pistol enters the bedroom, it is the guy she met at the bar, she danced with him last night,but when she told him she had a boyfriend she cared for very much he had said he wasn't going to waste any more of his time. He walked to the bed and told her in great detail what he had done to her and what he was planning to do to her over the next days. She cried as he touched her hair, wishing she could reach the nightstand where her handgun was, or at least get loose so she could use her black belt skills on this demon man. He punches her in the face and she feels the black vail returning to her.

Marge has Ben living here in this apartment for years, she has seen people come and go more times than she can count, Kelly is her neighbor and marge knows her boyfriend is working away for home, the sounds coming through the walls tell her that she is in trouble, marge is certain that she hears her young neighbor crying and the sounds of a man are definite. Marge calls 911 and reaches for her late husbands shotgun. She knocks on the door and a man answers, he is nude to the waist and reeks of stale whiskey, she points the shotgun at the intruder and pushes her way through the door. The man backs away quickly and starts talking fast, Marge glances into the bed room

and sees the girl tied up and bleeding, her rage is sudden and decisive as she sees the man raising a pistol toward her,The shotgun makes quick work of tearing the mans genitals and half his left leg free of the body, the second shot turns the rapist into a splatter of debri, easily shredding his evil flesh as the boom dies away on the morning air. The gun in his hand falls to the floor unfired, as marge scurries to the girls side, she is alive, but literally beaten senseless. Sirens are outside as marge settles to the floor laying her late husbands shotgun down, how she misses him, ten years ago he left to go live with the lord. Who knew her first time to shoot a gun would be to take a life. Sirens and footfalls announce the police are here as she holds her now conscious neighbors hand, their eyes meets and the pain in both souls collide as the first officer arrives.

Preparedness could have saved Kelly from her ordeal. She had a firearm, "at home"she was trained to defend herself .. But bad decisions and alcohol cost her dearly... Marge did the right thing and reacted "... The sad truth is there are few Marge's in the world and usually when someone does stand up against evil doers they end up a victim themselves. Ladies there are hundreds of thousands of rapes, kidnappings, assaults and other atrocities committed on women every year, don't be a victim, if u are going out,go with a group and if u have a firearm and your state allows, carrying it. Be vigilant, be safe, stay alive... never allow yourself to let your guard down when alone in an unsafe environment, no matter how many times you have already gotten away with it. In most cases victims are just that "victims."

Perceptions

Pine duff along the forest floor lends silence to my footsteps while late evening sunlight filters through the high canopy of spruce and pine directly above me. Tracks of a bull elk are faint but easily followed along this high mountain trail. I have been following this old warrior since early dawn, twice I have closed the distance to mere yards, but his absolute pursuit of receptive cows has kept him moving deeper into the heavy timber. A squirrel sends out a rapid chatter of alarm from somewhere to my right, his crescendo of annoyed reverberations is answered by another squirrel farther down the mountain. As the evening shadows creep closer to one another a raven caws from overhead and the soft calling of cow elk can be heard throughout the forest. Nature is singing an ancient song that never stops, a voice of perfect harmony as elk, squirrel, raven and every other forest sound blend with my heartbeat as I close the distance on the old bull. At thirty yards he turns broadside last out a growling bugle and begins the final chuckle of a perfect elk call. Suddenly the forest goes deathly quiet , elk stand looking fearfully and alert, the squirrels instantly cease their chatter and the once noisy raven is lost in the foliage. I begin looking around the dense forest searching the shadows for the obvious, only one thing silences the forest so quickly, a predator...... I scan my surroundings certain that a large grizzly or cougar is stalking nearby. Elk begin a rapid retreat to safer places, leaving me searching the darkening forest with renewed vigor, I feel fear of the unknown beginning to engulf me as a small brown creature sticks its head around a nearby lodge pole and raises the alarm cry only three feet away. I feel the grin crossing my face as the fear leaves me like a early morning fog dissipating with the new sun. Yes there is a fierce predator lurking in these woods, and the occupants of this pristine place made short work of making my presence known to all through a language only they really truly understand. I shoulder my bow and begin the long walk back to camp humbled by my newfound place at the top of the food chain. I guess sometimes even we predators get noticed even when we try our best not to be... Hawk...