Hunting

After a fairly productive morning of hunting northern bobwhites somewhere in central Kansas, the dogs and I returned to my pickup truck to rest for a while. It was still early in the day and I could already tell it was going to be an unseasonably warm day for November. I stripped off a few layers and put away my shotgun as the dogs enjoyed a well-deserved dip in a water trough. All three dogs, Ranger, Ruby, and Pearl had exceeded my expectations on their first hunt together. Each one did their fair share of pointing, backing, and retrieving. I wish I could say this quality had persisted for the duration of the season.

I knelt on the edge of the precipice with my knee dug into a sandy spot beneath a massive aromatic sagebrush while Finn ravenously lapped water from a small, green collapsible bowl. Behind and below us, the Columbia River wound lazily between lush, orderly, emerald orchards, rock faces, and scree slopes – a peaceful and extravagant scene. My friend Chas stood slightly downhill to my left with his upland vest in hand, packing away a massive wild chukar that he had come to harvest with a combination of Finn’s good work and a peck on the cheek from Lady Luck.

At one point in my life, I can remember having a group of about ten guys that would get together every year to chase whitetails. Due to many reasons that group has dropped down to only about two original members. Most people don’t associate big game hunting with a social affair. They relate the social aspect more to small game pursuits.

Then one day, my right ear felt full, and I realized I couldn’t hear out of it. After a few weeks of doctor’s visits, my ornithologist diagnosed it as a cholesteatoma, which is essentially an expansive and erosive cyst on the inside of one’s eardrum, growing towards and consuming the middle/inner ear. While the thought of the cyst was ever-present for the next few weeks, archery and physical conditioning were a welcome distraction.