The man who raised me was handicapped. So when it came to doing outdoor stuff my opportunities were limited. Until I met Kurt Riemer. Kurt was my boss at a place I worked at. I was 16 when I started working for him part time. A few years passed and I was hired on at that place full time. We became good friends and he invited me Elk hunting with him and his boy, Keenan. I had never been Elk hunting before, let alone been taken into the type of woods he had taken us. He took us high up into the Cascade mountain range to a place with a name I could barely pronounce. I’d never seen anything like it. Never experienced anything like it; and Kurt had a way about hunting that I learned later was a bit unique.

Keenan and I were given rifles, but we weren’t allowed to have shoulder straps on them and we had to learn to shoot with iron sights; no scopes. Kurt navigated those mountains with a compass and the occasional use of a map; but for the most part, he’d just walk and we’d follow him. He just always seemed to know where he was and where he was going; even though to us everything seemed to just look the same.

The weather up there was weird. One minute it would be blue skies and warm weather; then in a blink, it would be dumping snow and before you knew it you’d be struggling to see three feet in front of you. It was often cold, wet, windy. We’d walk the trails occasionally, but Kurt was never a big fan of trails. We’d be quietly navigating over fallen logs, around creek beds, and through brush, as we made our way up or down the side of the mountain. If it rained, he’d cut a hole in a large garbage bag and put it over our heads. If our shoes weren’t waterproof, he’d put plastic bags over our socks. He showed us how to walk, track, and we were taught to shoulder that rifle fast and be accurate with the first shot. ‘Cause up there, the kill would be close and you wouldn’t get a second shot.

He never carried a pack. Never carried any water or food. Just gave us some basic rules and stuck by them. Like….never explore after 3 p.m….

That was one rule that we never forgot after a day when we didn’t follow it. After a few years of taking us up there Kurt started pointing out areas on the map and had Keenan and I hunt it alone. At the time we were way stoked. We could finally move at our own pace. So he set us up on an area and told us how long it should take us; that he’d be waiting for us back at camp. Keenan and I hit the trail and then went off trail like we had seen Kurt do a million times in the past. We kept the top of the mountain to our left, slowly following the slow curvature of the mountain side as it wrapped around the base and lead to the ridgeline. We crested the ridge and dropped into the lower lake….but we misjudged the time it took and night began to fall. We had no packs, no provisions, no flashlights….just two young guys carrying rifles in the snow in the middle of nowhere.

The forest comes alive after dark and it’s pitch black under that canopy. We fumbled our way onto the trail we knew had to be there and beat feet like the devil himself was chasing us through those woods. We stumbled into camp well after dark and we could tell by the look on Kurts face he knew exactly what we had done. He just laughed. Said he’d done it before too and that we’d learn to give ourselves time to get out. He was right.

Kurts been dead for a long while now. But I’ll never forget that man. Shot my first Elk and first Buck with him.

Keenan and I lost touch for a bit, but met up again a few years ago. He’s got kids of his own now and I have mine. Things have changed up there huntingwise; but we still go. For us it isn’t just about the hunting. It’s about the area. There’s just something about it. Something about the hardness of it. The pure uncomfortableness of the situation you put yourself into. It’s…refreshing. When you’re cold, wet, miserable…life is hard, but it’s also so simple. Your only thoughts consist of how to keep warm, whether you have enough food, and how to get water.

When you drive yourself to total exhaustion…when each step makes it harder to breath, but you can’t stop, cause you know if you do you’ll never start again…when you’re walking out in the dark and are no longer afraid…you hear the sounds around you, your soul is at peace and you welcome an attack that never comes, because they can sense your preparedness…you’re not the victim any longer…you’re the predator and you’re in your element. Suddenly…everything going on back home melts away, doesn’t matter, seems so small. Insignificant. So you sit there…listening as the trees sway, the snow falls, the soft whisper of the woods beckon you to stay. It’s a type of miserable that oddly enough, feels good. It’s hard to explain really.

This year we had the opportunity to take our kids up with us. It was my sons third year and my daughters first year up with us. She’d heard stories of the misery and never wanted to go, but she did this year. Hard to explain the joy I felt in that. Got to take them to a place that’s special to Keenan and I. A place that Kurt had showed us long ago; hidden deep in those hills, that I’m sure only a handful of people have seen. No maps or trails will get you there. Dangerous as hell to get there. At one point while on our way my daughter looked at me and said, “Mom would kill you if she saw where we were right now…”. And I replied, “Ya, I know…but either we’ll make it and it won’t matter or we won’t and it still won’t matter”. They had to see it, you see…I had been talking about it to them since they were both in diapers. And this last week I got them both there. It was surreal.

My son got to experience what it’s like to walk himself out of the woods alone while up there. My daughter got dropped off in the woods to sit a drainage by herself while waiting for a bear to cross that we saw sign of in there; with instructions that were, “Be fast, be accurate, good luck”.

It’s a place where the rubber meets the road. Either you got it or you don’t. You learn to plan and prepare, but ultimately, you learn to go with what you got. The only one that is truly gonna get you out of there is you. So you practice. You get off the trail. You test your metal. You suck it up. You embrace the suck.

It’s the ultimate factory reset. Regardless of what is going on in your life, you go up there, totally cut off from the world, exposed to the environment, and suddenly…the things that truly matter come into focus and are clear.

Every year as that one week approaches I’m filled with mixed emotions of dread and anticipation. It’s a hell week in one hell of a good way. One that can’t quite be explained unless you’ve experienced it. And I’m so thankful it was shown to me and I’ve been able to show my kids. Perhaps when their world here is crashing down they’ll remember the warmth of a small fire they had to work at to get going with wet wood while in the snow and suddenly they’ll feel that slow tingle in their fingers and it’ll bring a smile to their face, and that feeling of “I made it” will embrace them…and all will be well within them once again.

#Trailsareforpussies

#Gowithwhatyougot

#Practicewithwhatsinyourpack

#Embracethesuck

Disclaimer: I am not advocating or suggesting that halfwits wander off into the woods and attempt to do any of these things mentioned in this blog without at least some basic training, a pack full of provisions, water, first aid kit, compass, gps, satellite imaging of your every footstep, your mothers maiden name, notifying at least a dozen people of your stupidass whereabouts, and a complete trip itinerary submitted to the local search and rescue department. Because I swear, if you read this and do something stupid, I will stab myself in the head with a sharp object in an effort to mimic your stupidity.

Read more here: Take Me to Church

 

Copyright©2019 Jacob C. Larson All Rights Reserved