Sitting at work and thinking of hunting. It's a strange thing to flash back in my mind to a walk through the woods, carrying a rifle, binoculars, food, thick clothing, game bags, a radio, gloves, ammunition... It was dawn; almost dark and very cold, especially when still groggy and stiff from sleep. I remember the crunch of branches and leaves under my new hiking boots, the dampness of thawing dew, the clinking of Winchester cartridges in my pocket, and the clatter of the radio on my hip. It was my first morning out on the hunt. I had never wandered the woods with a rifle at the ready - planning to shoot a living creature. I vaguely thought this must be a bit like war, and I was a soldier. I scrambled up and down ravines, climbed over logs and spent my energy liberally.... Something I would learn not to do. At times I could hear my own heartbeat and constantly watched my own breath pass through my field of vision, desperately looking and hoping to see signs of an elk. I headed north, occasionally pausing to check my compass and GPS map to find my way back to camp.. I saw claw marks, scratched by a bear into the Aspens and Conifers.... I remember feeling that I was truly a visitor, hunting a creature on his home turf. My spike elk, he had to be out there.. Faster, quieter, and of better senses than me. It was humbling to think my one and only advantage was the rifle in my hands...
Suddenly I am pulled back to the conference room, the pristine glass table, whiteboard diagrams, speakerphone, Ethernet cables, the humming refrigerator full of beverages for visitors, flourescent lights and clicking laptop keys. I ponder the strange and varied experiences I have had. The vast spectrum of smells, emotions, thoughts, sights and sensations that have fallen in line going back over the thirty years of my life.
