Си Бокс - Dark Sky

Joe had explained it to him in a hushed tone before leaving. The only illumination in the tangle was from the muted beam on Joe’s headlamp. The light from it was altered by a red filter, and the pink glow on both men created an eerie, otherworldly atmosphere, with deep shadows and discolored eyes. Price had placed his compound bow in the crook of an overturned pine root pan and lined up his high-tech arrows next to it. He was ready.

“You can’t see it right now,” Joe had said, “but facing us to the west is a large meadow on the side of the slope. The meadow gets blown free of snow in the winter, but it grows good grass in the summer and fall. The elk—if they’re there—graze on it during the night and then move into the timber to bed down for the day as soon as it’s light. My plan is to leave you two and circumnavigate the meadow so I can come up behind them. I’ll stay deep in the trees and try not to make any sound. The wind is with me right now, so I shouldn’t startle them before dawn.”

Like all hunting plans, or plans in general, Joe knew it would be a crapshoot. The wind could shift on him while he was making his way there, he could stumble in the undergrowth and snap a branch, or the elk could simply not be present at all.

“Why the red light?” Price had asked, gesturing toward Joe’s headlamp.

“So I can see where I’m going but the elk can’t see me,” Joe explained. “These animals have a wide field of vision and they can see very well in the dark. But unlike humans, they have what’s called dichromatic vision. They only see blue and yellow, and the rest is black and white and shades of both. In the dark, red light is invisible to them.”

“Fascinating,” Price said.

“I’ve still got to be really stealthy and slow getting around them. They know it’s hunting season.”

Rumy scoffed at that, but Joe ignored him.

“Give me at least an hour and a half,” Joe said to Price. He described how the clearing went all the way to the top of the slope summit and a little over to the far side. His plan was to work his way through the timber until he was on the other side of that rise. Then he’d crawl or crabwalk to the top until he could look over at the meadow from the opposite side.

“If the elk are in there, they’ll eventually see or sense me up there,” Joe said. “I’ll try not to panic them. I want them to walk away from me rather than run.”

“You think they’ll come to us?” Price asked.

Joe gestured toward the shallow wash that was below them. “They could come up right here in front of you,” he said. “I can’t guarantee it, because the herd might decide to bolt off to the north or south into the timber instead of coming your way. But the wash you’re looking over serves as a kind of funnel. They might appear right in front of you.”

“How far is the wash?” Price asked. “I obviously can’t see it yet.”

“The edge of it is thirty yards away. The opposite rim is about fifty yards away. Your shooting zone should be right in the middle.”

Price nodded and grinned. His teeth shone pink in the light. “It’s a good plan,” he said.

“As far as plans go,” Joe conceded. “Elk have minds of their own. I’ve seen them do all kinds of things that don’t make any sense, like turn and run right over you. Or in this case, over me. The only thing that’s pretty certain is that, whatever they do, they’ll stick together in a herd.”

“What do we do if that happens?” Price asked. “If they go out through the side or run over your position?”

“Sit tight,” Joe said. “Don’t chase them. You’ll never catch them. If they move on us, we’ll get back together, regroup, and make another plan.

“If the herd does come up here,” Joe continued, “you’ll likely see a big dry cow first. She’s the lead cow. Think of her as their scout. If she senses you up here, she’ll turn or reverse direction. But if she thinks the coast is clear, she’ll lead them in a line right in front of you.”

“Should I try for the lead cow?” Price asked.

“It’s your call,” Joe said. “But if you want a bull, you’ll have to wait. Bulls will come up at the end of the string.”

“And if I decide to shoot?” Price asked.

“Aim for the chest just in back of the front shoulder,” Joe said. “That’s your best chance of hitting the vital area and making a kill shot. Don’t aim at the head, neck, or shoulder. And if you hit the elk, grab another arrow. Keep shooting. Stick it with arrows until it goes down.”

Price shook his head. “Brutal,” he said.

“This is brutal business,” Joe agreed. “But what’s even worse is wounding an animal. We don’t want to spend the rest of our time tracking a wounded elk and we don’t want that creature to suffer.”

“I’m with you on that,” Price said.

Joe cast a quick glance to Rumy, who appeared bored with the conversation. He also looked to be very cold.

“It’s gonna get colder before the sun comes up,” Joe said. “If you need to get some circulation going, one of you at a time can get up and walk around back there in the trees. Be careful where you step and keep silent. You don’t want to scare them off before they get here.

“Whatever happens, don’t leave this spot,” Joe said, emphasizing his point by jabbing his index finger earthward several times. “Since we aren’t using radios, you’ll just have to wait for me to come back. I will come back here, whatever happens. And then we can plan our next move.” He looked at Rumy as he said it. Rumy struck him as the kind of guy who might decide to pursue fleeing elk or just want to go back to the camp for breakfast.

“We’ll do what we want to keep Mr. Price safe and comfortable,” Rumy said.

“We’ll stay,” Price said, cutting off his man. “We’ll do this right.”

“Good,” Joe said.

It had been Price’s decision to hunt without radio communication to better ensure a classic fair-chase hunt. Joe was fine with that. It bothered him when he encountered hunters in the field who operated as if big-game hunting was a military spot-and-kill maneuver. Radios weren’t necessary as long as everyone involved understood the strategy and contingencies.

Then he pulled his pack on and left them.

—

It was a surprisingly cold morning, Joe thought. There had been a dusting of snow during the night from the storm clouds he’d seen, but not even an inch of accumulation. The kind of snow that would likely melt off during a sunny day. He hoped Price and Rumy could stay loose and warm.

The light snow was a plus, he knew. It made it much easier to see tracks and gauge movement across the forest floor and in the meadow if the elk weren’t where he guessed they’d be.

The forest was dense with downed timber and tangled limbs. He had to make several detours to get around impenetrable brush so that his path, if mapped from the air, zigzagged all the way down the mountain and up the other side. Joe was grateful he was the one on the move because his activity warmed him up. It wasn’t long before he could feel the prickle of sweat beneath his armpits and in his crotch beneath his light wool underlayer.

In addition to the pack filled with extra clothing, optics, gear, a first-aid kit, and a knife and saw for field dressing, Joe wore both his .357 Magnum and a canister of bear spray on his belt. He’d laced gaiters over his boots to keep out the moisture from the snow.

In a perfect world, he thought, his plan would work at least as far as presenting the shooter with an opportunity. But anything could happen. Price might miss or wound his target, and they’d deal with either result. Panicking at the sight of elk happened often to many first-time hunters, Joe knew. It had happened to him the first time when he was fourteen and he’d let a lead cow walk by him so closely he could see the dew sparkle in her thick hide. He’d been frozen to his spot and never taken a shot. Joe planned to be very forgiving of Price if the same thing happened to him the first time.