Hushed Whispers

It’s everywhere, now. I was going to link to Arthur’s post because he was the first I saw to recognize it. Then I saw it here. And here. It’s even reached the Hunter’s Wife. The countdown begins. Hunters are beginning to whisper to each other in that high pitched squeal usually reserved for 14 year old girls gossiping in the classroom. The anticipation is mounting, palms are getting sweaty. Work production is plummeting (don’t deny it - I see you day dreaming right now - get back to work).

Those hushed whispers mean only one thing. Hunting season is about to make its appearance and turn our days a little bit brighter, our nights a little lot shorter, our senses a little keener. I’ve been feeling it build for a while, and I’m not sure I’ve ever looked forward to hunting season as I have this one, and I have no idea why. But, Ive got the classic symptoms - blank stares, uncontrollable urges to pull an imaginary bow, racing heartbeat, sleepless nights, cravings for PB&J sandwiches, and involuntarily asking people, including strangers, “Did you bring toilet paper?” The other night, I lay in bed tossing and turning after watching Will, Brad, and the crew slay big bull after big bull. I couldn’t sleep for all the imagined bugles that were piercing the night. I kept drifting off to sleep only to be jerked awake by the rush of a big bull charging in to my bugles - slobbering and bugling and tearing up all the brush in the country. Ultimately, my wife paid for my sleepless night more than I, but I just can’t help it.

I walk by other hunters and I can see it in their faces, too. They look at me, but see right through me. If I looked right into their eyes, I’d see the reflection of two six point bulls staring back at me. If we think animals are funny during the rut, how about hunters during hunting season - or pre hunting season? Our minds become pre-occupied with one thing and one thing only. The demands of the day become secondary at best - and if it weren’t for a loving wife, I’m not sure I’d remember to feed myself, sleep, breathe - any of that. The next six days, for me, become the longest six days of my life. Then - it’s off to the desert of eastern Oregon where I will sit and wait on a water hole for a pronghorn. That will kick things off for me, and whether or not it quenches the thirst of my hunting starved brain is doubtful, but what follows will surely get me through another eleven months when I can start the whole process over again: bow hunting for elk. This is what carries me and it’s mainly what causes my condition this time of year. So, if I, by chance, meet you on the street now you will be able to understand my high pitched whispers of elation aren’t because I’ve transformed into a 14 year old girl, but it’s simply because - elk season is about here!