Only Eight More Months Till October 15th

Oh, deer! In the fall, bulls of this 

species - aka the wapiti - fight for harems 

that can number up to 60.

This was a clue on Jeopardy last month. It was the $1000 clue, so I assume it was expected to be difficult. But, I was surprised when no contestant could give the answer.  None of the three were from the west, so maybe that figured into it, too. Of course, this Wyoming girl knew immediately the correct response was "What is an elk?" 

Elk were a common feature of my childhood. Every year, October 15th was a school holiday. Why? It was the opening day of Elk Hunting Season. Seriously?? A school holiday for that?? Well, let me explain.

First, most people were going to go hunting for an elk, and the best day to go is opening day, because after that, the elk figure out that people are out in the woods looking for them, and they move up to the high ground.   

Second, going hunting wasn't merely a hobby--it put food on the table. A grown bull elk can weigh over 700 pounds. When it was cut up, and put in the freezer, it constituted half of our family's meat for the year. Elk meat is lower in fat than beef, and, as a child, I could tell no difference. I'm sure, as an adult, I'd know which was beef, and which was elk, but in my mother's kitchen, an elk roast served with potatoes and gravy, or elk stew with potatoes and carrots and her homemade bread, were gobbled up as quickly as any beef entree. 

I say it wasn't just a hobby, but it was a way of life. People came from all over the country to our mountain valley just to hunt elk. In Wyoming, it was required that hunters from any other state had to be accompanied by a licensed Wyoming hunter as a guide. If you were lucky enough to have your name drawn in the annual lottery for an out-of-state hunting license, then you also needed to hire someone to take you out in the mountains (especially the designated wilderness) to go on that hunt. Many people in my home town earned significant money each fall by working with a licensed outfitter (such as CoolGuy's brothers) and guiding hunters.  

And, even if you weren't wishing to trudge around in the snow and cold with an enthusiastic out-of-stater, many people lived in our valley because hunting and fishing was excellent there, and they enjoyed hunting. It was their hobby...their passion...something they anticipated all year. 

Elk are one of those big challenge animals, too. Imagine you're out in the mountains, pursuing it in the snow, up and down steep canyons, using your bugling skills to call a frisky bull over your direction, so it will be within range. Sure, you could shoot it across the canyon, but then you've got to trudge all the way down and then up the other side to collect your prize. And once, you've got it cut up and ready to pack out, you'll be exhausted. So, you need to be reasonable about where you plan to drop your trophy.

Or so I've heard...you see, in my entire life, I've never gone elk hunting. I've listened to the stories. I've seen my dad, my sisters, brothers, uncles, and brothers-in-law, get all the gear ready, and pack their saddles, and their lunches, and adjust the sights on their rifles, and pack all their bullets, knives, etc. etc. But, I was always the one who'd stay home and milk the cows, while they set off in the predawn chill with the horses loaded in the back of the truck. I was thrilled for them when they returned late at night with their treasures of antlers and hides, and quarters of meat. But, no way did I have any desire---EVER---to go out there and join the hunt. 

A) I don't like to kill anything but bugs.

B) It's freezing cold on October 15 at 7000 feet in the Rocky Mountains.

C) There's usually snow on the ground--lots of it. This isn't a pleasant ride up the hill with the wildflowers blooming.

So, I appreciated October 15th as a school vacation. Actually, we usually had two days off. I mean, even our teachers went hunting. No one would have come to school, so they just scheduled a holiday. And I appreciated eating the delicious food my mother cooked from the elk my dad harvested every year. I came to understand, as I grew older, that my dad was probably born in the wrong century. He didn't go hunting out of obligation to provide for his family. After all, we raised cattle and chickens and pigs. But he went hunting from some primal need deep in his soul to go out and challenge the wilderness just like his father and  grandfather had done. 

My great-grandfather was an actual mountain-man guy. He spent his time up in the mountains trapping furs and hunting. He was born in the late 1800's and, although he could farm, he preferred hunting and trapping. He actually had a homestead once, and my dad used to tell us how his "Bomp" had sold it for a $20 gold piece so he could get a "stake" to go back out in the mountains. Whenever we'd drive past that particular farm, along the river, my dad would sigh, and remind us of that story. 

So, February 15th, only eight more months till elk season starts. It doesn't matter where I live, or how old I get, October 15 always gives my brain a jog.

 

The two people on the right are my father's parents. They were at an elk hunting camp. I don't know why there isn't snow on the ground. Maybe winter started late that year. This is one of only three photos I've seen of them. Another photo has him straddling  dead elk, while she stands next to him admiringly. They had both died by the time my dad was eight years old.