5. Last Snow

The varmint hunting had been fun and was always good preparation for elk hunting.
But it didn't prepare him for what his doctor had to say during his scheduled visit.
He seldom visited any doctor but he had made this appointment since things in his gut didn't feel right and hadn't for awhile. He wanted to delay it until after elk season but this week was the only time open on the physician's busy schedule.
He had told the doc to put it in plain language after the colonoscopy. He was still somewhat foggy from the pain killers but he clearly understood what the doctor meant by "put your affairs in order before Christmas. Damn it man, why did you wait so long to come see me. It would have been easy to treat it even six months ago ....".

The old elk hunter now knew that leaving for his elk hunt the next day was probably the last thing he would be able to do on his own. He hated being fussed over or taken care of by anyone. Even after his stoke two years ago he refused to take it easy at home and had gone back to work in four days with his new crutches. That was the first time in his life he had been out of commision. He had only had a cold twice in his life. The news was bad but not enough to keep him from elk hunting.

It was quiet at the house with his wife away visiting relatives. She did this every year during elk season. He would wait until she returned to tell her of his condition instead of ruining her trip. He did not have much preparation to make since his camper was already packed. He did decide to make one change and put the 300 WSM rifle back in the vault. Way in the back of the vault he found the rifle his father had given him when he returned from Vietnam. His dad had called it the ultimate varmint rifle. He took it out every summer for the past 33 years and made sure the old Unertl 8X scope still held zero at 700 yards.

He had never hunted with it since its intended quary was humans. It was well used but not by him. His training as a sniper had been for fun and to embarrass the Marines his dad had been training to be snipers. Close to the end of their training his dad would take him with him and challenge his men to outshoot the kid. It was very unsettling to be outshot by a 12 year old. He had used an old Springfield then, and when he got back from 'Nam his dad gave him the M70 as a gift from one of his students that had used the rifle in "Nam and wanted it to go to the "kid".

Long ago he had worked up a load with 180 grain Noslers that grouped reasonably well.
He went to his old loading bench and got everything ready. He selected only one casing from the ones that had been previously shot in that M70. He reached up and found the box that held the last bullet from the first box of Noslers he had ever loaded. He had loaded up the rest for his father and saved the last one as a reminder. He thought it fitting that his last elk hunt would be done with this specific 180 Nosler Partition. One that had been hand turned on a lathe by John Nosler so many years ago.

Way up on the ridge the wind was blowing the snow sideways. This secluded valley was not popular with hunters since it took so much work to hike up there. The only passable road going up there was gated and locked many miles below. The elk loved it since they were not disturbed. Even they would be leaving this valley when the snow got up to their bellies. The snow was not deep and the two herds of elk had no trouble pawing through the light snow for graze. Coming down off the ridge the old elk hunter worked his way down to the stand he had crafted may years ago.

He made himself comfortable against the large rock and down in what looked like a pile of blow downs that he had carefully arranged. He brushed the snow off the heavy limb he used as a rest and leaned the old M70 against it. Perhaps the training as a kid had taken some of the fun out of hunting since he approached each shot as he had been trained to do so long ago. Taking up his binoculars he scoured the two herds for a likely bull. One 6x6 was manuvering some cows up the valley towards him to keep them away from the lesser bulls and away from the dominant 7x7 of the other herd. He looked at the topo map he had made notes on and determined that the bull was about 600 yards out. The valley was not level so he made adjustments for the angle and range on the old Unertl.

He took the one round out of his pocket and slid it into the precision chamber and listened to the bolt cam closed with certainty. He shouldered the rifle and went into the correct mental state for the job at hand. His heart rate evened out, his breathing became even and shallow. The cross hairs settled on the bull as he lowered his head to drink from the tiny creek. Eternity took only a few thousandth of a second as the trigger squeeze was performed. The echo of the 30-06 rang out across the valley and almost covered up the expected sound of the "whop" as the bullet landed in the imaginary 1.5 minute of angle allowed for it. There was no spotter there to confirm the kill, but this was not a military action. The rifle had performed exactly as expected but its use had passed from military to civilian with a quary that was good to eat and wouldn't shoot back.

The old elk hunter knew it was his last elk hunt so he decided to pamper himself and headed back to his truck. It was a long drive down to the ranch house where the keeper of the gate lived. The snow was blowing harder down on the flat as he approached the porch of the old cabin. The door opened to his knock and the old man greeted him with "Hi Kid, the coffees hot" The old elk hunter took off his coat and tossed it on top of the german shorthair laying by the hearth.
The biatch just curled up in it and went back to sleep.

After awhile the old elk hunter told the grizzled gunnery sargent that he had downed the elk with the M70 and his last original Nosler bullet. The Marine grasped the meaning and was absolutely quiet. Marines don't ask obvious questions, and don't shed tears, they just get quiet, very quiet. The sargent got up and refreshed their mugs with hot coffee. He also retrieved the key for the gate and slowly set it in front of the old elk hunter. He then headed outside and slammed the door very hard, rattling all the windows. You could hear the commotion from within the cabin. The privy was being kicked and anything that could be thrown or battered was flying or being demolished. An old truck was started and then the sargent walked calmly back into the cabin. He finished his coffee and said "Well, Kid, let's go get that elk."