The Hunt, page 13
About a hundred meters down, a finger ridge jutted out of the slope, almost perpendicular to Alpha but angling northwest. For a hundred meters or so, it was level enough and just wide enough to walk across upright, and Tony did just that. He stopped at the point where the ridge sloped steeply downward so the boys could catch their breath and soak in the view. In Kansas, this humble ridge would be a tourist hot spot. In Colorado, it was just another opening overlooking another spectacular, sun-dappled valley of aspen and pine with a sparkling stream running through it. On the far side of the valley, the western side, was Bravo, the north-south ridge, slightly lower in elevation than Alpha.
“Look at this,” said Tony to his sons, now joining him at the tip of the finger ridge. “Each side of this ridge has its own distinct—what’s the word?—ecology.” He pointed out how the north slope descended sharply from the finger ridge into a dark timber dense with spruce, fir, and pine. The south slope descended more gradually and, thanks to the sun, sported aspen, juniper, and pine, as well as open grassy patches scattered here and there. “Finger ridge begins with an ‘F.’ So let’s call this ridge ‘Foxtrot.’”
After a few minutes soaking in the wholeness of it all, Tony pulled out his 10x42 Swarovskis and started scanning for signs of elk. He’d bought these hunting binoculars used a few years back. He liked their razor-sharp images, high contrast, and true color. But even used, Angel reminded him, they cost as much as a week in Sardinia. She wasn’t thrilled with that purchase, but as he told her, once you looked through them, everything else was as though through a glass darkly.
He laughed a little thinking about that comment. She had the sweetest way of scolding him. “I appreciate your Biblical references,” she chided him, “but I don’t think the Apostle Paul had hunting in mind when he was writing to the Corinthians.” As Tony glassed the area, a good-sized business jet flew over heading southwest. It looked like a Gulfstream G5. It bugged him that it would fly so low if for no other reason that it dispelled the illusion that he and his boys were the last of the Mohicans.
“Now that’s the way to travel!” said Luke, looking up at the jet with an unforced grin on his face. “Where you think they’re going?”
“Aspen, I suspect,” said Matt. “He’s on an approach to land.”
When the plane vanished behind Alpha, Tony turned his focus to the stream that ran north-south through the valley below. He checked the topo map carefully. “The stream’s called Elk Creek.”
“Really?” said Luke.
“No, just kidding. It’s called Badger Creek.”
“Too bad we’re not on a badger hunt,” said Luke. “I’d be more optimistic.”
Luke
The three scouted the valley floor—Tony with his Swarovskis, Matt with the more affordable Tasco binoculars, and Luke with the eyes God gave him. While his father and brother looked for signs of elk, he soaked in the vast expanse of the valley. The trees crept close to the stream on either bank, but not so close that he couldn’t see the stream, at least in stretches, including one smallish stretch directly below him. He took note of the openings in the tree cover throughout the valley, some from obvious outcroppings of rock, some from drainage, others for reasons geologists or botanists might know, but he certainly didn’t.
“The woods are kind of thick,” he said to his father, pointing to the dense woods between their position and the stream. “Can elk get through there?”
“They’re pretty agile. I’m told they can squeeze though openings that would challenge mice, even in dark timber.”
“Mice, huh?” laughed Matt.
“Okay, badgers.”
“You think there’s actually elk?” Luke asked.
“Unless I miss my guess,” said his dad, “the water in the stream and the grass around it just might draw them out from the woods—if, that is, there’s elk to be drawn.”
“Can we shoot from here, Dad?” Luke asked.
“Think we should?”
“Yeah,” said Luke. “How far is the stream?”
“You tell me.”
He studied the stream for a bit and then replied, “Not sure. I’d just be guessing.”
“To even guess you need a reference point. Try looking at the trees.”
“Quarter mile?” Luke hesitated. “Don’t know.”
“That’s why God gave us the range finder.”
Luke pulled the range finder out of his pack. It looked something like a small pair of binoculars with two lenses but only one eyepiece. He had not used one before, but if it was electronic, he was sure he could figure it out.
His father let him fiddle but gave him a little advice as he did. “It shoots a laser to measure distance. At this range, it should be easy to get a reading. See that big honking rock by the stream due west? Bounce the laser off that.”
Luke fiddled some more and smiled. “I got two hundred and fifty-seven meters. How long’s a meter again?”
“About one ten-millionth of the distance from the equator to the North Pole,” said his dad.
“That’s helpful.”
“You guys got to learn these things. About a yard plus
ten percent.”
“I know I could nail an elk from here,” said Luke with a flash of pride.
“Could, son, but probably wouldn’t. We got just a narrow window on the stream from here.”
“And while you’re terrorizing the elk,” said Matt, “Dad and I are stuck on this rocky ledge.”
“It is kind of cramped,” his father deadpanned. “Plus, it’s got a sharp falloff in front and about a ten foot drop on the right side. And if you get careless, there’s lots of loose rock to slip on. Not exactly a place you want to set up on before dawn.”
“Okay, okay,” said Luke. “Let’s keep looking.”
Tony
As they hiked south down the gentler slope to the left of Foxtrot, Tony knew what he hoped to find: ideally an open area with a panoramic view of the valley. He thought he had seen one from the finger ridge, but he could not judge its sight lines from a distance. Without a good perspective on the stream, they might as well have set up shop on their deck back in Kansas. The comfort level would be much higher and the probability of shooting an elk not much lower.
“Guys, keep your eyes open down there. We need to see some signs of activity.”
“Other than smoking,” Matt added with a smirk.
“Yeah, other than smoking.”
There was no clear path on the way south and down. They had to make their own. After about thirty meters in the open, he and the boys cut back to the left into a thicker patch of timber, all pine and Douglas fir. It was denser than Tony would have liked, but he was hoping the elk saw it differently. After a short hike, he keyed in on what appeared to be a break in the tree cover, the one he had seen from above.
“Let’s head over this way, gents.”
The three quickened their step and soon emerged into a clearing rich with high grass about two-thirds of the way down the slope and perhaps, thought Tony, two hundred meters above the stream. An abrupt drop-off from the front of the clearing left them with a clear view of the stream below.
“Not bad,” said Luke.
The clouds had just barely parted, and the late afternoon sun threw the valley around them into spectacular relief.
“If there’s water in that stream, there’s bound to be some animals,” said Tony, now genuinely hopeful. The boys seemed to feed on his optimism.
“Cool,” said Matt.
“You think?” asked Luke, always the skeptic.
“No guarantee,” said Tony, “but good bet.” He took out his binoculars and surveyed the valley. He identified a few good sight lines to the stream below and looked for signs of life. He was too far away to confirm tracks, even with the Swarovskis, but he thought he could see stretches where the mud had been churned up. He chose not to say anything. He didn’t want to get the boys’ hopes up without being sure.
Handing the glasses off to Luke, Tony grabbed the range finder and zeroed in on a rock formation on the far side of the stream. The number on the display confirmed his own intuitive estimate: 213 meters—a little farther than he might have liked, but not bad.
“This works for me,” said Tony. “Let’s drag over this deadfall to use as a shooting bench.”
“Sure we can do this?” asked Matt, eying the massive log.
“Piece of cake,” said Tony. “Now for a little basic engineering.” So saying, he pulled the block and tackle out of his day-pack and went to work, tying a timber hitch around the end of the log for one block and anchoring the line for the second block to a tree across the clearing.
“You guys stand on either side of the log and guide it over straight. I’ll pull.” The pulleys still amazed Tony with how well they applied a mechanical advantage. For the first time since he left Dr. Heller’s office a few weeks back, he was convinced he made the right decision. The boys had a lot to learn, and there was no better place to learn it than on an elk hunt in the Rockies.
Moom
“Okay!” said Moom out loud. The lead horseman looked up as he climbed through a small clearing a few hundred yards beneath Moom and waved. Moom waved back, his heart skipping. He had done his job. The guys had stopped long enough for lunch or siesta or whatever in the woods below to worry Moom, but they knew where he was, and, for better or worse, they were on their way.
Luke
Looking around the valley, Luke began to understand why his father was so keen on the Swarovskis. He could see everything—the sparkle in the stream, the sway of the branches in the wind, the scuttling shadows from the passing clouds.
“These are great,” he said to no one in particular, “I can just about count the leaves on the trees on the far side of the valley.” Fascinated, Luke panned the terrain, hoping to be the first to spot an elk. Sure enough, halfway up the opposing ridge and to the north, he spotted some movement. He played with the focus and convinced himself that yes, these weren’t badgers. They were four-legged animals flitting in and out of the cover.
“I think I see something.”
“Elk?” Matt asked.
“Don’t know.” Luke wasn’t sure how to answer. What bummed him was that the animals were climbing up the far slope, moving away from the stream and their meeting with their maker, courtesy of Luke and his Remington.
“What you got there, Hawkeye?” said his father.
“Elk, I think.”
“You sure?”
“No, I’m not sure.” Luke intensified his focus. He looked again. “Yeah, I am sure. They are not elk.”
“What are you seeing?”
It wasn’t until the animals fully emerged from the tree cover that he knew what he had spotted. “Crap,” he spit out.
“Ease up, son.”
“They’re horses, with riders.”
He handed him the glasses. “Take a look.”
Tony
Tony had a hard time finding them. Frustrated, Luke kept jabbing in their direction. “Can’t you see them?”
“I see ’em,” he said finally. He could see well enough to count the horses. There were four of them. That did not surprise him. These were the guys they had seen at Zeke’s, but what worried him was that he counted three riders. Somewhere along the way they had added a third guy.
“Maybe they’re heading over the other ridge and’ll leave this valley to us,” said Luke hopefully.
“Maybe so. Take another look, son, and tell me what you can about the riders.”
“Sure.”
Staring intently through the glasses, Luke followed the men as they and their horses ascended the mountainside in and out of the trees.
“Is one of them wearing a weird hat?”
“Yeah.”
“Anything else?”
“The one horse has got some funny panniers or whatever you call them.”
“What do you mean, funny?”
Luke continued to stare intently through the glasses.
“Well, you know how ours are big and floppy, these are like long canvas bags, like duffel bags, but longer and skinnier.”
“Let me take a look.”
Luke handed the glasses back to Tony. As much as he adjusted the lenses, he could not see with the clarity his son did. He handed them back to Luke.
“How long would you say those bags are?”
“How long is a horse?”
“About eight feet.”
“The bags are almost that long. About six feet probably.”
“You said ‘bags.’ Is there more than one?
“I’m guessing two. Only one of the packhorses is carrying them, and I can only see one side of him. I’m thinking there’s another bag just like it on the opposite side.”
“Can I see?” asked Matt.
Before Luke handed them over, Tony whispered to Matt, “There’s three men.”
Matt
There was no mistaking the concern in his father’s voice. Matt thought he knew why but chose not to pursue it, at least not with Luke in earshot. Looking through the glasses, he confirmed that there were three men and two unusually long bags.
“Why you so interested in the panniers?” Matt asked his father.
“Just curious. Like to keep up with new hunting gear.”
Matt didn’t quite buy that answer. He never knew his father to lie about anything important, but like all dads, he’d fudge a little to protect his kids.
“What do you think they’re carrying?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” his father laughed. “Fishing poles? Pool cues?”
“Cigarette cartons?” Matt joked back.
“An RPG?” asked Luke.
Matt turned to his father, hoping he would laugh his brother off, but he didn’t.
“That would be a novel way to hunt,” he said with a forced smile. “But I’m not sure the game wardens would approve. Let’s go find some elk before these guys blow them all up.”
Luke laughed, but Matt wasn’t at all sure his father was joking.
Tony
As he led the boys down the mountain, sliding on their butts in one stretch, Tony cautioned them to silence. He did not want to scare the elk away, he told them, but he also chose not to talk, lest he reveal his own concerns. The Hajis—or whoever—had unsettled Thor, and Thor wasn’t easy to unsettle. He sensed that Matt was a little worried too, but they had no reason to connect the guys on horseback with the Haji. Still, that third rider bugged him. If it were Jake from State Farm, he mused—No, no, that’s crazy.
Try as hard as he might to stop it, that train of thought had left the station. At one moment, in fact, Tony entertained the suspicion that Luke may have been right when he said “RPG.” In Shok Valley, he had seen up close what an RPG could do when launched by someone who knew how to aim one. The results were pretty horrid. On that memorable occasion, a Haji launched a round in his general direction, and he had been having the occasional PTSD moment ever since.
If it had just been him and Thor, he would have been more curious than concerned. In fact, they probably would have welcomed the adventure. But with his boys, he wondered whether the responsible thing to do was to turn around and get them the hell out of there. Dr. Heller would certainly have thought so.
No, he thought. He was here to toughen the guys up, not to hover over them like an overeager helicopter dad. Even if those riders weren’t hunting elk, even if they were expecting a drug drop from one of the passing planes—he laughed at the thought—he and the boys would be in and out of this valley before they got in anyone’s way. In any case, the riders seemed to be heading up and over Bravo. Out of sight, out of mind. Maybe.
Matt
As they hiked down to the stream, the pine branches whispered in the breeze overhead and the fallen pine needles cushioned their steps. Matt wished he could absorb the serenity of it all, and on an ordinary day he might have, but not today. Not now. He kept looking for a sight line up to where they had last seen those horses. The closer they got to the stream, the thicker and more consistent the cover became, and the more frustrated Matt grew. Unable to see the far ridge, he had to assume the riders were still climbing. Something was wrong. He knew it like he knew his own name. He sensed his father knew it too, but was holding back so as not to scare him and Luke.
Even in the midst of the thickest cover, Matt was sure he could find the stream. All he had to do was use his compass to head west and keep going downhill. The stream ran almost due north-south. There was no avoiding it. When they emerged from the wooded area, the stream was pretty much right in front of them.
“Here we are, guys,” his father whispered. “Keep your eyes open for some tracks.”
“Wow,” said Luke, recoiling, “This place stinks!”
The stench washed over Matt as well. “Something must have died down here,” he groaned, turning for an explanation to his father, who surprised him with a big smile.
“That, my boys, is the smell of hope.”
“Hope?” asked Matt.
“Yup, and here hope is spelled P-I-S-S…as in elk piss.”
Excited by the news, Luke skipped across the shallow stream on rocks poking above the water line. Matt envied him his innocence. If his brother suspected anything, he didn’t show it. Matt tried to catch his father’s eye without being too obvious. He imagined they shared the same concern, but he could not be sure. His dad was playing along with Luke as though nothing in the world was more important than finding elk.
Moom
The lead horseman stopped on the upslope just before he reached Moom. He looked Hispanic, to Moom, and tough. He was smoking a cigarette. The two horsemen coming up behind him were stranger looking. One wore a funny, old-fashioned hat. The other appeared to be an Indian with a twisted braid. They trailed a fourth horse behind them, burdened with long bags on either side. Moom knew better than to ask what was in them.
