SwampFox
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Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo
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1. First Snow
The young coyote should have headed for the lower sage brush country with his brothers after the last full moon. He had instead chosen to keep hunting rabbits and pikas near timberline and was experiencing snow for the first time. Finding a warm place to bed at night was getting difficult and the pikas no longer were out amoung the rocks. His empty belly convinced him to head down from the mountains and attempt to rejoin his brothers. He had enjoyed the comparative plenty when his brothers had left but now longed for the company of his playful brothers and the prospect of a full belly.
He made it down out of the tall pines into the first level of Juniper trees that night and sought refuge from the cold in hollowed out remains of an old Juniper. He had found a few deer mice and a chipmunk on the way so his belly was guiet for the first time in days. Thoughts of running with his brothers through the sage flats filled his dreams.
Dawn broke with an icey wind wipping up the dust and sand. He was stiff until he had trotted a couple miles. Finding his brothers was on his mind but he had not caught their scent on the fickle wind. Hunger soon took over his thoughts
when he stopped on a small hill to watch a red tail hawk drop from the sky. He new a rabbit probably was the target and soon heard the squalling last cry's of a dying jackrabbit. He normally left hawks alone to avoid their sharp beaks and talons but his hunger overrode his hesitation. Quickly descending the hill he headed for the sound of the jackrabbit. He sped up when he thought of the possibility of his brothers being in the area and beating him to the meal.
He rounded a big bunch of sage brush and saw the rabbit in a clearing and saw no hawk nor his brothers. Seeing no competition he dashed to the rabbit and hungrily sunk his teeth into the fake fur at about the same time the bullet from the 6mm Benchrest arrived.
The old elk hunter chambered another round and kept on the lookout for the other group of coyotes he had earlier seen in the area. The first snow of the season was always his favorite varmint calling time. He was still surprised that the hawk had dived on his decoy rabbit.
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"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."
Edited by SwampFox (05/30/09 04:14 PM)
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SwampFox
member
Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo
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2. Paws In The Snow
It wasn't hard for the three young coyote brothers to keep warm as they curled up in the dry grasses together under the low handing branches of the old Juniper tree.
The coldest part of the night would soon be here since it was almost dawn. There was a light skiff of snow covering the sage brush flatlands they had recently moved down too when the cold forced them down from the mountains. There should have been four brothers under the tree but one had chosen to stay in the mountains longer.
Some of the brothers fitful dreams included all four of them but the dreams soon ended as they awoke with the sunrise.
Stretching and yawning they greeted the day one by one. There wasn't much play among the brothers this morning. Their empty stomachs were their first concerns. The nearby bushes were marked to indicate their presence and then they lined out on a track to an alfalfa field not far away. The scent of rabbit had been all around that field the evening before.
The lead brother caught scent of some carrion upwind and decided to investigate.
They found the source of the scent in a clearing and cautiously observed the area from the tall sage brush on the edge. Finally the prospect of a meal prodded them into moving out in the clearing. Their paws barely made a sound in the new soft snow. The carcass was covered in white and they nuzzled it in anticipation of a good meal when the lead brother drew back. The carcas smelled too familiar and the other brothers also realized that it was their missing brother.
Loosing interest they decided to look for another meal. Heading down a draw the lead brother caught a new scent, one he didn't recognize. He had not been around humans and didn't know about coffee or the other odors coming from the old elk hunter's camp but he knew they were new and could spell danger.
He picked up the pace as they reached the bottom of the draw and lead his brothers down an old dry creek bed and further from the possible danger.
The old elk hunter finished up his breakfast and shouldered his rifle. He checked to ensure his calls were in his coat and headed for the nearby draw as he had planned.
A short walk and he was in the draw where he checked for movement before he started down it and then abruptly stopped when he saw the fresh coyote tracks in the snow. He grinned when he realized there were three of them. They were yearlings and he knew they were probably not wise to the calls. This was going to be a good day. He chambered a 6mm Benchrest cartridge knowing that the 55 grain Nosler would do its job very dependably. It had the day before.
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"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."
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SwampFox
member
Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo
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3. Confusion
The dry creek bed was not very productive as the three coyote brothers poked into every cranny and hole seeking something warm to eat. Most of their prey had already dug in for the oncoming winter. Not to do so meant certain death from the grip of snow and ice. Nature was unforgiving when her creatures didn't follow her rules for survival. The creatures that didn't hibernate did the predator and prey dance in earnest until spring brought some relief. The primary prey were the various rabbits and hares. Right now the brothers weren't being picky. If it was alive and slower than them it was soon to be a meal.
The lead brother caught the scent of a rabbit in a clump of sagebrush along side the dry creek bank. The rabbit bolted when he got close and the pursuit began.
This was a blacktailed jackrabbit and the first that the brother had encountered.
He was sure his belly would soon be full but the jack was fast and could bound high out of the way of his teeth. Even with his brothers helping he could not corner that jackrabbit. With his heart pounding and his tongue hanging out he gave up the chase. When his brothers also gave up and came back he flopped down on the snow for a rest.
Snow began falling chilling the three brothers. Cold and hungry they were getting desperate. They had never gone so long without a meal. Their spirits rose when they heard the familiar cry of an injured rabbit. They knew that meant an easy meal if the other predator was feathered or smaller than them. The lead brother headed for the sound of the rabbit back up the dry wash they had entered earlier that morning. The chance at a meal made him hurry. He didn't want to have to compete with another predator. He and his brothers weren't mature enough to fight of older coyotes or worse yet a cougar.
Rounding a bend in the creek bed he heard the rabbit cry change to a low wimper signaling death was near. He stopped and listened carefully to pinpoint the rabbit. His hearing was very good and he could tell the rabbit was somewhere near the lighting struck Juniper on the edge of the creek bed not far ahead.
Finally he made out the long ears of the rabbit at the base of the Juniper.
A quick growl got his brothers attention and they raced over to the rabbit.
His smaller brother beat him to the rabbit by inches but then turned bright red as the thunder clapped. Confused he turned to run but his other brother didn't. He too turned to red and more thunder echoed off the canyon walls.
He didn't understand what was happening but he knew that escape was needed.
He made it past the bend in the creek bed and ran for a long time despite his pounding chest and tiring legs. He sought refuge under a large sagebrush and collapsed. He waited for his brothers but they never arrived.
A new feeling crept into his conciousness when he fully realized that he was alone for the first time in his short life.
The old elk hunter retrieved his decoy rabbit and verified that he had scored twice as the superior predator. He also knew he had educated a third coyote who would be a lot more wary next time.
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"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."
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SwampFox
member
Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo
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4. Another Chance
It had been a good varmint hunting trip so far for the old elk hunter.
He was three for three and the Nosler bullets had not failed him. For that matter they never had failed him in 30 years. He had experimented with bullets from Hornady and Speer and they had performed well, but he kept coming back to Nosler bullets partly to keep the memories of his father alive. The first bullet he had ever loaded was a lathe turned bullet made by hand by John Nosler. He had loaded that up for his father to use on an elk hunt. For the rest of his father's life each fall he had loaded up Nosler bullets for his elk hunts. He had kept the last bullet from that first box of Nosler bullets to help him remember the good times at the reloading bench.
Sitting in camp sipping the hot coffee and chewing on elk jerky he planned the rest of his hunting trip. Deer season was over and elk season was a week away. Plenty of time for some more coyote calling.
But as he had for many years, he decided it was time to switch to his elk rifle for the remainder of his varmint shooting. This gave him excellent practice before elk season to fine tune his technique with the actual rifle he would depend on in the later hunt.
The morning hunt had yielded some young coyotes so he was glad to see some large paw prints in the snow in the bottom of the other canyon that ran down the hill from his camp. He preferred the challenge of older wiser coyotes. For this he had brought along a electronic caller that would do a variety of calls other than rabbits.
The last coyote brother had regained his wind and moved out from under the sage brush. With no brothers to help him hunt he must be ever more on the alert for prey and danger especially since loosing his last two brothers this morning. The thunder he heard and their demise must be connected somehow. The only thing else different about the morning was the new smells. He must be alert to them from now on.
He headed down the dry creek bed until it joined another dry creek bed.
Heading up the new creek bed he was working from one side of the draw to another in hopes of finding a meal. He caught a scent he recognized as coyote but nothing about it reminded him of any coyote he had known.
The wind shifted slightly and he caught the scent of ripe carrion. He knew that meant a meal with little work if there were no other predators on the carcass. Further up the draw both smells got stronger with the carrion being the most interesting. Toping the crest of a sandbar he found the carcass but there was competition. The coyote smell belonged to an old male that was gnawing on the ribs of the dead cow. As he approached the old coyote warned him with a growl and postering. The last brother circled the carcass and worked towards it without the warnings becoming stronger.
It felt good to swallow the cold but tasty beef. He ripped off small pieces he could easily run with in case the old male quit tolerating his presence.
The old elk hunter slowly worked his way down the canyon using his walking stick to steady him over the uneven ground. Hunting was fun but at his age it was also hard work. He kept looking for a good vantage point to call from. Several places were acceptable but he wanted a longer opening to make use of the 300 WSM and the 180 grain Noslers. Eventually the creek bed straigtened out at the bottom of the canyon and he paused to survey the possible calling positions.
It was then he noticed the carcass of the cow. About a hundred yards away with nothing to obscure his view. He moved over to the base of a large rock and put his back to hit. He gathered nearby sage brush and make himself nearly invisible. The wind was still but the puff bottle showed some movement down the creek. Not enough to worry about as long as he didn't do something like fart.
Almost as bad as a fart was the belch he couln't surpress.
The last brother was enjoying his meal but was ever alert with the old male nearby and other predators likely to be attracted to the scent of the ripe cow.
He paused from his eating to take a leak when he caught a faint scent he recognized.
It was the same strange scent from earlier that morning. This made him uneasy and he stood up to further test the air. This movement irritated the old male and he came around the carcass with teeth bared, back bowed, and posturing to force dominance.
The young coyote started to go into a submissive position when the male coyote exploded into red mist and several parts. The last brother was confused but not hesitant to leave rapidly while the very loud thunder clapped and echoed off the canyon walls.
The old elk hunter took his rifle down from his shoulder and away from the walking stick he used as a rest. He saw the young coyote first and assumed he was the last of the three from the morning. But when the mature coyote came into view the decision was made. Let the young one go to learn and mature. Take the old one who had made a fatal mistake. As expected, the Nosler's effect was devastating coming from a 300 WSM at short range. He also expected another Nosler to do its job in the upcoming elk season.
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"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."
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SwampFox
member
Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo
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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."
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"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."
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SwampFox
member
Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo
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6 - Final Chapter - A Beginning
The funeral procession swung off the paved road onto the well packed gravel lane leading up to the gate keeper's cabin. The gunny was standing on the porch waiting for them. His dress blues were not keeping him warm but there was no quiver to his erect stance and his salute was quick and snappy when the hearse pulled up.
His spit polished shoes glistened and contrasted with the soft white snow as he walked to the back of the hearse. He had expected that he would be gone long before this day would come, but the old elk hunters cancer had been advanced and merciless. He was found by his wife where he had slumped over the M70 he was cleaning at his reloading bench. There was one fired 30-06 case laying on the bench near his ever present coffee mug.
The casket was carefully transferred from the hearse to the back of the gunny's old pickup and on top of a bed of freshly cut pine boughs. The occupants of the limosines crunched through the snow and clambored up into available seats in the pickups, jeeps, and other 4x4's that made up most of the procession.
It was a slow and slippery route through the gate and up the many miles to the meadow where the elk still gathered. No one in the procession complained.
No one said much at all. The elk herds moved off to the side of the meadow as the procession neared the rock where the old elk hunter's blind still stood.
A diverse group bailed out the rigs carrying shovels and picks to the base of the rock.
The wood that made up the blind was moved aside as men turned to the hard job of digging a grave in the nearly frozen soil. Boards were laid across the completed hole and the casket set on top. Words were said as Marines, hunters, and other friends bowed their heads and hid their emotions if they could. After the prayers a few grizzled old men went to their rigs and pulled out well worn rifle cases and prepared for the final salute. One young Marine joined them with his M16.
He was surprised when his aunt brought a rifle case out of the gunny's truck and told him to use the old M70 instead. She said that his uncle wanted the rifle to go to him and she thought this was the best way for him to start using it.
The gunney gave the orders as the old heavy barreled Springfields and M70's pointed skyward and gave the final salute. Unnoticed were the elk who did't run at the sound of the salvos. They had stood motionless until the salvos were finished before they finally faded into the pines.
After the last shovel full of cold earth was packed on top of the unmarked grave.
The wood and limbs of the old blind were piled on top of the grave and the mourners departed leaving the high meadow once again to the elk and the elements.
Month's later the old elk hunter's nephew returned to visit the gunny in his gate keeper's cabin. The nephew was now out of the service and beginning civilian life.
He listened intently as the gunny told him many stories of his uncle and friends and the many hunts they had shared. He even got to like the cowboy coffee the gunny made. He knew he would return in the fall to hunt elk in the meadow as his uncle had done. He also decided to use the old M70 for that hunt. His aunt had given him one empty fired case to reload for that hunt. She told him he would only need one since the Marines had taught him well.
On the way out of town he stopped his heavily loaded pickup at Nosler. There was little room left in the truck among the old elk hunters gear that his wife had given to the young man. He had one special purchase to make as he walked into the warm building. The retail shop was a wonderful place full of fine rifles and reloading components. When asked he told the clerk he wanted just one box of 180 grain 30 caliber Partitions. He quipped to the clerk that box would last him 100 hunts like an earlier box had his uncle and great uncle. Curiousity lead the clerk to ask what was behind that statement and the young man proudly told the story of the original box of bullets hand made by John Nosler.
Sensing the special nature of the customer's request the clerk asked him to wait in the shop a bit. The old elk hunter's nephew didn't mind waiting with so many fine firearms and gear to look at. Eventually the clerk returned with a wry grin on his face and he was followed by a very old man who placed a dusty bullet box on the counter and said "Here young man, this box should last you a long time". The young man opened the old box and saw that it held lathe turned Partitions. Realizing what the old man had given him he barely got out "What do I owe you Mr. Nosler?".
The old man replied "Not a damn thing Kid. Glad to help a young elk hunter get started.".
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"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."
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SwampFox
member
Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo
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7. A Good Summer
The snow tires on his truck made a familiar and comforting sound as they rolled over the dry pavement as the young elk hunter headed up the mountain pass.
He hadn't had time to change to his set of summer tires and knew that the coarse traction tires would work well where he was going. The gunnery sargent's call had come the day after he finshed his final exams for spring term. He had quickly accepted the old Marine's invitation to spend the summer on his ranch. He knew there would be plenty of work to do but also plenty of time for varmint hunting.
He had carefully cased up his 6mmBR rifle and the old M70 the night before and was up until midnight loading up various loads for the M70 using his uncle's notes. He was ready for anything from sage rats to coyotes and was planning out his strategies for hunting the vast alfalfa fields and the sage brush flats.
Tbe hundreds of miles melted away and he almost missed the turnoff to the gunney's gravel road due to his daydreaming. The anticipation of the summer's fun was tempered by his thoughts of his first trip up this long gravel lane last fall.
He would forever remember the unspoken strong bond among all those folks who had come to pay their last respects to his uncle.
His mood lifted when he saw the old sargent standing on the porch with two mugs of steaming coffee and a warm grin on his leathered face. He had the feeling deep down that he was coming home even though he had only been here a few times before. The warm cup felt good in his hands since it was still nippy up here high in the mountains. He stood on the porch looking out over the vast fields and pastures as the old Marine explained the layout of lower reaches of the ranch.
He knew it was going to be a good summer and a welcome break from his studies.
The next morning came early and was announced by the smell of the fresh coffee brewing on the wood stove. He slipped into his coveralls and wandered out from the side room. The Gunney was grinning at him from over the rim of his mug as he said "Its after 0600 hours and you are burning daylight Kid!". Fetching a mug from a shelf above the sink he poured himself a mug of the thick, dark coffee. Settling down in a worn chair by the kitchen table he asked the Gunney what was on the agenda for the morning. The Gunney's reply was "Tending the stock, killing sage rats, and fence mending."
Feeding the cattle and the riding stock was pleasurable work. The smells of the dry alfalfa hay filled the air in the barn and mixed with all the other smells of manure, wood, and tack. The horses wouldn't leave until they had been grained with oats. They had been spoiled by the Gunney. Now it was time to head out to the circular alfalfa fields watered by pivots. The sage rats loved those fields and could wreck havoc if not controlled.
The Gunney parked the old truck in the center of the nearest field by the pivot.
He then got out his M16 and set it to 3 round bursts while the young elk hunter attached a bipod to his 6mmBr and unrolled his shooting mat. The next hour could best be described as controlled mayhem. The Gunney took the tactical approach and concentrated on groups of sage rats and runners while the young elk hunter took out any sage rat dumb enough to stand upright. The Gunney returned his M16 to its case and gathered up all the empty magazines. Standing by the truck he watched as the young elk hunter methodically took out sage rats hiding in the sage brush at the outer edge of the circular field. There were no misses. Each Nosler 55 grain 6mm bullet impacted the sage rats in the lower belly and sent them flying. After confirming over 50 consecutive kills the Gunney asked if he could try the 6mmBr. Afer getting into position on the mat and listening to the young elk hunters instructions about the one ounce trigger pull the Gunney hesitantly took out twelve sage rats. He then laid out thirty of the 6mmBR shells on the mat and proceeded to make thirty more sage rats go airborne.
Standing up the gunney offered his hand to the young elk hunter and at that point a strong bond was established between the two. The young elk hunter knew that he had passed an important threshold of acceptance. On the way back they shared many stories of friends and military experiences. When they stopped to repair a section of fence the chatter stopped and they concentrated on the work until completion.
Back at the gate keeper's cabin the young elk hunter offered to go in and start the coffee. The Gunney headed to the barn to do some chores and the young elk hunter entered the cabin. He couldn't help but notice that he felt really at home inside the cabin. When the coffee had boiled long enough he broke up an egg shell and put it into the big blue porcelean pot to settle the grounds to the bottom.
Hearing the Gunney's footsteps on the porch he poured a full mug of coffee for him and walked towards the door with it. Upon opening the door the Gunney saw the offered coffee and accepted it. A grin formed on the Gunney's old face and the young elk hunter realized that he had made a friend for life.
The summer was filled with work and fun. The Gunney often watched quietly as the young elk hunter took the old M70 out and shot coyotes at remarkable distances. Each shot was carefully but quickly done with an unerring degree of precision. Evenings were spent out in the barn at the Gunney's reloading bench inside the shop. The young elk hunter had brought his uncle's set of 30-06 dies and used the Redding Competition neck sizer and bullet seater to carefully assemble ammunition for the M70 and then use a similiar set for the 6mmBr. As summer came to an end the two seldom needed to communicate with words except to chat about some adventure. Even the people in the nearby town had begun to call them "the old man and the Kid." The one local restaurant made an addition to their menu - "Gunney coffee".
As the Kid was loading up his truck for the trip over the mountains and back to graduate school the Gunney came out with a large manilla envelope in his hand and a contented look on his face. They exchanged the usual pleasantries and remarks about how good the summer had been. Then the Gunney said "Well I have one more task to do for your uncle. His last letter to me asked me to find out if you were going to be a good man.
That is what this summer has been about. It is clear to me that you measure up. So last week when I went into town I had the lawyer complete the paper work that will fulfill your uncle's last request. As you know my cabin is called the gate keeper's cabin. This is because that is exacly what I have been here. This ranch has always been your uncle's and I have been the gate keeper for him. The ranch is now yours."
With that the Gunney handed the manila envelope to the surprised young elk hunter and fished a ring of keys from his pocket and put them in the Kid's hand.
The Kid was speechless and was then even more surprised when the Gunney fished out another key ring from his other pocket and said "Here's my set of keys. I will move into town later today. Enjoy your ranch."
Swiftly and with a firmness that surprised even the Gunney, the Kid pushed the second set of keys back to the Gunney and said "The Hell you will! You ARE the gate keeper here and will ALWAYS be the gate keeper. This is OUR ranch. Consider that a direct order that I will not rescind! Are we clear on that Gunnery Sargent??!!!"
The old Gunnery sargent stood looking at the young elk hunter who was standing firmly in front of him with a look of absolute determination on his face. He flashed back many years and saw instead an image of the old elk hunter who he had said something very similiar once. He knew there was no wavering in the Kid's decision and replied quietly "Yes Sir." and then added "I will expect you back in time for elk season. How about a cup of coffee before you get on the road?
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"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."
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SwampFox
member
Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo
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CHAPTER 8 - The Gate Keeper and Epilogue
True to his word the young elk hunter pulled up to the gatekeeper's cabin the day before elk season. The note on the door told the Kid to come in and make himself comfortable until the Gunney got back from town. Knowing the routine he went in and started the coffee that he knew the Gunney would be expecting on his return. He got down two of the thick white mugs from the shelf. Each still had the dark blue US Navy markings on the bottom and had the slight waist to them that made them easier to grasp. The Gunney had some lighter mugs and cups for guests but he always used the heavy Navy mugs. The Kid felt incredibly comfortable in the cabin. It was quickly becoming the place that he regarded as home. Some day he would be able to settle down and he hoped in would be in a place as welcoming as this.
When he heard the Gunney stomping snow off his boots on the porch he quickly poured coffee into the two mugs on the worn table. There was no sugar or cream on the table, the Gunney wouldn't allow it. The door swung open as the Gunney carried in a box of cigars and his dress blues in a plastic bag from the dry cleaners. He always kept his uniforms in great shape. A hard habit to break after 20 years in the service.
Their conversations that day centered around the best place for the Kid to find elk the next day. The snow in the high meadows was about two foot deep so it wouldn't be long before the elk would start moving to lower ground. The Gunney got down a pair of snowshoes for the Kid along with a white parka. The next day's hunt would start early so the Kid hit the rack early.
0400 hours found the Kid rolling out of his rack as he quietly gathered his gear. He made enough coffee for his Thermos then left the warm cabin without waking up the Gunney. Out on the main road he headed up the hill to the turn off for the upper most gate on the ranch which lead to the high meadows.
He had to leave the truck outside the gate due to the deep snow and adjusted the bindings on the snowshoes before he shouldered his pack. The hike into the rocks where his uncle's blind was located went smoothly in the powder snow.
He had crossed several elk tracks on the way and they converged just below the rock pile and in front of the blind. Curious he made a circle around the meadow and found more elk trails in the snow also headed for the rock pile.
Back at the pile he could see where the elk had milled about and then headed down hill making one wide track in the snow. The elk droppings were still steaming indicating that the last elk had left less than half an hour ago.
He had never witnessed such an apparently organized action by elk herds but he was new at elk hunting and had a lot to learn. Knowing that hunting there was useless he decided to return to cabin to consult with the Gunney. His trek to his truck was made easier by following the trail he had made coming in.
He thought of the elk behavior all the way down the mountain and was not surprised when he saw herds of elk out in the fields near the cabin.
He approached the cabin and noticed there was no smoke coming from the chimney.
It was 0800 hours and the Gunney would normally be up stoking the fire. Well it was a good morning to sleep-in he thought as he opened the cabin door. He stirred the banked coals in the fireplace and put on a few logs before he put the coffee pot back on the burner. The smell of fresh coffee would soon rouse the Gunney.
He took his mug from the sink and got a fresh one down for the Gunney. He decided to further entice the Gunney with bacon and eggs. When the bacon was sizzling he decided to check on the Gunney since he had heard no sounds from his room.
He slowly opened the Gunney's door and then froze where he stood. His heart sank and he heard himself scream "Gunney!". Stepping closer he realized that the Gunney would never again hear the call to morning chow. His face was calm but he looked like he had aged 100 years overnight. He checked for a pulse and the cool touch told him the Gunney had passed many hours ago. He clumsily stumbled back to the door. Looking the room over he noticed the dress blues were carefully hung on a wooden hanger and a note was pinned to the blouse.
On the floor were a shiny pair of spit polished shoes and hanging from a close by peg was his dress sabre. He realized then that the Gunney knew that this was his last revelee. He reached out with his numb fingers and removed the note from the dress uniform. With great respect and caring he slowly closed the bedroom door so he wouldn't disturb his friend's final sleep.
Before he sat down at the table he turned off the fire under the iron skillet knowing that breakfast would wait. He had a task to do for a friend first.
Opening the note he found brief instructions followed by a short personal note and then the signature of simply "The Gate Keeper".
He dialed the phone number and a heard the gentle voice of a woman answer.
He told her he had a personal message for the "old Man". She said "Just a moment and I will get the General." He was wondering if he had dialed the wrong number when a firm voice on the phone said "Speak." He did as the Gunney's note had instructed him and simply said "The gatekeeper has died." The line was quiet except for the sound of glass breaking probably on a floor. The voice finally returned and said "You must be the Kid.". He replied "Yes General, I am trying to find the Gunney's family." The General replied "You just did. He told me all about you in his last letter. Put him out in the barn where it is cold and the coyotes won't bother him until we get there in two days. I'll take care of everything. All you have to do is have the coffee hot." The line went dead and the young elk hunter stood there in a daze.
After moving the Gunney to the barn and wrapping him carefully in an old tarp he headed into town. His mind was blank but he knew he should tell the folks in town about the Gunney's death. His first stop was the restaurant. He passed along his grim message and it took a few minutes before anyone in the restaurant would move or make a sound. He hated being the bearer of bad news but was impressed by the regard that everyone had for the Gunney.
After a few more stops his unpleasant duty done. He was loading up the groceries into his truck when the General Store owner came out with a case of coffee and explained that with all the folks that would be coming he would need plenty of coffee and no, there was no charge for the coffee. When he got back to the cabin he realized that the Gunney's morning chores would not have been done.
He got the stock fed and grained up the horses. He noticed the horses were acting odd and would not leave the barn. He guessed that they must sense the Gunney's passing. He looked out into the pasture to check on the cattle but saw more livestock than the there should be. Then he realized the fields were full of elk and mule deer.
On the morning of the second day he felt more than heard the arrival of the General and his men. He was amazed at the sight. He had no idea where the General commandered the old 6x6 trucks or the howitzers that were rumbling into the barn yard. The General's Suburan pulled up to the cabin and the "old Man" stepped out. After a firm hand shake and pleasantries the General asked if the coffee was hot. He showed the General, his wife, and staff into the cabin and poured coffee for all. A specialized detail was given the Gunney's dress blues before they headed for the barn to prepare him for the afternoon's ceremony. A casket made of American walnut was uncrated and carried to the barn by its blued steel handles. Even the USMC emblem inlaid into the top was finished in dark oiled bronze. The General had definitely taken care of everything as he promised.
The town's people and other friends of the Gunney showed up at 1400 hours as asked. The military equipment had been staged on close by low hills leaving the barn yard open for the mourners. At the appointed time the crowd walked the hundred yards up to the small knoll behind the cabin and gathered around the waiting grave site. Solemly and slowly the honor guard brought the flag drapped casket from the barn to the knoll. The ceremony was typically military until the former Commandant stepped forward to make his remarks.
The gist of them were that although we cannot speak of snipers and their activities publicly, we can privately honor them for saving countless fellow Marines who were in harms way. He then explained how the Gunney had earned the nickname "gatekeeper" on foreign soil. The remarks were concluded and then the entire ranch echoed with the twenty one rounds of Howitzer ammo that sailed out across the fields. After the reverberations finally faded away the crowd slowly broke up. Many of the crowd stopped at the cabin to share stories of the Gunney or express their loss. A few old marines and hunters stayed later for coffee and Jack. The sounding of Taps by a cold bugler standing on the knoll signaled the end of the day.
The next morning dawned cold and bright. Rolling out of bed at 0600 hours the Kid was going to honor the Gunney's routine. He put the coffee on and headed out to the barn to tend to the stock. On the way back from the barn he heard a vehicle coming up the gravel lane crunching through the snow.
A couple of young men bailed out of the pickup and came over to him. He noticed the short cropped hair and asked if they were in the military. They said they were in the Navy and on leave to go elk hunting. The closest one asked "We were wondering if we could get permission to hunt your meadows?"
The Kid said "Yes, you are welcome. Come on in the cabin and I will show you where to go on a map." In the cabin the maps were unfolded on the old table and the directions were given to where the elk had probably returned.
The Kid told them that he would lead them up to the gate and unlock it for them.
At the gate the young hunters thanked him and then asked what his name was.
He replied "I would be honored if you would just call me the gate keeper".
EPILOGUE
This concludes my summary of some of the people I have known. I have found that military men and experienced hunters are similiar. Their quary are different but their reliance on and bonding with each other are similar. When you introduce a young person to hunting and other outdoor experieces you are giving them something that will last a lifetime. Think back on all the people you have known and see if your hunting buddies are not some of the most significant.
Yes, in my library above my fireplace mantel there are two crossed sabres. Resting below them on oak pegs is a very special Winchester Model 70 with Unertl scope. On the mantel below lays a worn brass key ring and an old gate key. Glancing at them brings back a flood of memories, some of which I just shared with you.
Good Hunting,
Old Elk Hunter
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"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."
Edited by SwampFox (05/30/09 04:18 PM)
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SwampFox
member
Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo
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Edits were due to Old Elk Hunter giving permission to post this with his name instead of as Anon.
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"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."
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