The perks of going home with tag soup: Well, there are none, really. Being up in the turkey woods for a week of action with no success was a hearty blow to this new hunter, and my first ever hunt went unsuccessful, with a desperate last-ditch effort to get out on the last week of the season. I only found two bits of sign, and a feather, almost mockingly laying in the middle of the lovely green field. This field in particular was one that I think back to being the place I coulda got him; That is, this lovely field is where I was calling my first few turkeys on the opening week, hiding out in a tree not far from here behind another small hill. I never saw this field the first time I was up here, and it’s stunning just how much better a vantage point I could have had if I went over just one more crest.
The last week I likely spent more time hunting morels and other fun fungi that I did actual turkey calling, mostly because there were no gobbles to be heard whatsoever. Seems like the birds were all but done with getting it on with the ladies, as all my yelps, clucks, purrs, and cuts went totally unanswered. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to find any mushrooms growing up in the area either, what I’d surmise to being much too dry and hot for the little guys to be fruiting, but truth be told I have just about as much experience hunting morels as I do wild turkeys - none. So I’m really new trying to get up in these mountains and make something of myself, more than just luggin around my backpack and trying to find the best spot to pitch a hammock - I’m pretty damn good at that side of outdoorsmanship now, but I’d like to start “bringing home the bacon” and sustaining myself and my family with wild-caught food, straight from the forest to my kitchen.
It wasn’t all for not though, as I did bring home something from all this, and that’s some very strong inspiration to start making more art. A host of great photos and good conversations with my dear friend Damian were more than enough to keep my mood up, but just being out in the woods early in the morning to see and hear everything come alive, deer walking right past me, wildlife all around, it’s all that makes this such an integral part of my life experience. I could lay out in these fields all day, the cool spring breeze blowing over my softshell, the sun beating down giving just enough warmth to make everything cozy and still in contrast to the brisk morning air. It was a delight to see the bumblebees buzzing about their daily chores, moving from flower to flower in hypnotic, repetitive movements.
Moving up and down the ridge is always a pleasure, getting a good workout, and seeing the group you have covered at the same time is a very unique experience. You can be creeping along, stopping to set up a decoy, continue, and so on for hours and hours, and what from point to point would only be about 5 miles feels more like a hobbit’s journey to Mordor - my own naive expectations so too in line with the sentiment - but the journey back seems bittersweet compared to the non-stop breathtaking views of progression. At times it feels almost as if you should be wary to look behind you, lest you gaze upon a panorama more beautiful than the one you saw last.
The days wound down to a close, as my accomplice and I took to our notebooks in need of inky meditation and relaxation. I haven’t spent the time to make “art” in the woods for what feels like years now, the last time I believe being somewhere nestled in the Oquirrh mountains, a hurried, scratchy graphite drawing of a fire pit, friends, and a sloppy tree. Things have changed now, and as I begin to proceed into new points of my life, I’ve found myself spending spare time working to make dreams come true rather than thinking about what video game to play next. The art I would focus on today would be work for our little artsy side project, a dream we’ve shared since high school, but have taken nearly a decade to finally take seriously. The approach is slow and relaxed, with an emphasis on putting out quality without burning out, so things are moving at a snail’s pace currently. Maybe that’s for the better, but it gives me time to work on my own project, Oakie’s, until the other takes more of a commanding presence.
Night fell, and with it came some damn fine steaks grilled to perfection on the Firebox G2, and a lightning storm some 14 miles out, providing an electric backdrop to our well lit campground. The fire provided extensive warmth to the already base-layer weather as we shared ghost stories of old friends and memories, the good times and the bad ones, groveling over the state of the world, and being hopeful for the future. It was a beautiful way to spend a Friday evening, and working through another unsuccessful hunt at first light left me still happy and energized. I made a coffee, went on a quick one-mile trail run, did some calisthenics and woke my long-sleeping comrade.
Before we left, I was able to collect a sizeable bounty of dandelion, chewing on some leaves myself for a little mid-morning pick-me-up, with the rest stowing away in a bag, intended as a treat for the rabbits at home. They love the stuff, and at the very least, I won’t be going home empty-handed. I like the think that this is some way of “The Spirit of Mother Nature” giving me her condolences. Maybe she thinks I just haven’t put in enough work yet to bring something sizeable home, and I can’t blame her. I’ve got a long way to go until I’d consider myself even remotely proficient, but I’ll still be picking up old beer cans and other garbage along the way, in a desperate bid to get ol’ Gaia to smile up this youthful soul.
