It was time for elk and mule deer camp again, second rifle in Colorado. It’s a busy time in the area where we tend to make camp. It’s also an arms race to get the best spots. Coming in Friday afternoon for a Saturday opener just doesn’t cut it anymore. So when I arrived to camp Thursday early and negotiated spots with another early arrival I’d become acquainted with over the last six seasons, there was a bit of comfort in securing our location on the mountain.
Down the ridge one one side I’d taken my first mule deer doe, my first Western big game animal to date after teaching myself the area. It had been a learning experience unto itself after several seasons of effectively seeing no game at all, and scuttling camp because of the snow that often blanketed the region in October. This knowledge was hard earned with unproductive seasons under our belts we’d come here as a last resort. Now it drew us back year after year with promises of success and barriers to entry for others not willing to make the trek.
This mountainside provided for us, gave us acrage to explore, and offered stunning views of the valley below. On the southeastern side of this parcel I’d killed my very first two blue grouse over my Gordon Setter, Abbey, a fine introduction to wing shooting in Colorado. Though I’d taken blues before, it was the first with the dog as I have a tendency to be overly cautious running them where they might get hurt.
Pioneer Spirit
Very few places evoke the fireside tales of settlers gone by and strong emotions as this place does for me. It’s a rocky vista dotted with sage looking down on mixed aspen and pine. Not far from town, but seemingly worlds away from anywhere. It has the sort of idealized Oregon Trail version of the wilderness with rugged views, a difficulty in access, and far less dysentery. We’ve had moose encounters every season, sometimes even barring our exit of camp. Some years we have deer sightings too numerous to count back at camp such as when I “discovered” the place on a map some seasons ago when we were snowed out of our other camp.
I’m not the only one. This is hallowed public ground. Wall tents dot most every pull out wide enough. While not many camps are successful, they come back year after year for the experience, the memories, and the occasional excitement of recovering game and snow bound vehicles. It’s not really the backcountry per se, it’s a truck camping Mecca for people willing to put in the effort, and pick careful lines up the canyon walls.
A Mountain Memorial
So it came as no surprise to me, tent finally set by mid morning Thursday, while taking a walk to a rocky vantage I came across a memorial. It was a simple stone that had been laser etched or cut, and it had two names, a dog paw, and a short phrase on it. Seeing that marked the third such memorial I’d seen on the mountain, though usually they were to remember human hunting partners and family. The stone read, “You belong among the wildflowers. You belong somewhere close to me Far away from your trouble and worry You belong somewhere you feel free“. Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers lyrics from the song Wildflowers.
My throat choked, my stomach knotted. Indeed this was a place among wildflowers in the spring, and a place I felt most free of all the cares in the world. What made the emotions well up more so was that the one dog name, Abby was not far off of my own. I’d spent the summer riding back and forth between Fort Collins trying to get my Gordon Setter Abbey taken care of. Thankfully because of a fortuitous turn of events with pet insurance company Trupanion and my wife’s former employer — we’d been covered for the surgery on the brain tumor behind her eyes. It had been a rough time, going from appointment to appointment, getting scans of her brain and trying to understand the neurological side effects of such a large tumor and how it manifested itself in her behavior.
Abbey had been recovering, and that fall we decided it would be her retirement tour. I wanted to get her on sage grouse, and blue grouse one last time. Ptarmigan would probably be too much for her to handle, and just weeks prior to our hunt she’d been cleared for elevation. The fight was in her, but I didn’t want to have to carry the biggest hunting dog I’ve ever had out of the woods. Seeing the mountain memorial put a finer point on it. One day she would pass, as we all will, and I would have to do the best thing I could for her.
A Jolt to the Present
Back at the memorial on the mountainside emotions welled up inside me and I did my best to fight back some tears. It brought back all of the memories in a flood. At the same time it was overwhelming and comforting that this place could summon that. It had been like a portal to see the entire timeline of Abbey’s life to date, the good and the bad. The struggles and victories. This was a powerful place.
I snapped back to the present in a jolt. A grouse had flushed down the ridge from some unseen threat. It was a good thing that I’d come alone a day early to camp. The self reflection, and contemplation in this quiet place without distraction was necessary, and probably the reason behind why that round memorial was put up here on the mountain.
