Days

I love the moment just before sunrise, the anticipation of new light always brings me to a heightened sense of awareness. The way rays of light reach across the entire sky just before the sun makes its grand entrance is awe inspiring. There is one thing for sure in this world and that is that the sun will rise in the east. Every day the bright orb makes its entrance into the sky and with the light comes another opportunity for those who wake to its brightness to begin anew. No matter where in the world we are or who we are the sun will announce a new chance, a new day, a new beginning. I have been fortunate to enjoy forty two years and eight months and four days of sunrises. That is fifteen thousand five hundred and eighty sunrises so far. I have been blessed with the gift of all these sunrises and they seem to me to be brighter with each rising. As I look toward my future and all it holds for me I embrace every climbing of every sun across broad expanse of sky. The days do seem to go by slowly when looking toward our future and all the mysteries waiting for us to enjoy every moment. Yet at the same time every day also flies by, in the blink of an eye fifteen thousand sunrises have become sunsets and we wonder how it has passed by so quickly. I cannot complain, I have found true love, love beyond the boundaries of sunrises and have two boys who are my greatest accomplishment,my greatest joy. I have walked and ridden many trails and traveled to many places. Yes I really do enjoy the prospect of a new sunrise. It is as if the creator is lighting up the sky just for me,it is his way of saying here comes another moment. Here comes another ray of brightness to remind you that I am here. No matter what the reason for the rising I will always long for its magical and faithful coming. And yes I do long for the future,with a quickened step and a faithful heart I live each day looking forward to the sunsets. Because with every sunset there is a sunrise just around the corner.

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.

"Stamina"

Snow flies from under the pony’s unshod hooves, with each stride the warrior can feel the raw power of his favorite warhorse beneath him. Far behind the mustang and his rider a dozens of U.S. Cavalry are strung out in a ragged line. For hours the larger horses have pursued the pair over broken country, hour after hour the smaller mustang has gained ground against the longer legged animals. His shorter legs and powerful build do not at a glance announce speed. However decades of living in this country have hardened and refined the wild mustang to a razors edge concerning survival and stamina. Near the top of the Wind River pass Lame Eagle slows his horse to a slow walk and finally to a stop several miles above the plateau where the cavalry still desperately pursues. Dismounting, he caresses his trusty steed and offers up a war song to the animal for his bravery and strength, the horse sensing his master’s affection nuzzles Lame Eagle and standing in this high place looks down upon the inferior horses who have tried once again in vain to catch him in his own country. They disappear over the ridge and begin an easy trot toward the high country and home confident to lose the soldiers in the timbered slopes ahead.

Captain Smith slows his tired gelding to a stop, every man and horse in his regiment is either tired or nearly broken. For the life of him, he cannot figure how the savages and their wild horses can consistently outrun and outmaneuver his highly trained and conditioned men and military stock. For ten years he has chased, tracked, and pursued the savages and never once has he caught a lone warrior even on open ground. Maybe instead of shooting the Indian ponies at every opportunity the army should consider commissioning the wild stock and using them for troop movement. Never! He and his regiment would be the laughing stock of the western army. Civilized men riding upon wild beasts, as he watches the savage disappear over a far ridge through his looking glass he decides this chase has come to an end. Indian ponies must truly be the devils spawn he thinks to himself, no mortal steed could possibly keep up such a pace.

Today the wild mustang is still wild and free upon the western plains and mountains; several are caught each year and adopted to those willing to spend the time training them for practical use as a saddle horse. I am fortunate to have the opportunity to ride across the ancient plains and mountain trails upon the descendants of those ancient war ponies. Let me assure you their spirit, stamina and vitality is still alive and well today… Hawk this story is dedicated to the memory of Cisco, who is already home… and to Magpie and Bronte our mustangs who share the ride with my family, and to my old war horse Tiger who still keeps us all in line.. Hawk a/ho

Mother Earth..

For me the coming of spring is one of my favorite times of the year. Mother earth awakens, the cold bitter winds of winter and deep snows give way to green grasses and warm Chinook winds dance across the landscape. In the high country the snows are receding and wildflowers are waiting for the new sunshine to help them burst forth with beauty and sweet smelling scent which is unmatched by anything in nature. With the beauty and grace possessed by all women of this world, Mother Earth stretches her body to its full height and beauty, we stand in awe at her remarkable, and magnificent allure as she shows us the rebirth of all things upon her bosom. Baby animals begin to emerge from their nests and burrows, upon the plains deer and antelope are bursting at the seams with the new life growing inside them, as are the elk and bison along the western front of the Absaroka mountain range. Hawks and Eagles are sitting on their eggs, faithfully waiting for the soon to be born chicks to arrive. Owls are feeding their chicks that are now about three weeks old, meadowlarks are seen on the open range fence posts and sagebrush singing their love songs to the world. The song reverberates across the ancient lands with a harmony and pitch that would make Celine Dion envious. I could walk for hours across the newborn landscape just soaking up the newness and harmony of it all. Cleansing rains fall upon the earth, combined with the spring sunshine; each day witnesses a rebirth of natures wonder, splendor, and the new life sooths the soul.
Within a month or so every tree will be leafed out in all its glory the grasses and flowers will be grown to their full height and dazzling brilliance, from the heavens the creator will smile down upon her natural beauty. For those of us who take a moment to stop and stare, to contemplate mother earth in her time of brilliant rebirth and awesome beauty, we will be humbled, awestruck and at the least momentarily connected to her through all things in this great circle of life...Hawk…

For those of you who are fellow hunters and have been giving me a hard time about getting too Deep and philosophical about my secret affair with mother earth and her perfect beauty. Spring is also a good time to drink beer, shoot bows and bear season is open..…… OOGA BOOGA brothers and sisters of the bow.