It was an hour or so after dark that I rounded the sharp ‘s’ curve of Dead Man’s Corner in a particularly gnarly portion of this true back country road. Huge columns of rock glowed in the moonlight. There was a silver green sheen to the firs. Ghostly white of aspen trunks framed the twinkling lights of the cabin welcoming me a half mile or so down the creek.

I was the last one in camp. The others eagerly helped me unload my gear admonishing me to relax and mind my back just ninety days out from surgery. There was laughing and back-slapping (gently in my case) as we shared the excitement and expectant banter of the night before opening day.

October fifteen dawned majestically. It was unseasonably warm. No snow. Not really ideal for elk hunting. Of course we knew the habits of the resident herd and we were fully aware that the still bigger herds, which drifted onto the ranch when pushed by winter, would not yet be there. I decided, predawn, that I would be better served by glassing and scouting that morning rather than close-in hunting. The bulls were still bugling and herded up with cows at this very tail end of the rut. Between binoculars and audibles I figured I might get a bead for the evening.

I knew that several bulls had been working what we call No Name Canyon, frequenting the ponds built earlier that year, delighting in the newly constructed mud wallows. Sure enough bugles did echo that morning, faint but thrilling, from over toward that corner of the ranch several miles away.

Midday was spent sharing the morning’s findings, drinking never ending cups of thick black reheated coffee and getting the daily camp chores accomplished. The main cabin water tanks were filled, the generator purred as it pressurized the bathhouse, the ATV’s were fueled and their oil levels checked. The cabins were temporarily tidied and firewood restocked. I looked longingly at the creek and then at the fly rod in the back window of the truck. I wasn’t quite ready to navigate the rocky, boggy and thickly willowed stream area just yet. I’d have to settle for the ponds. But that would be tomorrow.

Photo by Reid L Rosenthal Copyright 2008