I'm about to play one of my favorite games called "Where's he? I don't know."
The mountain elk on the rez are bugling and starting their rumbles. The flintlocks are primed and zeroed in.
I don't try to justify my hunting habits anymore. Say what you will, I really don't care. I will say this though. Using a flintlock rifle with open sights there is a lot more hunting on a trip like this and not all that much shooting. When we return a lot of meat and the hide is given away to friends and elders of the nation. Here's an interesting nature factoid for you: An elk is born with exactly enough brains to perfectly tan its hide.
The hunt is a pretty rugged thing too, I'm getting old for it. There's a long ride over steep country to get where we make our base camp and begin the hard hiking and hunting. My son has turned himself into a skilled woodsman and guide. He's the main reason I keep doing this. My biggest joy will come from watching my boy being so very good at something he deeply loves. That will make my daddy heart soar high and happy.
Well, that and elk shanks osso bucco....
(the Elvis Costello song is dedicated to Harry Reid and the spineless goddamned bluedogs in Congress, they couldn't muster the sand to even make a sham fight)
