A Short Story

I don't consider myself a writer, but I have always thought that it would be cool to put together a series of short stories. Here is a little something that I wrote. It is fiction with little bits of reality peppered in.

“Keep is down back there,” Billy told Jake as they approached a huge ponderosa pine.

It was close to 6 am and the two had just come two and a half miles from camp to what Jake could only hope would be a successful tree stand. He tried to catch his breath, and obey the command of the guide, but keeping up with a man that spends the better part of the year out in the wilderness isn’t easy.

The fall in New Mexico is different for Jake then back home in New Jersey. One day it is 80 degrees outside and you can’t keep from sweating and the next you wake up to a flurry of snow on the ground. This morning, however, was calm. Almost eerily silent. The trek to this water hole was at a mind numbing pace through the high grass. The fog was so thick that Jake wouldn’t have been able to see much even if even if there was light. Just more motivation for to keep up with Billy. You wouldn’t want to get lost in these parts. No one deserves that kind of end.

He finally caught up feeling like he could breathe without wheezing and got next to the tree that Billy knelt by.

“I want you to climb up in this stand and be really still. Be patient and you will see a real Gila Wilderness giant,” he told me as I crouched down next to him. “I’ll be up on that knob over there glassing for a bit,” he said pointing into the grayish hue of the morning fog. Jake nodded his head having no idea where he was talking about. Finally before leaving he said, “If nothing comes in by 11, I’ll be back and we’ll try finding somethin’ over in hell’s canyon.” With that he was gone.

The sound of hell’s canyon wasn’t appealing to Jake. They had already covered some pretty rough country which would seem like hell to anyone not born with the mountain goat stature that his guide had. Jake was determined to listen to his instructions, being very still in wait for his trophy.

Jake had the opportunity to hunt out of a tree stand once before. He hoped his experience would help him this time around. He lashed his bow to the rope that was hanging over the edge of the seat twenty feet above his head, and started his climb on up.

The first light touched the dew saturated pine needles about a half hour later. This was going to be an exciting morning. The toughest part of hunting in a tree stand is boredom. The human mind can put up with the cold and sitting still usually isn’t all that tough, but keeping your mind active enough to not fall asleep can be a challenge. In the last little bit Jakes mind had gone through all the steps to drawing his bow silently, holding his 30 yard pin two inches high on the vitals, and squeezing the release. But his mind also thought about how the Yankees would pull through and win the divisional series with the Twins. Anything to keep his mind occupied. But now it would be a short bit and the sun would be up burning off the fog and he would be able to enjoy another beautiful New Mexico morning.

He glanced at his watch and it said 7:08. The sun now had burned through and was shining off the muddy water of the tank below his stand. He pulled out his rangefinder to take a couple of readings. Twenty-two yards to that bush. Sixty-eight yards to the far side of the tank. Seventeen to the near side. Now all that is left is the wait. After all, no one had ever accused Billy of being a liar.

It seriously couldn’t have been fifteen minutes, six squirrels, a covey of fool’s quail, and one pesky porcupine later when the silence was broken and Jake heard the first crack of a branch. Through the cut in the bush a hundred yards east of the tank something big was about to make an appearance. Jake couldn’t have known what it was; only that it was bigger and noisier than a Volkswagen beetle. Then appeared the dirty blonde rump, seven actually to be exact, of a of cow elk. Not quite what he was hoping for, but this couldn’t be a bad sign. He sat very still.

As the last cow took a drink and headed straight away from the stand, something caught Jake’s eye. Standing halfway between the cut in the brush and the tank was the majestic monster he had waited his whole life to see.

The behemoth watched the last of the cows disappear down into the draw to the south and he took his turn at the water hole. Only, he wasn’t there for a drink. It resembled more a French mud bath, only without the scented oils. He was in full rut just getting ready to take over that heard of cows. This bull was so rank that Jake could smell him up in the tree. He then moved to the edge of the water, almost as if he was listening to the commands Jake was giving in his head, to stand a mere twenty-four yards away.

Jake drew back his bow without the slightest tweak of a muscle, and held the twenty yard pin right on the kill zone. Hours of practice in the back yard were about to pay off. Endless nights imagining this very moment were about to come to fruition.