Deer Hunting - Part 1

It is early morning on the first day of deer season and it is black, pitch black, and raining lightly. The kind of rain romantics and film directors like. The kind of rain that lures you outside and then, before you know it, you're soaked to the skin and on your way to pneumonia and an extended stay in the hospital. I park next to the curb outside The Palms Apartments and kill the engine. The first kill of the season? I turn my headlights off and take a quick look at my illuminated Timex watch, complete with the optional camouflaged wrist band. It is just past 3am.

Mike, my hunting partner, is supposed to be in his truck, ready to go. His truck is here, just three spaces in front of me, but I see neither hide nor hair of Mike. Now, being the experienced hunter and tracker that I am, I am confident that I would notice if either Mike's hide or hair was anywhere in the immediate vicinity. Mike is most definitely not in his truck. I briefly contemplate sounding one long loud blast on my horn, the universal sign of irritation at being kept waiting, but I have a vision of a several angry faces glaring out at me from behind the cold rain slick windows of the apartments. All the faces have sleep filled eyes and gun filled hands. All are glaring in the direction of their own irritation, namely me. My horn remains as silent as a grave. With the vision fading, I take a sip of what was once hot coffee but is now just a cold coffee like substance. I stroke my beard and thoughtfully ponder the situation for about 5 minutes. This is an age old stalling technique employed by all the best hunters and trackers while waiting for their partners to show up. I am still clinging to the hope that, at any second, Mike will walk outside and I will not have to leave the warmth of my '70 Ford Bronco. What in the name of all that is holy is keeping him.

To make matters worse, I am not wearing my insulated camouflaged rain gear. Wearing that stuff inside a truck gets hot very quickly. Besides, I was expecting to just drive up, wave good morning to Mike sitting in his truck, and then continue on to our happy hunting grounds. Then and only then was I going to don my gear. But here I am and no Mike. I have to go in and get him. Exasperated, I open the door and step out into the cold, wet morning and onto the slick wet asphalt. I pull my camouflaged rubberized rain slicker and rain pants from where I stow them behind the driver's seat. I decide to put the rain pants on over my laced up waterproof Danner hunting boots. Why risk getting my camouflaged wool socks wet. Wet socks combined with a long day of beating brush is best avoided. I also decide I can't lean against the Bronco while pulling the rain pants on without getting my jeans wet. A man can get chafed hiking in wet jeans and chafed does not make for a happy hunting experience, I always say. If you have never attempted putting rain pants on while you are wearing wet leather boots, I can assure you that its not as easy as it sounds. It is like trying to pull the wool over your wife's eyes when a boys night out ends up with the cops hauling you out of a strip club, naked and in hand cuffs. I still maintain my innocence in that. On this morning, I end up in the middle of the road, under a street light, hopping around in little clockwise circles like a one legged man in an ass kicking contest. I wonder, if I were down under in Australia, would my hopping circles be counter-clockwise? After several minutes, and considerable effort, I succeed where a lesser man would fail. A lesser man would have just jogged over to the front door of the apartments and gotten wet in the process, or at least dampened. I was still panting from the effort as I put my matching camouflaged rain jacket on and zip it up to my chin. I pull my black, non-camouflaged, stetson down a little tighter on my head, take another sip of the tepid coffee, spit it out in disgust, and then start through the rain for the front door of the apartments.

My new plan, conceived just this minute, is to go inside and knock on Mike's door. Once he opens the door I will burst into the apartment while dripping water everywhere. I will rant and rave and throw in some wild hand gestures just to ensure maximum water displacement. This was going to be fun. Make it worth the effort of having to put all this stuff on before I was ready. I am smiling with anticipation as I reach the main door to the apartment building and my hand is just reaching for the cold brass door handle when Mike opens the door from the inside.

He sees me standing there dripping with rain and says "Hey, mornin'!" Then without pause he continues "Looks like we lucked out with this weather. Rain will keep the deer bedded down till after sunrise and give us plenty of time to get up into the woods."

I remain conspicuously silent.

Mike looks at me with concern and says "You shouldn't grind your teeth like that man. Can't be good for you." As he shoulders past me he continues "Come on, don't just stand there, we're late as it is." With his backpack and rifle in hand, sans rain gear, Mike leaves me standing of the stoop and jogs over to his truck.

I walk slowly over to join Mike making a conscious effort to relax and stop grinding my teeth. He's right, can't be good for me.

"I need to fill up with gas and get some coffee." Mike said over his shoulder as he was stowing his rifle in the gun rack mounted inside the cab of his truck.

"Of course you do." I said, my teeth suddenly grinding again.

By the time we get to Uncle Walter's Mini-Mart-N-Gas my mood has recovered and I am once again excited about the hunt. While Mike fills up with gas, I take the opportunity to top off my own fuel tank. It is raining harder now and in the time it takes us to walk from the pumps to the market we are both dripping wet. We go inside and shake off the rain. The young girl behind the counter does not appear amused and tosses daggers at us with her eyes. We both fill our travel mugs with hot black coffee and I pick up a beef and bean burrito that has probably been sitting under the heat lamp since yesterday. Mike gives me a look of disgust but I really like these little morsels of deep fried goodness. The clerk just glares at us, unspeaking, when we pay for the gas, coffee and burrito. We are walking back to our rigs when I suddenly turn around and run back inside, again dripping water. The clerk hasn't moved and seems to have an endless supply of eye daggers. I duck and weave my way to the back of the store where I grab several packets of hot sauce. Can't eat deep fried mini-mart burritos without hot sauce, it just isn't done.

Once I am back outside Mike casually brushes the daggers off my back. As I munch on my impromptu breakfast, we confirm which CB radio channel we will be monitoring. It is 0325 hours. We are late and while it is not the start I anticipated we are here and we are finally ready to head off into the woods. I can not keep the smile off my greasy face. Until I burn my lip and tongue on the scalding hot coffee. Oh well, it will cool on the ride out.

Life After Christmas

Another Christmas has come and gone and the earth continues its seemingly perpetual spin on its slightly tilted axis. This Christmas was different for us in one significant way. We did a lot of our shopping online and thus avoiding the mall crawl. Personally I only went into one store to purchase gifts and that was on Christmas Eve and while you may think me mad, I assure you I came out of the experience unscathed and no worse the wear. The traffic was only moderate and the shoppers were sparse so I had no trouble going in, shopping, and getting the hell out again. The rest of our shopping had been completed days before and was already either under the tree or at their respective destinations. This took the majority of the stress out of the holiday season. Very cool.

I had to work on Christmas day so we celebrated on Christmas Eve. I slow cooked a beef brisket, made cornbread stuffing and baked asparagus wrapped in prosciutto for dinner. We then opened gifts and had a very relaxed evening. Again, very cool.

Doing some overtime shifts before New Years but I will actually have a 3-day weekend which includes New Years day. That can mean only one thing, college football. I will start my football feast on Dec 30 when the DAWGS of the University of Washington take on the Nebraska Corn Huskers (what a silly mascot) in the Holiday Bowl. Go DAWGS! WOOF! This feast will continue Friday and will conclude, for me at least, on Saturday, Jan 1, 2011 at which time I will spend approximately 12 hours on the couch in front of the TV.

I love this time of year!

Popcorn Memories. Popcorn Crisis! Crisis Averted!

I vividly remember my mom making popcorn for us in a heavy cast iron skillet. The smell of fresh popped corn was magnificent and mouth watering. We always ate it with plenty of butter and salt. We did not know (did we?) about hardening of the arteries, heart issues, etc. It was something we looked forward too because the reality is, we did not have popcorn very often. It was quite the ordeal to make. When we did, it was usually because there was something special coming on the TV. The annual showing of The Wizard of Oz, or the latest John Wayne movie fresh off the big screen and now on the "Movie of the Week", the World Series or the Olympics. You have wrap to your mind around the fact that this was before microwaves, before cable or satellite TV, before VCRs or DBRs, and before video stores. There was literally only ABC, CBS and NBC. That was it thank you very much.

Today, when I feel like popcorn I can just reach into the cupboard and take out a cellophane wrapped prepackaged bag of microwave popcorn. Toss it into the microwave and 2-3 minutes later I can happily be munching on hot popcorn. I confess I still put salt and butter on mine but in my own defense I put a lot less than I would really like. Sometimes when I am feeling really decadent I will put some grated cheddar cheese on it, toss it back in the microwave for a minute and then enjoy the oozy goodness.

Last night was just such a night. I was in the mood for popcorn. I reached in the cupboard and what to my horror do I see? There is only one bag of popcorn left in the box. My heart is beating wildly and I feel close to hyperventilating. My knees are weak and threatening to buckle beneath me. How can this be happening? Who is in charge of making sure the popcorn supply is filled? Heads will roll I tell you! I really want some popcorn but if I eat this then there will be none left when CJ gets home at 2330 and I would not want to be within 50 kilometers of the cabin if that happened. Even then, the blast of her nuclear meltdown would probably still take me out. I can see her now, blue eyes ablaze with fury, teeth gnashing and fingers curled like talons ready to strike. Slowly she looks around for the culprit, the guilty party, the sacrificial lamb. Well, it won't be me! No, I won't do this. But damn it, I really want some popcorn.

Then a voice behind me casually says, "you know dad there are two boxes of popcorn in the back of the cupboard". He must have seen me standing there, staring blankly into the box of popcorn with one bag left in it............ Oh, well, that's a horse of a different color altogether. Crisis averted. Let the popcorn pop. The only question that remains, butter or cheese? Life goes happily on.

Christmas 2010 is a-comin!

I was on my home yesterday afternoon when I got a call from CJ who was at work. She said the bridge over Payton Creek "almost got her" today. I had a mental image of a large troll like creature, covered with moss, reaching up from under the bridge and taking a swipe at the Durango as it careened overhead. I was unceremoniously brought back to reality when CJ said that the bridge was very icy and that she was concerned about crossing it later that night. The hot apple cider/vodka/honey drink would have to wait. I had to make stops to get gas and the makings for dinner first so it was dark as I turned off of HY2 and onto that gravel forest service road known as Mt Index Rd. I had no trouble at all in my truck and soon turned onto our side road. Again, no problems and as I approached the bridge I saw that it was in much better shape than when I had crossed it some 14 hours earlier. I crossed without incident and was wondering about CJ's mental state when I saw the tracks. The road had been plowed. I was elated. The elation however was short lived. As I approached our driveway I saw that it was blocked by a 2 foot high berm of snow and ice. The snow plow does not clear the berms from the driveways. It was raining, dark and about 34 degrees. A fine soft evening in the mountains perfect for shoveling snow. Yea, right. I cleared the berm first and then made several passes onto the driveway trying to make sure CJ would be able to get the Durango up to the cabin. I then saw that I was going to have to do more shoveling. On my second shovel full of wet snow and ice I felt a pop in my back. Two seconds later, as I knew it would, the pain hit and hit hard. I made it into the cabin, out of my boots and onto the couch just before the pain hit in full force. Having been through this before, I knew I was going to be out of commission for at least two days. Not good. Lets hope the Christmas season gets better from here on. I'm not impressed so far.

Slip Sliding Away

Left the cabin this morning to find it was snowing lightly. A heavy wet snow that will chill you to the bones if you stay out in it too long or are not dressed properly. Definitely made our side road a slippery mess. The existing snow on the road had turned to a very wet slush on top and ice beneath. Made it difficult for traction, even in 4-wheel drive. Made it down our road, across the bridge (that started life as a flatbed railroad car) over Payton Creek and onto the main forest service road without incident. Took a sip of hot coffee. Still in 4-wheel drive I made it up the hill and under the arch that marks the entry/exit to Mt Index Riversites while all the time trying to deftly avoid the bomb craters that were once potholes. Only one more dicey spot to go, the downhill S-curve about 100 meters from the junction with HY-2. Started down the hill and got into the first turn before I was able to see the dark color 4-door sedan that had slid into the ditch on the east side of the roadway. No emergency blinkers to warn any oncoming traffic (that would be me). Just had time to try to look to see if anyone was huddled inside before I was past it and turning onto the highway. Roads remained nasty all the way down the mountains to Gold Bar where the snow turned to rain. Punched out of 4-wheel drive into 2-wheel drive. Time for another sip of hot coffee (thank you CJ) and the commute began.

Husky Blackout Thursday

Thanks to my cousin Kevin I went to my first game at Husky Stadium on Thursday. Dawgs were hosting UCLA Bruins for a 5pm kickoff game. This was the last home game of the year and the last game at Husky Stadium for the seniors on the team. To honor the seniors the coaches and team decided to wear, for the first time in Husky history, all black uniforms. I am a traditionalist and prefer the Dawgs wear the school colors of purple and gold but I must admit that the black uniforms were very cool. That said, I still prefer purple and gold and by that I mean the real purple and gold, not the lavender that the school adopted under the Neuheisel regime.

The Dawgs won 24-7 and I got to see Jake Locker score on a 3yd run off left tackle. The stadium itself is incredibly loud when 67,000 fans are "woofing", stomping and chanting. Again, very cool. The fans on this night had been asked to wear black to commemorate Blackout Thursday and they did. Odd to see all that black versus the sea of purple normally seen here.

I had a blast and look forward to seeing more games live.

Winter 2010

We spent the past 2.5 days without power. A very strong storm front passed through and the strong winds at its command swept through the Cascades with a vengeance leaving carnage in its wake. One of our friends had a large tree fall and take out 1/3 of the new shop he was building. Tree limbs and debris was littered everywhere. On my way home I came across downed power lines that were arcing so fiercely that you could see the glow from a good half mile away. The brush and grass were on fire despite the rain coming down. It was about 6 meters off the roadway and I passed by quickly. I knew full well that this meant there would be no power at the cabin.

It is very interesting how the loss of electricity changes your life. We so take it for granted that when we hit the light switch, the lights will come on. That we will have heat and a stove to cook on. When those things are taken from you, your life style changes immediately. For us, the loss of power also meant the loss of water since we rely on a pump to get water from the creek. No water, no toilet.

I have to say though that it some fundamental way I really enjoy these times without all the luxuries that surround our daily lives. Without power there is absolute silence. No "white noise" emanating from the micro-wave, DVR, wall heaters, refrigerator, etc. Even the very slight hum associated with lights is eliminated. The quiet is complete and envelopes you like a soft comforting blanket. It reminds me of the times I have spent in wilderness areas. The quiet is so complete it is almost palpable and takes some getting used too.

We have been through this before so we have all the necessary supplies readily at hand: candles, firewood, flashlights, headlamps, water, etc. With the new gas grill we bought this summer we even have a very convenient method of cooking without electricity.

Coming home to a dark cold cabin should be unconcerting and a little daunting but for me it is not. The dark is like an old friend to me. When I was a teenager I used to go into the woods at night and run the trails, human and game, and end up in a little clearing far from my house. I would sit there and listen to the night sounds and try to identify them. I would gaze up at the stars and moon and have wonderful thoughts of "life out there". I like the dark. Coming into the cabin I found the 2 cats, also night creatures, at the door to greet me. With my headlamp on I could see their eyes glowing green as they watched my approach through the glass of the front door. Very cool. Once inside I light the candles that are at the ready and then get a fire going in the cast iron stove. It only takes about 30 minutes before the heat from the fire takes control and forces the chill to find another place to lurk. I then make myself a Powers and coke, sit down at the oak dining room table and enjoy the total lack of man made noise. That noise is replaced by the sounds of nature: wind, rain, scurrying little forest creatures, trees whispering to each other (and to you too if you only listen), the creek water against ancient stone. Very comforting.

When the power came back on it was almost with a bit of regret that I hit the light switches and turned the heaters on. The refrigerator buzzed back to life and the micro-wave beebed loudly back into existence.

Oh well, the winter of 2010 has just begun.