EMPTY ARMS

Colorado. The very name conjures up images of cowboys, horses, open spaces, and most importantly, mountains. Nothing can match the beauty of what mother nature can create. My intent this past week was to hunt cow elk and monster mulies while spending some time with my adopted son Aron and his brother Bob. My hope was to bring home some tasty venison to make the trip complete. Today I'm going to attempt to paint a day for all of you that will forever be etched in my memory. Life is, after all is said and done, nothing more than the days you can remember. The rest is just filler.

The morning was rather uneventful. I sat with Aron and Bob near the top of a finger that cascaded down from a huge mountain range that stretched as far as the eye could see. I saw no animals and simply enjoyed the scenery. That afternoon, I decided to strike out on my own for the far-away base of the mountain. It was a two mile hike from our campsite, but mountain men have to be tough I'm told. I packed a fishing pole and a gun along with my day-pack, water and snacks. My intent was to fish a stream that ran down from a draw and then finish the day hunting.

The walk across the plateau that separated our camp from the mountain range was hot and barren and I was glad for the day-pack carrying my extra clothes that I didn't have to wear. Arriving at the base of the mountain, I sat down to catch my breath. The air was thin and this old flat lander was still in the process of acclimating. However, the sight of a trout rising in the stream soon had me back on my feet and fumbling for a fly to tie on my line. The stream was surrounded by young willows and the best I could do was dapping the fly into the small holes and cuts that the stream had made on its way to join the mighty Colorado River several miles away.

Time after time I was frustrated to see brook trout shooting out from the cuts as I stealthily made my approach. Finally, after several attempts, a lightning fast Brookie grabbed my fly in an instant. Reeling back, I flopped him onto the bank and man and fish played a quick game of "catch me if you can". When I finally managed to pin him and hold him in my hand, I couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of the 12 inch fish. Orange, red, and white blended with colors I don't even know the name of to create a palate that would send Picasso into a fit of jealousy. The sun glistened off his shining skin and for a moment I thought that this must surely be the most beautiful fish I had ever seen.Gently, I place him back into the water, thanking him for the fight.

Just then a loud crash and splashing came in my direction. As quick as I could I reached for my BK 54 caliber muzzle loader. With two more bounds an Angus cow and her calf appeared within a few feet of me. Cows are allowed to run free in the mountains of Colorado. In the winter, snow forces them down to the lower elevations where they are rounded up by cowboys and placed into large pens where they are sorted out by their brands to their proper owners. The large cow faced me with her calf cowering behind her. She let out a loud snort and made an aggressive couple of steps toward me. Trapped between the stream and her, I false-charged her with arms thrown into the air to make myself appear bigger. Luckily, she conceded and turned with her calf to disappear back into the brush.

Two more Brookies later, I decided it was time to pick a hunting spot for the evening. The mountain opened herself up to me as I made my way through green conifers and Quaking Aspens. On the top of a small hill I found a pine surrounded by juniper and propped myself up against it's base. Soon a small flock of Merriam's turkeys made their way past me. The same turkeys had befriended me and Aron the day before. Usually a very shy and skittish bird, these birds had decided we weren't a threat and followed us around like farm birds. In all my life I had never seen such behavior from a wild animal.

The sun slowly faded as it made it's way to the top of the mountain range. Shadows grew longer and longer until they blended together to form the evening's dim light. As darkness fell, the mountains became so still that the wrapper on my candy bar sounded like I was wadding up a ball of aluminum foil. Coyotes yapped in the distance announcing their arrival on the scene as evening became night. Standing up, I stretched my legs and prepared for the long truck back down the mountain. In the flashlight-lit darkness on the way back down an elk sounded off his bugle. A shrill rising crescendo that ended with a barking chuckle. I felt that he was telling me, "Thanks for trying, but this mountain belongs to me."

As I approached the beginning of the plateau, I thought briefly that I had once again failed at my mission of bringing my quarry to my side. Looking back at the mountain, I recalled the events of the day. And in that silent moment, I realized that although my arms were empty, it was my heart and my mind that had been replenished. And that, I realized, is far more important than what I carry in my arms. H.C.