Traditional archery hunting: stories and advice about traditional bowhunting by Hayes Clay

Author:Hayes, Clay [Hayes, Clay]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Twistedstave Media
Published: 2014-01-23T16:00:00+00:00

Bare Bones

Sunrise. A red sun emerges, thrusting the odd shard of hazy crimson light through a broken wall of fir. Recent fires and a low ceiling create a smoky ambience perfect for capturing those magical first rays. Hanging low over the horizon, the misty haze intercepts, contorts, refracts, and otherwise transforms the mornings light into every possible combination of colorful light from the warm end of the spectrum; sherry red to daisy yellow. The smell of freedom and opportunity hangs heavy in the air; the crisp and resonating calls of the day’s earliest risers greet the new day with a chorus fit for royalty. The birds understand my affinity and aren’t shy in praising the beginning of a new day. The pale yellow morning light is drenched with sounds of chickadees and robins, the smell of pine pitch, and that palpable electricity that only the hunter knows. This is my time; a time of infinite possibility when you might as well be watching the sun rise a thousand Septembers ago. Why the vast majority of the human race slumbers through this most glorious time of day will forever remain a mystery to me. It is in this pale yellow infancy of day that I stand; stand and wait, awash in one more glorious morning in the Northern Rockies.

Winnegar Hole wilderness area, an obscure little patch of wild and road less land tucked away in northwest Wyoming, bordered on the north by Yellowstone and on the west, Idaho. What a place to be able to play out a dream. The hunt that I’ve always wanted, the one that I’d fine tuned around so many campfires and lusted over for as long as I can recall, was at hand. Spot and stalk, stick and string black bear, unguided, public land was the reply given to the query over that campfire so many years ago. That’s my dream hunt; no big antlers, no guide crowding me, no gadgets, no rush; just a simple, bare bones, down to earth, do it yourself bear hunt. That’s what I want!

The sun grows liter, slowly expanding my little world, first to the edge of the meadow, then farther. That time is here, when you strain to see, just a little farther, a little deeper into the gloom. At the far edge of the meadow a single large bolder catches my eye; dark in color, oddly animal like in shape. I strain my eyes, but to no avail. Is it moving, or was that my imagination? This ghostly light and a hunter’s apprehension sometimes play nasty tricks. A few moments more and I’m certain, I’m peering at the reason I’m in this place. The bear I’ve dreamed about since traditional archery took hold of my soul and permeated every fiber of my being. The little blacky (chocolate actually) ambles into view from the far side of the glade. After a few moments of excited disbelief, the pounding heart and sweaty palm begin to subside. She’s still a hundred yards out and there’s scarcely a blade of grass to hide behind.

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