October in Utah is hunting season. Rifle hunting season. Typically my guys do the bow hunt or participate in the black-powder-swirling-in-the-air muzzle loader hunt for deer or elk or whatever it is that makes them feel manly and outdoorsy.
Goose can't really go hunting anymore. The wildfire season is right in the middle of the muzzle loader hunt and bow hunt. So this year it was decided to rifle hunt so Goose could go. Planning began MONTHS ago. The cleaning of guns and organizing of the trailer, gathering of hunters orange and sighting in the guns were all completed excitedly as the time to head up the mountain drew near.
Then Goose was called to a fire. In Idaho. I swear to you that I thought Mark was going to bawl like a little school girl. "My hunt is ruined."
Thank you LonePeak Hotshots. They saved the hunt for Mark and sent Goose home. Hoorah.
Much to the dismay of my family, I opted out this year. October brings harsh weather to the mountains of Utah. My walking is painful watch. Painful to experience. And the cold exasperates these struggles. I wasn't up to the task.
The food was packed, hunting gear gathered, warm clothes found and last Friday they all took off amidst grunts of excitement and every I'm-a-mighty-man hunting sound that they could muster.
Tuesday night was the planned night for Marks reluctant return to home life, work life and everything that he endures to get to the next hunt.
Mark rolled in around 7:00 pm. "How was today?" "Did you get anything?"
"I bagged a trophy."
"What?"
Then lies spewed from my mouth. You know - that's so awesome, good for you, ohmygoshthat'ssoexciting kind of comments. Really I'm thinking "Oh man I don't want the mess" "Blood is going to be everywhere." "I have to go get butcher paper and supplies." "Why-oh-why is he an accurate shot?"
In 1981 Mark went hunting with his Dad. It was a LOOOOOOOONG time ago and I think I went with them, and Mark THINKS I went with them, but truly we aren't sure. He, however, DOES remember a nice four point buck wandering past and shooting at the big guy. And missing. And shooting. And missing. And shooting. And missing. (You get the idea). Four shots. Four misses. Buck runs away. Mark is mad. Come to find out something was wrong with the gun. I don't remember what he said it was.
Anyhow, he pulled out his knife and carved Mark + Linnette 1981 in a tree.
Every once in a blue moon, the missing-the-four-point-buck story comes out and it always, always ends with "And I carved our names in a tree."
A few years ago, fire swept through the canyon that held our tree. Mark told me about the fire and followed it with "I'm sure our tree was burned down." We were sad. But what could be done? It was gone and with it gone forever was our link to the past.
Monday brought full time jobs for Tyson and Diana and school for Jaden and the kids. The camp cleared out leaving Mark and Goose to fill the freezers.
Because he hikes and camps and trudges through the mountains 6 months a year, Goose is equipped with some pretty cool gear to get-the-job-done with as much comfort as can be gleaned on a mountainside. Mark and Goose decided to backpack through the canyon and get to where the deer FOR SURE would be.
The TRUE purpose had been discussed with all in camp. Yeah. They were going to see if they could find my tree.
It was snowing. They slept under a tarp to try to stay warm. They hiked and climbed and fell and cussed and looked and looked and looked.
And just when they were giving up? They found it.
Mark and Goose bagged my trophy. My sweet husband brought me the gift of a lifetime. We both wept. We NEEDED this link. And now it resides in my front room.
