Trad Gang

Seven elk grazed the fresh grasses that each spring lept out of what was only a week earlier winter weary ground. Seven bachelor brothers grazed calmly together, oblivious to the light rain.

And yet one stood apart.

Even from across the drainage, the view fogged from the soft spring weather, this bull was half again larger than the others. Oh, he was something OTHER, now that was for sure! The archer took note of his spring scouting luck and settled into his rest against an ancient blown down fir.

The big bull turned to test the wind, his habit, and despite the distance three long raking scars plowing along his left flank could be plainly seen. Those long scars would have been deep wounds once and must have been grievous for the bull.

Three Badges. Badges of an epic contest for supremacy never seen before or since on Bull Mountain, or on any mountain. Those scars had been hard earned at the feet of the Black Bull of Deadman Gulch, when the two monsters had battled in a contest that in the end was either life-

or death.

The archer was awed. He had never seen such scars on any elk and knew of all the large bulls on the mountain, only one bore them.

The Monarch of Bull Mountain...


To be continued

Oh boy, pull up a chair this is gonna be a good one. Is it ok if I play with my elk bugle while reading this one?

:coffee:  And I'm going on my first Elk hunt this fall.........

Joshua, This should be a fun one.

There is a lot more to come.

J-

QuoteOriginally posted by Autumnarcher:
Oh boy, pull up a chair this is gonna be a good one. Is it ok if I play with my elk bugle while reading this one?

A huge X2~!!!

I have a feeling this one will take me away from work during the day...

The group of bulls slowly fed their way into  the timber, the Monarch still among them. The archer stood, taking care to shake out his legs. It had been a long hard hike into this canyon and he would be lucky to make it back by dark. A pair of ravens talked back and forth across the park. He shouldered his small pack. How old was this rotting giant he had found comfort leaning against? 100 years? 200? He started down the game trail, but suddenly stopped, realizing it had  been on the ground even, for longer than he had lived. Humbled now, he started his long walk out.

In the evenings, the archer planned his hunt. He spread out maps on the kitchen table and studied topography. In his mind he translated the lines and their character into images. This is where there is water. Here is dark timber. Grasses and swale. Impassable. A narrow saddle guarded by a false ridge. He added what he saw on the maps to what he had seen on his scouts. Finally he thought, after all the work.

It had taken the archer two years to find the Monarch of Bull Mountain.

At night, the archer would think about the Bull feeding somewhere on the mountain. Or his daughter. He wished he could see her more often. But she lived far away, with her mother. He could only manage a weekend every month.

Sometimes he dared to dream about hunting the Bull with her. She had killed an elk with a bow already, but it was never a sure thing if they could get the time or juggle the schedules to allow a hunt together.  He hoped.  He was thankful that in the beginning at least and before the divorce there had been enough time for him to pour his love, and his love of the outdoors, into her. She was his, top to bottom. For that the archer was grateful.

Tomorrow was a new day. He turned off the nightstand light and tried to get some sleep.


To be cont...

oh boy, I'm hooked   :readit:    :eek:

:campfire:

:campfire:

:campfire:     :coffee:

The spring slowly drifted into summer, the seven bulls grazing along the ascending bloom of tender shoots and protein laden grasses just below the snow line. Their four-chambered stomachs broke down and made use of every calorie available, sponging up the nutrients to put on the stores that would see them through the exertions of fall. They bedded often, reworking the forage stored in one of their stomachs into finer pieces. Better yet to absorb whatever nutrients could be found in them. They never exerted themselves without reason, and in general only moved about to eat and to drink.

The Bull stayed with the bachelor group for awhile, feeding with the others until one day he was gone.
The archer waited for the Bull to show himself again. Each scout he found the bachelor group expecting to find the Bull back among them. But he had disappeared.
The archer began to scout farther away from the range the bulls favored. An elk as massive as the Monarch could not just vanish into thin air he reasoned. But after several weeks of determined bushwacking he found nothing.
He studied his maps and continued to call his daughter with updates. She was as anxious as he was to hunt the Monarch now and it looked like a  three day hunt together was falling into place.
The archer was excited about going after the Monarch with his daughter, though he was becoming concerned that if he didn't find where this crafty giant had gone they would never even have the chance. He almost regretted building this thing up. He hated to disappoint her so.

The week they confirmed their plans, he found it hard to concentrate at work. He had to find where the Bull was hiding. He drove home early, first stopping at the grocery to pick up some things and then  without thinking found himself at the edge of town. He parked in a pull out, a sawtooth horizon of spruce against the sky, and beyond that, he the could just see the tops of the humped up peaks that held Bull Mountain. The sun set, its last rays infusing the sky in alpenglow.
The archer turned the truck around and drove aimlessly. He tried to clear his thinking about the Bull and approach finding him from a new perspective. It didn't work. The truck bumped down a long dirt track and the archer, lost in thought,  almost hit a bull moose walking across the road in front of him. He looked for a place to turn around but the track was narrow and sided with beaver pools and swale. It was getting dark. Finally, the truck bumping over a small rise and down into a hollow. The dirt track abruptly ended.
Off to one side of a small turnaround sat an old one ton flat bed, long ago up on blocks. Behind that was what you could call a shed and beyond the shed was a tilted dwelling, half log, part plywood and a little bit tar paper. It tilted into the hillside like an old boat.

Inside that husk of wood and log and paper lived Old Husky.

The archer turned off his truck and got out. What the hell, he thought, maybe Husky knew where this big Bull was hiding. Even if they said he was half crazy. Maybe he was an old hermit. But maybe he knew where to find the Monarch of Bull Mountain. Old Husky had lived up there before the fire took his cabin and the winters took his mind, or at least thats what they said had driven him off the high top country.

Excellent.  :campfire:

This is shaping up as a great story!

                         

                    :coffee:

:campfire:

:campfire:

:thumbsup:

o man i am so captivated by this story keep it coming man iv never hunted Wapiti before but i can compare your story with a Red stag that is still on the hill that my dad seen and im trying to catch up on keep the story coming. Jhg you have a gift mate you really do.

:campfire:    :coffee:  

were waiting.........

:coffee:

:campfire:

The archer walked up onto the small porch tenuously attached to the shanty. A good sized stump of spruce served as a side table next to an old chair. There was firewood along the wall next to the door. In the middle of the door hung a broken off cut of lumber with the warning:

SOLICITORS WILL BE SHOT

This guy IS crazy the archer thought, as he raised his knuckles to rap on the door, not knowing what to expect...


High on a slope along Bull Mountains back the Giant slowly picked his way through the knotted timber.
Many blow downs blocked his progress, but he knew the way and threaded his path around them. A slight breeze came up the slope behind him. He didn't like that, but it could not be helped.
The Monarch ghosted his way through the nearly impenetrable snarl, always up and always careful, stopping to listen for long minutes. His native senses focused to a razors edge.
Finally he came onto a small bench surrounded by cliff and so tightly sheltered it seemed a roof over it. Aspen shaded the thick growth of grasses and forbs that grew so high as to brush the big bulls belly. He drank long from a small seep bubbling clear cold water and laid down to rest, safe at last.

The small canyon and even smaller bench was the Monarchs secret. He had found it a long time ago after his first battle with the Black Bull of Deadman Gulch had left him so wounded he almost died. The Black Bull had driven him off the open parks and back into the timber, until only the worst and most rugged trail could save him. It was luck that he found  this special place. But luck figures largely in the wild and the Bull took advantage of his. He rested and he mended until that time he could return.

You spin a fine yarn. On my first Elk hunt this fall I know this will be in the back of my mind.....   :notworthy:

Just as the archer started to knock a voice startled him. "Go on in son, you're welcome here"

Husky stood off aways. How he got there and behind him the archer could only guess. Husky had appeared out of nowhere, as if a ghost.
There was a lot of talk in town about Husky. Whack job. Cabin crazy. Weird. But there was other stuff too. One of only a handful to survive in his platoon. So handsome, once, all the girls as far as two counties over tried to make him their own. Never the same after the war. Kept going back to pull them all to safety...
Inside the archer waited for the older man to settle into his chair, hand hewn from aspen. The archer sat down too, on a stuffed sofa he was none too sure about.
"Your daughter, shes the one that led her team to States her sophomore year?" The archer was a little troubled hearing this. It must have shown  on his face for Husky added "I read the papers son. There was a big article on her. Remember?"
The archer relaxed.
He looked around, and in the dim light let his eyes rest on an incredible elk shed laid over on the top of a side table. Husky must have noticed the interest.
"Pretty big shed that one."

"Where did you find it?" The tines on the royal was at least as long as his arm and maybe longer.

"Why don't you tell me?"

"I didn't come here for games Husky"

Husky chuckled. He packed an old briar pipe and lit a match.
"That shed came from up on the high top. On Bull Mountain."

"I saw a bull growing a rack much like that one just this spring" the archer said, and realizing he was almost whispering, tried to cover his embarassment with a cough.

"Anything else you see? A lot of bulls on that mountain have big racks. Its so damn hard to get in there hunters just don't pressure it much."

"This one had some bad scars. Never seen anything like it to be honest."

"Scars you say?""

"Three raking scars right along his left flank."

Husky pulled on his pipe and a cloud of smoke drifted off him only to disappear into the shadowed corners of the shanty. He looked up into the rafters for a moment.
"Thats no regular bull elk you saw son. He's not anything like any bull before, or ever will be."
Husky nested his pipe into the deep ashtray nearby.

"That, son, was the Monarch of Bull Mountain. Only one like him, ever.
When I lived up there and before the fire took the cabin, I watched the young Monarch many times. He favored the small park that was the cabins view. I watched him from the washbasin window."

The old mountain man crossed and uncrossed his legs, shifted himself in his chair and continued.

"The first year the Monarch was big enough to have his own group of gals was a dry year. A lot of elk had come up to the high top to find forage and it was the luck of the young Bull to have so many. He thought he was pretty big stuff and marched around like he was King of the World. He had thrashed about every bull this side of the high top, so I can't blame him the error."

The archer leaned toward the old man, hanging on every word.

"Now, a big fire had burned that summer over in Deadman. The forage was poor there from both fire and drought and most of the cow elk had come over from there to the high top and onto Bull Mountain.

"And after those cows, came looking the Black Bull..."

:scared:    No! Don't stop now!     :banghead:

O come on you have me hanging on every word. Dont stop   :deadhorse:

Just so you all know, this may or may not be a story, lotsa facts in here, spent alot of time on Bull and Deadman...listen close...I sure am

Ahhhh, yeas... a student of the infamous Charlie Lamb style of story-telling!

Met a few such folks as ole Husky in the years I lived in MT... what national treasures some of them are if you could get them to share all....

Waiting patiently.........  :coffee:

Me too  :pray:

Great story! Chapters are a little short though   :biglaugh:   Keep em coming!

Sorry folks and thanks for being patient. It takes time to write and I don't have a lot of that.

Besides, we have all summer...

Joshua

all summer.......oh come on now, dont know if I can take that kind of suspense! Hire out the honey do list, send the kids to grandmas, and lock the doors!

you write a good story....looking forward to it

Got me hooked, love the inclusion of the daughter.

Gee, too bad Joshua dind't start this well before the St. Jude's Auction...after he got us all hooked, he could've raised a bunch of cash for the kids SELLING us the Paul Harvey, "Rest of the Story!"   :D  

I'll quote someone of yore on here (their's was a reference to waiting 2 yrs for a custom bow, but it fits) and I'll say, "when it comes to waiting for the story to unfold thru the summer: "I'm too old to wait, I won't even buy green bananas anymore!"   :knothead:    :bigsmyl:

QuoteOriginally posted by Doc Nock:
Gee, too bad Joshua dind't start this well before the St. Jude's Auction...after he got us all hooked, he could've raised a bunch of cash for the kids ...

I never thought of that. The outline and general idea of this story was conjured up while elk hunting last year, so it has pretty much been ready to be written since the season ended. I honestly never thought anyone would be that interested/hooked on anything I wrote, so never considered the auction.

Joshua

Great stuff,

Take your time, the best thins in life are worth waiting for.  However, if you wait too long for one thing life passes you by   :readit:  


I see a lot of similarities between the hermit and the Monarch.  Both on top in their day, both handsome at their prime, and both know the mountain they call home...

Somebody pull this hook out of my mouth.

:clapper:    :clapper:    :clapper:  


:coffee:

I can't believe you are writing as it goes along, that is quite a natural talent. I thought you had it done and you were copying little sections as you let the story fold.  I am even more impressed.  This is "Gray's Sporting Journal" level so far.  I could see a book of short stories in your future.  I would certainly love to red it.

:clapper:

A chapter a day?  Now thats something to look forward to.  :campfire:    :coffee:

This is awesome I just bookmarked this page so I can keep up with this one.

Bisch

The Black Bull...


The archer pulled his truck into the drive and killed the engine. He sat there and replayed his visit with Old Husky.  It was quiet but for the exhaust shrinking as it cooled. He laid his head back into the seat and closed his eyes.

"The blackest antlers you ever saw...

"Tips glinted like diamonds when flashed by the sun...

"The Black Bull took the charge from the young Monarch by simply stepping aside...

"He waited his chance and drove into the Monarch those massive tines, muscles knotted and eyes ablaze...

"The Black Bull didn't intend to beat the Monarch son, he intended to kill him and delivered one massive raking blow that put him down."

The last few years had taken a toll on the archer.
He had never told anyone about the dream. In the dream he would see his daughter and going toward her she would walk into another room. The archer would follow, but she was not there. He would then search for her. Room to room to room, trying to find her but she would be gone and a sense of loneliness and powerlessness would engulf him so totally he would wake, sweating and rattled. Sometimes he understood he had been crying in his sleep.
If there was a God for the archer, he spoke to Him then. He asked for help. He asked God to please, please keep his daughter safe. The archer didn't know what else to do. He tried his best to be at his best when they were together and sometimes he was successful. A lot of the time, he didn't know what else to do but to do the things that once brought him so much joy. He knew that to prevail, he must shepherd his health and keep his shoulder to the very thing that tested him the most. The thing he was never sure he could beat. Sometimes he would laugh at himself ironically, saying out loud "Not exactly how you had it planned, eh Bud?"

The Monarch of Bull Mountain had somehow escaped into the timber and Husky said he thought the young bull had died either from his wounds or being so weakened by them that the winter was simply more than he could endure. He kept an eye for him all next summer but he was not to be seen anywhere. But that fall he reappeared with his scars healed and the night of the September moon Husky could hear the epic battle waged between the Black Bull of Deadman Gulch and the young Monarch way high up on the whaleback, just behind the park. It was so quiet the old loner could hear the giant bulls grunt when taking a charge. The battle went on for a long time until finally it was quiet.  One long terrible bugle ripped the silence and proclaimed a winner. In the morning was only the young bull, battered and blood stained, but truly now the Monarch of Bull Mountain.
No one ever saw the Black Bull again and Husky was sure he had been fatally wounded that moon washed night.

The archer got out of his truck and going into his house took down a small picture that hung on the wall next to the phone. It was a picture of his father and he sometimes wished he could ask him for the answer. But in his heart the archer knew he was not a boy anymore. Even if his Dad could be there, the only way out for for him was to walk the path himself. Success is a lifetime of sustained effort, he thought. He went up to bed, taking the picture with him . It was the last thing he looked at before turning out the light and going to sleep.

We need more!!!! Great storytelling by the way...

I've been cutting and pasting into MS WORD as you write, Joshua.

It's already 6 pages. You send me an email addy and I'll forward you a typed up copy of it all as posted here, if you want.

Going to make a great read later for me cause with my aged memory, I'll be forgetting what I ready at the beginning till it's over and get to relive it all anew

Excellent... starting to get some Pathos going in here. Thank you for sharing and allowing us to be a part of this great tale!

QuoteOriginally posted by Doc Nock:
I've been cutting and pasting into MS WORD as you write, Joshua.

It's already 6 pages. You send me an email addy and I'll forward you a typed up copy of it all as posted here, if you want.

Going to make a great read later for me cause with my aged memory, I'll be forgetting what I ready at the beginning till it's over and get to relive it all anew

Excellent... starting to get some Pathos going in here. Thank you for sharing and allowing us to be a part of this great tale!

Was thinking of doing the same thing Doc...great idea.  Could easily read this under a big pine or aspen waiting for the evening hunt.....

Excellent writing Josh, appreciate you taking the time to share it.  :thumbsup:

I agree with Jake. There is a lot of effort being put into this story and I'm glad it's being shared with us. Thanks for the idea of cutting and pasting guys   :thumbsup:

Yup, pretty easy... at least with 2 screens set up!

The guys at work drug me kickin and screaming into the 20th Century a while back and now I love 2 screens!

Course, this idea of the 21st century, facebook, twitter (???) and the rest...Not so much! One century at a time!

I've been reading anything and everything about Elk I could get my hands on ever since I was a kid and this is by far the best written story I have read. Thank you for sharing it with us!!!..... Terry

Excellent story Joshua...This story would be enjoyed by even a non-hunter, So its even that much better for the rest of us outdoor nuts!  :clapper:

The archer was not the first hunter to take an interest in the Monarch of Bull Mountain. The Giant was something of a legend. How could such a bull not be known and not be the object of curiosity, or desire? Certainly in hunting circles, but also among those with an ear for the mythic. The Monarch was a flint that fired the imagination. The hunter who brought home the mighty rack of the Monarch would have his place assured in local lore and  earn a folded page in any book written of such exploits.  To bring down the Bull would make a legend as large as the Monarch himself.

The absolute ruggedness of the country in which the Bull lived, however, weeded out those who would actually try into the very few. Of those who did make the effort, fewer still got very far into the endeavor before giving it up.  The country up  there was too rugged, the physical effort too great, the time it took to learn its secrets too long. It was easy to imagine the prize. It was something else altogether to attain it. The high top of Bull Mountain was not for everyone. Most never got past the inexorable fact that to get back there and then make a hunt, were two very different things...

You were serious about stretching this out all summer weren't you    :campfire:

ttt...... Wouldn't want this one to drift off page 1....... Terry

Great thread!

QuoteYou were serious about stretching this out all summer weren't you  

You better hope he hasn't decided to stretch it out until next St Judes Auction  :knothead:  Terry

Ruh, roh... Hey...it was just a thought I shared as it came to me, AZ!

 :eek:    :rolleyes:  

I'd pay to see the ending but see'ns how he's writing it down as he goes, we don't want to mess with the artist's mojo now...  :)

The archer carefully drew the broadhead over the final stone. He leaned into his work, a warm yellow light over the bench, a moth worrying the bulb. It was late. He stopped only to add more oil to the stones surface, suspending the microscopic metal swarf left from the sharpening process. The archer turned the head often, counting strokes for each side. A light touch slowly brought the edge to a razor. He repeated the process for six broadheads, then set them aside for the night. Tomorrow he would finish up with the compound and strop. Tomorrow they would be ready.
Every other day after work the archer took his bow  to the range. He liked the cool evenings there. It was quiet and it was peaceful.  It reminded him of the long unkempt yard that fell away to the river behind the house he had grown up in. In that vast space he had explored the world, carrying his branch longbow to stalk the mighty Mastodon, or charging in with his solders down the embankment saving a beleaguered regiment from certain death. He built hay bale trapper cabins, dug deep camouflaged pits to surprise unsuspecting neighborhood dogs and cats. He took a rope from his father's shop and made complex and enthusiastic contraptions for hauling himself and his gear up into the trees that lined the fence line.  It had been a huge and endless expanse of wilderness to him then. Once he had returned to see it again and the smallness of it had surprised him. He remembered it differently.

Few others frequented the range this late and the archer liked that.

On weekends the archer pushed himself to continue the scouts. He knew if he was to have any chance when the aspens turned he would have to be in shape and he would have to know the country by walking it. During the week he maximized his efforts return by going to the gym and building his strength. The archer had noticed the waning of his powers as he had grown older. He understood that to simply keep from slipping back would take constant effort, to improve, serious dedication. Where before what he and taken for granted would have simply, without effort, been at his disposal, to have that power now required forethought and planning.
The archer also took the time to visit Old Husky and by the end of summer he had helped the old man re-line his well, and saved the mountain man the danger and the trouble of fixing the shanty roof.
He made the long trips to visit his daughter and in this way when fall finally came, he was ready...

here I sit sweltering and yet...I can smell fall in the air!

Now THAT's good writing, bud!  :)

The small canyon with the clear spring seep was a special place. It stayed cool in the heat and had an upslope breeze that brought to the Bull all the information he needed of what passed below its hidden entrance. In foul weather, the steep walls kept out the heavy gales. The Bull would sometimes look up at the hawks that passed over the window of sky above him as their shadows climbed its rock walls, or their cries reached down into the secret canyon, echoing their strange language.

While the archer spent long evenings re-working his tackle, or weekends scouting Bull Mountain, the Monarch lived the secretive life of a bull elk mid-summer. Already a very large animal, the Bull packed on weight as his internal systems drew nourishment from the pregnant browse around him, delivering it in the very best ways to muscles and sinew. His favorite bed was under a large spruce with down swept boughs that almost reached to the tips of his remarkable rack, in velvet but for a few more days. By chance, this bedding place under the massive tree was graced by the morning sun, a rare thing inside the small hideaway canyon. The Bull would make the effort to be laying in this  spot as the sun clocked over it, warming his scarred  flank under the soft wash of gentle heat. As the years had passed, the old wounds gave him trouble and were stiffened from the mountain nights that were so cold this high on Bull Mountain. In this way he grew in weight and his velveted crown reached higher and higher as each day passed. Still, when summer had drifted through July, the Bull had not grown a larger set of antlers this year. In fact, large though they were (and they were larger still than the largest on the mountain) the Bull's antlers were a little bit smaller than the years previous.

Sometimes, and only at night, the Bull would leave the safety of the canyon and walk the edge of the open parks where he had spent the early years of his life. He never allowed himself out into the open, having learned long ago that even in the semi-darkness of a quarter moon in the open was danger. He had seen enough that convinced him of this. Those experiences had informed his already cautious nature to be even more so.
The Bull would wander among the aspen and the low growing spruce, visiting familiar wallows, but only to drink from nearby seeps.  Morning would find him back in the safety of the hidden canyon, having returned well before dawn while the breezes came to him as he climbed the steep and timbered trace to its entrance...

Hang in there everyone. I have the ending in my mind already, we just have to get there..

Joshua

This is great stuff!  I am imagining my first ever elk hunt this fall.

Don't rush it..it's too good to end quick!  :)

Ruh-roh...here I go setting myself up for more "incoming!"   :jumper:    :dunno:

TTT don't want this to get lost!   :scared:    :jumper:

Great stuff Joshua!We have time till the elk season!

keep it coming i love this story

Back-Up-Top. Don't want anyone missing this story. Gooooood Stuff!

:clapper:

ttt

Good Stuff  :)

Scoot! You best be waiting at the ridgetop for our erstwhile author to come pokin around for ya!

Now git up there!

ttt

:thumbsup:    :clapper:    :pray:

Dang thing needs some velcro...keeps fallin off the page!

I hear ya Doc..... We'll just keep bumping it back up..... Terry

WOW!!! I wish I would have checked this out a month ago, now. Awesome writing jhg. I am definately hooked. Can't wait for the next installment. Thank you for taking me to the mountain's, Mike.

:campfire:     :coffee:  Next chapter   :dunno:

Can't rush an artist...they get cranky!   :laughing:

The archer drove out to Huskys the afternoon before the season opened. He told himself he wanted to learn more about the Monarch from the old man, but that wasn't exactly true. The archer found Husky to be well informed, thoughtful on many subjects and pretty even tempered for an old guy living for years by himself in the woods. He played a mean game of cribbage too. The archer had begun respecting the man for his perspective and his sharp wit.
The road into Huskys hadn't gotten any smoother. The archer reminded himself to bring the Bobcat and have a load or two of road base delivered as another bump put his shoulder into the side panel of the trucks door.  He could see Husky sitting on the porch of the shanty as the truck climbed over the rise and coasted down into the protected basin.

The cribbage board was out, resting on top of a thin stack of books. The archer climbed the hewn steps onto the porch and was about to sit down when Husky stopped him.

"Go into the cabin and on the table is a case. Bring that out"

Inside, the archer could see the case on the table. It was of spruce bark, a single large piece creased and folded to form a box. The edges were bound with sinew.  These were carefully crafted into a decorative pattern of stitches.   The cover was edged with folded leather. In its center, a moose horn pattern of contrasting aspen made an emblem.
A breeze pushed in past the window curtains above the kitchen counter and over the archers face. He heard the shanty door blow closed behind him. He had a lot of thoughts in his mind as he turned to take the case out to Husky. He had never been inside the shanty before with its door closed and out of respect he felt uncertain he wanted to be there alone with the old man outside. His unease left him instantly when on the back of the door he saw a sort of hewn peg rack. On one peg hung a leather quiver, many years of oil worked into it. A good bunch of fletching- it looked to be both turkey and goose filled out the quivers top. On another peg hung a long self bow, well used and smooth. The grip was leather bound and stained from sweat. He could see the side plate, a dark spot from hundreds of shafts marking the bows center pivot above the archers knuckle.
Full of questions, he opened the door and handed Husky the case...

...ahhh yes....   :campfire:    :coffee:

Wow, I just found this thread this morning and it is awesome.  :campfire:

Josh, you Gallant young man....!

You just start one more sub-plot after another don't cha!?

I feel like I'm reading an Old Field and Stream where they used to do those "mini-series" stories and you had to wait each month for the next chapter.

Bud, you got so much motherlode to mine on this one, it COULD easy take you all summer!!!

You weave all these threads together, you surely are a master author! Excellent!

Oh...and Thanks!  :)

That's what I'm talking about!   :notworthy:    :coffee:   and then.............

Im going to need a copy of this!!

Thanks everyone for the kind words. I always enjoyed the old hunting stories when a kid and I think we never really outgrow that love of adventure or the interest in personal challenge brought to focus by the wild.  

BTW, there are revisions/corrections in process as I go along and you may want to wait until its finished if you plan to copy it.

J-

:campfire:

QuoteOriginally posted by jhg:

BTW, there are revisions/corrections in process as I go along and you may want to wait until its finished if you plan to copy it.

J-

That's it! You're outa the will! I got every snibble of posting saved up in a word file.

You tellin us you go back and edit the OLD submissions as you do new ones...

Where's my willow switch!?  :bigsmyl:

:campfire:

:readit:  This story started out good and keeps getting better!

I found this story at the wrong time, 11:30 pm. It is now 12 and i better stop for tonight. This is great and i am only a couple pages into the thread. I can't wait to read the rest and hear how it ends.

Great story jhg I am glade you shared it with us.

The Family and I are planing an August trip to NW Montana to see family and to start scouting for a future Elk Trip............This realy is lighting the   :campfire:  

If you keep this up it will rivel the leangth of the HH Post  :clapper:

:campfire:

Husky knew something was broken. It didn't take him long to realize that. When they flew him home from the war he consolidated what he had and started searching for a place to mend. He found that place on the high top, up on Bull Mountain. He built his home there. It was no cheap job either. The logs fit tight and the corners were square. Husky poured his anxious energy into building a place that when he looked at its details, he might feel some peace. Quieting the demons that haunted him, one lick of the axe at a time, up there in the clouds.
Husky knew what people thought of him. After a few years it was plain enough. The old man remembered those years on Bull Mountain when people formed their present opinion of him. He was tired of being alone. So earlier that summer, when the archer had come bumping over the rise in his truck and coasted to a stop in the turn around outside his shanty, Husky was ready for friendship.

He took the bark case from the archer and laid it across his lap. He opened his hands, palms down on the top and the archer could see the sun grown age spots and the slightly swollen knuckles.

"When I..." Husky started and stopped, letting out a breath.

"When..." he stopped again and with his right hand followed the edge of the leather around the lid. He touched the moose emblem, looking down, blinking.
A Hermit Thrush called somewhere deep in the thick spruce stands above them, like a muted flute.
Husky pulled in a breath, his big chest expanding. For a moment it was very quiet. The sheltered basin a bowl. Every side was rimmed in dark timber, the sky above a curved window.

"I want to thank you for your help"  Husky finally said and handed the archer the case.

The archer felt a little embarrassed. It was always easier for him to give than to receive. But he had learned the importance of accepting a gift with grace. His daughter had taught him that, when after giving him something she had made, his response was a little lacking. She had looked at him right in the eye, set her jaw that way she did and said something to the effect that relationships were a two way street and if he wanted one with her he had better get with it because SHE wasn't gong to wait around for ANYONE to figure out that letting people say thank you was part of LIFE!
The archer could still see her with that determined look like it was yesterday. He smiled and took the case, placing it carefully on his legs. He opened the lid. Inside were eight perfectly fletched shafts, each one with an old Bear broad head showing razor edges in the waning light.  The cresting was simple green on red with a gold band near the bottom. The shafts were tight grained and deep toned. The archer knew these were no ordinary shafts, but from some special long saved supply.

"You might want to try them, but I think you will find they are spined about right for your bow weight and draw."

The archer looked up in amazement.  

"I looked at your bow one day when you were digging out the well to re-line it. Not a lot of people drive around with a recurve hanging in the gun rack...

:goldtooth:  

I love it................

Awesome, Joshua.

Son....you do spin a tale... mighty fine, mighty fine...

Joshua,  what an incredible story ( so far )  :bigsmyl:

TTT

ttt

:campfire:

ttt

Man, this thing is like a icey slope on a steep mountanside, jus keeps slipping to the wrong page...

:campfire:   Chapters are to short and to far apart...lol........   :biglaugh:

TTT! Just trying to remind jhg that we're still waiting,lol. Love it jhg! Keep it coming please.

Up for the night!

More soon- been swamped...


Joshua

:coffee:

"Dad...?"

It was his daughter calling ahead of the season.  It was also Sunday. She always called on Sunday.

The plan was he would hike in to their bivy camp over the first week and cache some foods. Anything to save them from heavy packs going in the first night. They only had three days.
If he happened to cross the path of the Monarch that first week and alone, well, then he would take his chance.

The archer told her about his visit to the shanty and the arrows Husky had made for him.

"They flew okay? Really?"

"I shaved a fletch second arrow..."

"Sweeet!"

"I know. And he did it guessing my draw..."

"You like him a lot don't you" It was more a statement than a question.

"Yes."

"Dad?"

"Hmmm?"


"Did Husky really shoot a Robin Hood with the self bow he made?"

"I saw it pumpkin. Third arrow."

He could almost hear her thinking. He thumbed a button on his shirt, letting her the time.
Then finally,

"Wow."

"No kidding..."

Dad?" The archer loved it when his daughter asked him a hundred questions.

"Is Husky like Grandpa?"

The archer could hear the slight fuzz of the connection in the ear piece. A clock ticked from inside the darkness of the living room. She didn't remember her Grandpa. Sometimes he wasn't sure he remembered him. The memory of him sometimes seemed entangled with the longing.

"Yes sweetheart. He is like your Grandpa."

"Well, then I'd like to meet this Husky mountain man arrow wizard person." She laughed at herself and her word-smithing and the archer knew he loved her as deeply as a father could love .


Dawn found the archer a quarter way up the long bush-whack to the high top of Bull Mountain. He took care to pace himself. The air coming down off the slope above him felt thick and cool against his hot cheek. He opened his vest, then shed it. The grade continued to rise like a relentless wave in front of his tilted body. His lungs pulled in large doses of air. He found his pace just on the edge of physical discomfort where the contest between the need for more oxygen balanced with the equally great need to clear his system of carbon dioxide.
He knew the way and hiking under his headlamp he had allowed himself to fall into a sort of trance. He was hypnotized by the methodical rhythm of his own legs, his breathing and the ground rising to meet him. But when light began to sift through the canopy of mixed aspen and spruce and lit the secret woods places, he became alert and brought his bow to his off hand. It felt light resting there and familiar. The archer checked his compass every few minutes until he could see as needed to understand exactly where he was on the mountain side.

Finally he stopped. Laying down his bow and taking off his pack, the archer allowed himself to listen to the forest around him, slowing down his breathing until it calmed, a mirror of the mountains own profound stillness.  The archer listened carefully. Husky had said something  that he remembered now. He felt his body blending into the mountain until he was of it. When he looked into the forest around him he didn't see a place any longer. He saw an extension of his own self same soul. He knelt down and pushing his hands into the thick duff under him he inhaled deeply the aroma of generations of life and death there among the needles and composting leaves.
Someplace up and ahead of him the archer knew was the Monarch of Bull Mountain. Some place up and ahead the Bull was waiting...

:nono:  You should know better than to stop there!   :nono:

Great story, love reading this!


David

Excellent... Grandpa, indeed!

Son, you've been in those places more than one time, felt that damp dank earth in your nostrils and the exertion pulling at your arteries... to be able to pen such graphic scenes.

Thank you for taking us along... When you're ready...  :)  Like I said, you've got enough sub-plots running in this to keep it alive all summer!

A novel in the making...  :)

The Bull tilted his head and the massive rack that crowned it swayed like a bone limbed tree. He took one step forward and the other bull had seen enough, turning in place to put some timber between them. The rut had not even started and there was no shame in retreat so as to perhaps consider another day. The Monarch stood still and listened to the younger bull climbing the slope. Motionless, the muscled shoulders of the Bull still seemed to undulate with power and even the small squirrels storing seeds gave way to his majesty, scolding as his presence dominated everything around him. The Bull was showing the fine results of a summer of rest and thick browse, his coat a healthy sheen. He tested the scent laden drifts of cool air that brought him their secrets and tattle tales, assessing each bit of information, dissecting its meaning, balancing its message against his years of experience and innate caution. He didn't like being away from his secret canyon. He was not afraid to leave it behind for many days either, especially in the fall when the urge to spend more time walking his old familiar haunts and reasserting his place among the elk that lived there became strong.

A downey woodpecker climbed a tree nearby, his rat-a-tat-tat workman-like. The Monarch watched him, not in focus, but as one piece of a larger reality without a beginning and with no end. The Bull simply experienced everything around him as an extension of himself.
He walked forward and soon found himself among a small group of other elk that had been feeding along the break between black timber and aspen. Here was good water, plentiful grasses and forbes,   tender aspen shoots from spring growth and reliable breezes to bring warning. He knew this place well and walked out among the other elk almost ignoring them in a display of regal assertion. It was his habit from many years of total and unconquerable certainty that his place was unique and unassailable. But the Monarch knew he would be challenged. It was the way of things wild and he welcomed it. He was more than willing to play his part in the ancient struggle, even if it meant death.
He quietly bugled to assert his position. It was an invitation and a warning. An invitation to any cows that he was welcoming them into his protection and a warning to any other bulls nearby that in the coming weeks they might well consider carefully their actions. But during the coming rut, there were always bulls that could not control their desire even under the red flag of better judgment. This is when the Monarch would tender them no mercy and if he was given the chance he would put them down into the black dirt of the high top on Bull Mountain so that there would be no doubt as to who was in charge or who was to be punished.

As the years had passed the Bull found himself less and less willing to waste his energy on encounters that could be determined in other less physically expensive ways. Without knowing it and without thought, the Bull had simply adapted to the realities of elk life. He unconsciously understood that to prevail he must portion his physical expenditures against the deposits that had been carefully made all summer. It was not wisdom that had taught him this, but an innate knowing that he was not as quick as he once had been in his youth, nor as strong. Therefor he waited his chance carefully so that the outcome was certain and always in his favor. He sensed that to ever falter would be the end of his reign as Monarch of Bull Mountain.  This chafed against the reality that the Bull could not ever accept a lesser position than the one he had fought for and earned so many years ago against the Black Bull of Deadman Gulch. It was that moment the die was cast that separated the Bull from the others.  He wanted to be King. No other role would ever be satisfactory and the Bull would have died in the struggle to attain it.  This one fact, more than his size, was what made the Bull special. It had been mere luck that so many years ago the Black Bull had relented long enough that the Monarch, with no foe in front of him, had thought the contest over and somehow limped away. If the contest had been pressed he would have fought on until killed. He simply could never surrender.

You are, indeed, the Monarch of word crafting.  Were you once an elk?

Very good, very good indeed. I am really enjoying this story.

:bigsmyl:  THANK YOU!

I can even see it happening! Keep it coming   :thumbsup:

Your writing is like watching a runner hitting his stride down the home stretch..... Good stuff..... Terry

I can smell it, see it, and tast it..........

Well done "O Weaver of Words"  :coffee:

Good stuff sir!     :clapper:

WOW   :clapper:

Joshua... you are a very good writer. That is apparent by the many people that are following this story so closely. thank you for your time and effort. I am enjoying your story completely!

:campfire:

:readit:  I'm going to go into withdrawl....need more of the story   :saywhat:    :coffee:

ttt for an excellent read!

Waiting impatiently here...   :help:

Another GREAT installment... Thanks!

ttt

Keep it coming mate. Beautiful writing.

The archer continued his journey up the mountainside, hunting now and careful. He could hear a thrush, its song muffled by the inexorably woven forest. It called twice and went silent. Other sounds floated the mountains air. Squirrels called near and far, mapping their territory for others to heed. A crow straight-lined toward some distant point. The archer could hear the whistle of each wing thrust as it passed directly over his head just above the forest canopy. He thought he heard a coyote bark. An owl made one last assertion of its intent as the day broadened. It was still cool as the morning waned and a steady air continued to fall off the slope. Finally it brightened considerably under the crowned cathedral of aspen, spruce and fir. The breeze stalled, then reversed, pushing into the archers back. A few moments later it reversed again to cool his open shirt. But relief was brief. The air current traveled up slope again. Then again the breeze stalled. And again it fell away down the slope. This capricious back and forth game went on for an hour or more, first fanning the archer as he worked up slope, stalling, then turning on its heel to carry his scent ahead. How far he could only guess. He kept to the shadow sides of the slope as he climbed. It was cooler here and in this way he postponed the moment when the air current made one final back and forth jig before abandoning any pretense of uncertainty. The air now carried its warning of the archers approach steadily up hill. It was not to be avoided, at least not this time. He resigned himself with measured pace, knowing any elk would wind him well before he could approach near enough for a shot. Still, he kept his eyes ahead, hopeful.  By noon he had reached the place where he planned to make a simple camp with his daughter when they returned to hunt later next week.
The place he had chosen was near good water. A seep slowly pulsed up from a small rock knee that ended a short but almost vertical ridge above it. Here was a natural bench, one side lodge pole and open with a good flat. The other side was a small stand of aspen. Columbines sang their song among the patch of greened black earth that was the seeps bounty. He especially liked this. The small area was a beautiful diorama, like so many others found on the mountain, but in some way unique and of only itself. As they all were unique even in their sameness.
He rested for a good while before taking a green  cord from his pack. He tied onto its end a small knot of limb and threw this with its leader over a high branch on one of the lodgepoles. He removed the knot and replaced it with a  canvas of dried foods and drink mix. He retrieved the cords other end until the bag was suspended a good 15 feet or more above the ground and clear of any nearby trees that could hold a bear. He tied this off as high as he could reach, wrapping the cord around the trunk three times, then a simple trapped loop under one wrap. This loop end he took care to secure with a half hitch. Satisfied, he then carried over a flat stone to use as the under surface for their small brass stove. This he placed on top of a small berm. It would be a fireless camp, but he saw no virtue in a cold one.

The archer had done all he had come to do. The camp was but a small distance below the high top of Bull Mountain and an easy hike into the Monarchs territory. There was plenty of day left and the archer checked his tackle. He pulled his favorite arrow from the quiver and again checked the edge of its broad head. The arrow fletching seemed to vibrate as if it crowned something alive and the archer could believe it was alive deep and away in this primordial forest. He placed the arrow neatly back into the bow quiver. He was ready. He shouldered his pack. His bow rested lightly in his off hand, string up. The archer walked forward slowly and the forest swallowed him. Only the canvas bag and the flat rock remained to mark his recent presence...

Ah nuts.......now I have to wait for more   :thumbsup:   But each edition has been worth the wait!!   :notworthy:

Well, I just corrected some of what I just wrote. So read again :0)

J-

:thumbsup:

I am just happy to wait.

:campfire:

Man oh man, This is an awsome read. THANK YOU!

I can already sense I'm going to have an emotional "crash" when this is over!

Wonderful read and nicely dovetailed one to another!

:)

Enjoying this very much.  Thank you

ttt

Have to keep this one on the first page methinks

I'm elk scouting the next couple days so nothing until Monday the 18th.

Joshua

Well I guess that's a good excuse   :biglaugh:   ...... let us know what you see! Hope it's the Monarch!!

Every installment is well worth the wait!

Well, it's the 18th  :campfire:

Seriously though, this is among the most enjoyable reads I have ever found.

How was the scouting trip?

The herd was grazing lower on the mountain than usual. Led by an old barren cow, they had fed their way slowly along a break in the dark timber that was wreathed in a band of aspen and wet black soil. Rich in greens and tender grasses that they loved, the elk were following this narrow meadow down slope. The old cow was  matriarch of a large group of sisters, daughters and immature bulls too young to actively participate in the rut.
The wind came at the Bull and he pushed his large head into it, testing. He was nervous. He knew the old cow from his early days and he was loath to unsettle the group by horning her in.  None of the cows were in estrus yet. But soon, and he did not want to work any harder than he had to keeping them within his loose control. Of course if it came to that, he would do what he had to do and his desires would prevail, but for now he chose the easier path despite his unease.
The old cow was smart and her judgment sound. This the Monarch understood intuitively. He did not reason it out. Years of contact with her during this season had taught him to rely on her skills of survival as much as he did his own. He had seen for himself her reactions and her choices when confronted with danger. Always swift and sure, he came to see her as an extension of his own innate and unassailable instinct. But still he did not like being so far down on the mountain and after another hour he'd had enough. He walked purposely  toward the old cow, giving a soft but clear squeal of discontent. His massive rack rocked as he strode across the treed meadow. When he neared the cow he tilted his rack so the tines nested into his large body. Head back and eyes rolling, the Monarch walked an arch that looped toward the old matriarch. His posture and direction made it clear that he wanted the group to stop and move back and up the mountain. The other elk became nervous and stopped grazing to watch the outcome of this, the first assertion  of the Bulls status onto the herd usually led by the old cow.
She stood her ground and perceptibly stiffened, but as the Monarch closed the small distance remaining between them, she gave him her flank which he only seemed to push his mighty tines into while she continued to turn away until facing the other direction. The old cow then slowly walked several steps toward higher ground to signal her acquiescence. In this way the point was made. From then on the herd understood who was in control.
The Bull gave a low chuckle and then a high long bugle to call in any willing cows that might be outside the group. The sound of the mighty Bull carried down the mountain, following its flank and its low ribs of dark thick timber. Down it fell, always down, taking its message into the very places the Bull dared not go without the cover of darkness. Down, down, down. Down the mountains steep slope toward the archer...

GAME ON!!!!!!

 :archer:

I closed my eyes and I was there.....cool !!

Is it just me or does this story keep getting better?... Terry

It most certainly does !!!!!

QuoteOriginally posted by AZStickman:
Is it just me or does this story keep getting better?... Terry

I Don't think its just you!   :readit:

Back up... i'm getting goose-pimples, but don't want it to end!

ttt

QuoteOriginally posted by jhg:
Down, down, down. Down the mountains steep slope toward the archer...

I could not get this part out of my head while looking at the mountains on my drive to work this morning. Down, down, down. This is good Josh, I can't believe I just found it.

The archer swung his leg over the fallen tree. He grabbed a small spruce within easy reach and used it to leverage his upper body forward and over his foot planted on the other side. In one smooth motion he was over. He was following the slope down at a very slight angle. He had time and wanted to hunt smart with the day he had left. As he began to move away from the blow-down the archer froze almost as soon as he started forward. From his left and ahead a long faint bugle rolled down the mountain to him. Maybe a quarter mile away. Maybe less. He waited, silent, all his faculties brought to focus like a bullet. After a few minutes another bull note floated to him and the archer took a bearing on it with his compass. He immediately started straight up, now unconcerned with hunting across the afternoon thermals running up the slopes of Bull Mountain. He wanted to get above the elks location right here and right now. He would then hunt forward and down to them, into the wind. It was his best chance and he wasted no time moving through the forest. He leaned forward and his strides devoured  the topography he knew he must cover quickly. His body responded to the demand given and he was glad he had trained hard over the summer. Yet the pace he set was taxing his physical limits.
Images played across his mind like a movie as the archer climbed. It was as if his whole adult life were playing its story before his vague attentiveness. He saw images of his daughter through the years as she changed from a lumpy bundle in his arms to respected and sought after high school athlete. He saw the wedding cake as if it was before him, then the divorce contest in all its tension, one particular office, a room divided by his lawyers and hers like crouching linemen in a football game. He saw Husky, the arrows and he saw his own face reflected in a mirror and noted with surprise at how much his father he looked. Or was it his father in the mirror? He couldn't be sure...
After a while the archer knew he had climbed above the elks last location bugle. He slowed his pace and moved along the contour of the slope. He wanted time to let his body recover. It was a good place to move quietly and he used game trails when he could. He linked these traces with the open areas free of blown over trees into a long and continuously productive avenue forward.  Finally he stopped and let the surrounding forest massage its inexorably profound peacefulness into him. The archer listened. He began to feel the rhyme of the forest within himself. He slowly became a part of its fabric and its rhythm. Slowly, the archer became invisible.
Another bugle came to him and it was close. He was less anxious now and knew he must choose his approach carefully. He knew he had time. The archer thought he could hear cow talk- soft mews and answering whines. Above him the crowns of the tall firs sifted the wind. Ahead he could see a change in color that he knew must mean an aspen break between the dark timber ribs of Bull Mountain.
The archer slowly worked forward and down toward the elk he could hear ahead of him. He was careful to keep in cover now. Any route that offered easy stalking, but nothing to mask his approach he disregarded, even if the alternative meant difficult going. A slight breeze pushed into his face from his right. He could smell the elk now. The archer removed his pack. He took off his boots. He carefully checked the bow quiver, the string and he checked the nock tied onto it. The archer was ready. He crouched low and placed each step with care. The herd was there and moving into him and he could see several cows grazing forward. He waited, wondering his next move. The archer did not want to use a call. He was almost in the herd and he decided it best to remain unknown. A small yellow  caterpillar moved across the damp rotting bark of a laid over tree in front of him. Another bugle and he soon could make out the form of a very large bull off to the lower side of him and behind the cows that were now grazing past him. The archers heart began to increase its rhythm despite his efforts to remain calm. The bull was a giant and he could not imagine any elk this large but for the Monarch. The cows seemed intent on the lush forage and only raised their heads to choose another spot on which to feed. Soon they would feed past him but the wind would not bring them its warning as the archer hid above them.
The bull was standing closer now and a thick stand of young understory partially blocked him from the mans view. The archer used this stand of trees to stalk the big animal. He closed the distance between him and the giant to less than 20 yards. He dared not move any closer. The bulls massive rack seemed overwhelming at this short distance and the archer fought to get control of his racing heart. He realized his breathing was rapid and shallow. He fought for control. The herd bull turned toward the archers hiding place walking forward at an angle that would bring him almost on top of the crouching man. The bull seemed overwhelming to him and in all his years hunting the archer had never been in such awe of an animal. The big bull seemed to dominate everything. Closer he came and his smell was pungent and the archer could not smell anything  but bull. He nocked an arrow and turned his body ready for the shot. The bull stopped to worry a small spruce and in moments the long green limbs were in tatters, the top broken cleanly off eight feet above the ground. The archer tensioned the string hooked in the fingers of his right hand. The bull walked around the tree he had just destroyed and came broadside to the archer at 10 yards. The man was on his knees and he brought slowly up the bow held loosely in his off hand and in one fluid motion put full weight to the string. Its taught geometry felt right and the archer felt a calmness wash over him. The giant bull was there and the archer sensed the arrow and the surrounding forest the bull its massive rack his back muscles closing the hooked fingers relaxing and in the most perfect thing the archer had ever seen the arrow floating spinning on its center the whole world stopped silent and motionless except the arrow on a string to its target reaching out to the bulls right flank and disappearing into the crease back and above the magnificent animals leg.
The bull erupted and launched his giant body, his muscles bunching under his fantastic coat of tan as he turned away.  He ran out of the archers view, the forest closing in around him.

"Nice shot son" his father said "I am proud of you."

The archer felt his fathers hand on his shoulder and he turned to accept the congratulatory hug he knew was coming.
But the place he thought his father had been standing was empty and the hand he felt, only a spruce bough. The wind blew across and through the vacant stand of mixed timber recently full of grazing elk. It had all seemed real. His fathers calm voice. The reassuring touch of his large hand.

The archer waited for awhile, mentally exhausted and unable to think about what had happened. A hawk screamed over in the next draw on the mountainside, starting the archer out of his fog. He finally got up and went back to where he had left his boots and pack. He put them on and started to follow the bulls trail away from the shot...

Bravo!!   :clapper:

I was on the edge of my seat for that whole segment.........well done!  :notworthy:

Wow I can't wait for the ending.

As much as I hated waiting for the next installment, I am hating even more that it is almost over,lol. You should write a book. Fact or fiction, this story has had me on pins and needles the whole way. Thank you jhg, Mike.

Well, done, Josh!

I was not sure right thru to the end and had to re-read the last paragraph... I wondered if you might make it that once at full draw, the archer counted coup and smiled, let down and thought,"Gotcha"...

I've often wondered if I got such a chance, whether knowing that magical monster would no longer be there, if I could actually go thru with the shot.

Only ONCE got the chance to land a magnificant trout --and as I contemplated that pool without having that big ole buggar, I couldn't do it and had to let it go... later someone "kept it" but hey...I went back and got to "try" a few more times for a "re-match".  it was exhalirating!

So I've often wondered, could I follow thru if I had the chance on something like the Monarch?

I likely will never know.

Thank you, Josh for this wonderful read and thank you for allowing me to feel ever pine needle and smell all that I once knew out West in your well-penned words!  :thumbsup:    :notworthy:

:scared:  IT CANT BE OVER ON THE FIRST HUNT OF THE SEASON.  ITS ONLY THE END OF JULY!!!  WHAT WILL I DO FOR THE REST OF THE SUMMER!!!  :clapper:

The archer found the arrow Husky had made for him laying unbroken on the green grasses a few yards behind where the fantastic bull had stood. Its fletching was matted down and he could see that his shot had been mortal. The bull had crashed downslope, and his trail not hard to follow. The archer walked carefully along this path of broken branches and disturbed earth, ambivalent.  It was late afternoon. The heat was building on the ground of the open areas that were not guarded by the protective crown of the forest. Insects appeared and disappeared as they passed through vertical tunnels of light. The archer looked ahead into a heavily shaded oasis of moss covered soil. The air felt cool against his sweating face as he entered this small island of green surrounded by black timber. The ground cover was thick and soft from decades of decomposing needles and leaves. His steps sunk into this carpet as he moved forward and then he saw the bull. He was laying on his right side, mighty antlers reaching out behind him. Even in deaths repose he was magnificent. The archer walked respectfully up to the fallen giant and knelt down beside the huge body. He put his fingers deep into the unbroken blanket of tan hair on the bulls left side and in that moment of acknowledgment he gave his humble thanks. He knew that even though the bull that lay at his feet was not the Monarch, the animal was still fantastic. The bull was a trophy of a lifetime and the archer knew it was a special moment. He thought about his father and what had happened after the arrows flight to the bull. He felt a peace he had not experienced for a long time and the archer smiled even as he wiped the tears for his father from his cheek.

The archer began the work of getting the bull off the mountain. As he bent to his task, his thoughts turned to his daughter and their upcoming hunt together...

Lots of story left everyone- don't bail on me now!

Holy cow..........I thought that was the end.......Ya-hooooooo!!!!!   :thumbsup:    :notworthy:    There's more???Excellent!!

What a great read.....  :notworthy:    :notworthy:    :clapper:


David

Best thing I've read in quite awhile!

I would like to place an order for the upcoming book,lol. Hope this helps with the all the hoopla it takes to get a book into print! Sooooo glad it's not done yet! Thanks Josh. Mike

I knew it couldn't be over.    :jumper:   The daughter hasn't joined him yet.

:campfire:

It's 100 degrees in So. IL., but for a moment I was in the mountains today. Thanks for a great read!

WOW,a joy to read and ready for more!

keep it coming your doing a great job!!

Joshua you are doing a stunning job here.  I just came off bushwacking expedition up here in Maine with 97 degree heat.  First thing I did after a cold shower was to see if you added anything.

Thank you I look forward to more.

sweet! I thought there must be more and for once I was right!

Doh!!!  :saywhat:    :eek:  

Got me, Bud! good job... had me all the way actually! Now I gotta go read the part where the big bull went down hill and was disquieted... I think ya skillfully led me astray, ya stinker!  :)

You're developing this in true Charlie Lamb style and there are so many other "threads" of your story yet to be intertwined...

I'm over joyed that we got more to look forward to!

You go, Hoss!  :)

TTT

man sure is good reading wish i could tell a story like that

Excellent read, thank you so far. Keeps me on the edge of my seat waiting for the rest.

TTT

Very good read, Joshua. Thanks

ITS NOT OVER!!!!!!    :readit:  .......except as the readers we dont know how thick the book is  :confused:  

After he shot the bull i wanted to just run down the hill and  :knothead:  

You have us hooked and right where you want us...............on the edge  :thumbsup:

:thumbsup:    :thumbsup:

Excellent!  Waiting for more...

ttt

Break time is over.Time for your daughter to get after the monarch.
Great storytelling,one the best I've read in a long time.

QuoteOriginally posted by turkey522:
Break time is over...

Tough crowd! ;0)

Hey, I have my own Monarch to get ready for...

With story telling like this it will be worth the wait.Good luck chasing your monarch when the season opens.

The archer took a piece of cord from his pack.  He tied off one end to the bulls rear leg with a timber hitch and ran its length around a nearby aspen. He made three full wraps against the trees smooth powdery skin with the braided cord, not bothering to trap the tag end. He shortened the cord by degrees, putting more and more tension on it until the bulls leg was up and out of his way.   Working steadily over the bull, he paused only for water and to straighten his aching back. The day wained until the archer had to take his headlamp from his pack. He took care to snack, chewing his bites as he bent to the task. Finally, almost three hours later, he had all the game bags filled. These he hung close to the cool moist ground of the moss island. It was late and the archer weighed the wisdom of taking a load out that night. He knew he was tired. It was very dark and he could hear the night stirrings of the forest around him. He tilted back his head and tried to see beyond the protective crown of the canopy above him. A great horned owl called its intent and far away up the mountain the archer heard a long, faint bugle. He found his pack and took out his thin ground pad and sleeping bag. He washed off his hands and using a small wet cloth wiped the long day from his face and neck.  Finally, he took a last drink of water and climbed into the open bag, exhausted. There would be no rain tonight and he was soon asleep.
It took the archer almost two days to get the bull off the mountain. The last trip in to carry out the giant rack was the most difficult and he had to carefully pace himself against over-racing his body. He ate as much as he could, often snacking before he was hungry. But in the end it was will power that got the fantastic antlers off of lower Bull Mountain. The archer was glad when his truck finally came into view on the way out. He knew it was over. He took the time to cover the rack with some canvas. He then tied it all off to the trucks bed rails using some old rope he found laying there. He went around to the front of the truck and opened the drivers side door to get in. The archer was so weak he had to lift his leg up with his arms for his boot to clear the running board. He drove slowly toward home, but soon found himself on Husky's trace instead. With a tired lurch he stalled his truck to a stop in the turnaround outside the old mountain mans shanty. The old man was not around and the archer removed the giant antlers from the back of the truck.  Hefting them one last time onto his shoulders he walked them over to the rough hewn porch of the shanty. The archer stuck a short note onto one of the tines and getting back into his truck he drove home...

Buddy, you got skills is what I'm sayin!  :thumbsup:

Really?  That's where your'e gonna leave off?

I guess I'll be back   ;)    :readit:

YEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!  :scared:  Here comes a spike, I cant resist!!!!!!  Iv never been good at being patient  :dunno:  
KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK......when you get the time  ;)

You can't just make up that stuff in such detail without having been there and done some of it yourself!

Might not have been the huge antlered bull, but...you done been there, done that a time or two to provide such descriptive insights!

Excellent stuff, bud! You said "all summer." I'm holding you to it!!!  :)

I hope this thread goes as long as that HH bug one! Would that not be a great story? LOL Thanks JHG! Mike

Well, I'm caught up putting it into a word document also!! Ready for more!!!!  :thumbsup:

AWSOME   :campfire:

Joshua, Great tread. Love your style of writing.

ttt

Great,when you can see it,it's good and this is good. Keep it up,can't wait for the next installment.  :thumbsup:    :thumbsup:

ttt

Holy Mackerel!!
Thanks so much!!

Nathan

A cold wind blew across the high top of Bull Mountain, bringing with it a message. Soon. Soon winter would be arriving. But tonight the moon was rising. By the time it cleared the saw toothed tree line the wind had fallen off until even the stirrings of the voles could be heard in the profound stillness. Each open park on the high top was its own theater and each meadow a stage as the sky and the earth welded themselves together into a ragged sharp edged seam.
Elk were everywhere. The bugles of the bulls and the mews of the excited cows were an undulating chorus in the quiet alpen glow under the waxing moon.
The Monarch reigned supreme in this fantastic show. He commanded the largest park with the best water and the best escape routes. His harem the largest, he kept it in a loose but consolidated group. Lesser bulls screamed their frustration around him, but few dared challenge the mighty stag. His broad back seemed silver under the wash of night light. His antlers flashed their white tips like diamonds. He stood alone and regal like a monument in the open park.
His stature and his composure were enough to save him precious energy and time. Often, he only had to turn his massive and muscled body toward an intruder who in their impatience dared to venture too close to his cows. The upstart would slink back into the protection of the dark timber, unwilling to make a stand against such a dominating presence.
Sometimes however, a bull would arrive that was large enough and brash enough to make a serious challenge to the Old Bull. The bull from Snaggle Tooth Creek was one such challenger and it didn't take long for his arrival to be noted by the mighty Monarch. Here was an animal to be taken seriously that was certain and the Old Bull watched him clock his cows in an ever tightening circle. Closer, closer the new bull came to the Monarchs harem of cows. Closer he came, testing for the distance that would finally grant him a reaction from the Giant.

It didn't take long.

The Snaggle Tooth bull came closer to the mighty Bull and seemed at least as large. But in his youthful temerity the newcomer failed to note how his path would bring him broad side to the motionless Monarch. Closer the younger bull came. Tighter his circle closed on the nervous cows watching the two bulls assess each other. Narrower became the distance between him and the Monarch. The Monarch didn't bugle. He did not display any of his growing and fierce displeasure. The Snaggle Tooth bull took this silence as fear. As he came broadside he turned his head away from the Monarch in disdain, chancing a glance at the cows he coveted. It was a mistake. The young bulls flank was a target in the moonlight and the Monarch recognized his opportunity. The Snaggle Tooth bull felt the earth tremble under the heavy rush of the Monarch and as he turned his head toward the sound he saw an antlered nightmare already upon him. The Snaggle Tooth bull tried to step away and aside from the charge, but the Monarch had chosen well his moment and he committed himself totally to it. It was all or nothing. His might was completely focused on one thing, the moonlit flank of the intruder. His muscles corded into knots under his fantastic coat of tan as he  plowed into the Snaggle Tooth bull and knocked him off his feet. The thud of the impact resounded like a drum and the Snaggle Tooth bull grunted in pain and fear. He desperately tried to regain his feet, but the Monarch was quicker and he drove his mighty antlers again into the younger bull, who still suffered from the initial impact. The younger bull was knocked down a second time onto the black dirt of Bull Mountain. The Monarchs eyes were embers of red as he pivoted and the intruder struggled to find his footing. He again drove his tines deep into the flank of the big challenger, pushing him sideways. The Monarchs intent was clear and the bull so recently sure of his success only knew fear and pain. He sounded a pitiful whine as he finally made his feet. It was a vanquished and terribly wounded animal that limbed away from the Giants domain. A  bugle of total triumph, terrible in its intense fierceness, followed the limping stag up into the black timber...

This is making me really really ichyyyyy... less than a month to go...GREAT STORY

Lots more to come.

Just read it all up to here...

Wonderful!
Thank you, and continue as the mood hits you.
Killdeer   :wavey:    :thumbsup:

A Gallant story, Josh Gallant!!  :)

Josh

I am glued to the screen each and every installment....superb!!!

Thanks for sharing!

I feel like it must be said at least once more: Thank you!

I appreciate all the thoughtful comments. It helps me keep going when I don't fee like writing, which is most of the time. I have to work. But nothing gets done unless you do it.

I think I mentioned I have the ending in my mind already. We just have to get there.


Next years story will be called "Clash of the Titans"

More adventures with The Archer, his daughter and of course, Husky. I'll think that one up while elk hunting this fall. Already have some ideas... ;0)

J-

Well done JHG... You are a very talented writer and I appreciate you "sharing" your gift with us all. Indeed, it is a joy to read! Thank you...

I wish I knew someone in the printing biz! How great would it be to be sitting on a mountain side hunting for any Elk and reading this story from start to finish? Pretty great in my opinion! Thanks agian JHG. Mike

I plan to publish the story, so please refrain from taking it to a printer.

Joshua

Thanks again. I know what goes into the writing, and appreciate your sharing of your story.

Killdeer

No Josh. I meant that I wish I knew someone that does it so that they could do it for you,lol. And I can't wait til you do get it out there for us. I did not mean I was gonna do it, sorry for the confusion on my end. Mike

Amazing story! I wish I hadn't found this until it was over, I can't stand waiting for the next chapter..

Somehow we will have some simple copies made for tradgangers for next year, regardless. And thanks.

J-

Joshua this is a very fine read and I look forward to each installment.

Really cool reading!!!!

Like the others... can't wait!!!

Cheers
J-F

I'm still copy and pasting each installment into a word document... up to about 8-9 pages already! LOL...

Great thing about getting older is till this is done and all copied, I can go back and start reading it all over and it will be brand new.

 :help:

Monarch is a Bully. Sounds as if no one has taught him to share  :readit:  


Great Story, I could see this playing out and yearn to do so.

QuoteOriginally posted by Cyclic-Rivers:
Monarch is a Bully...

He has been at both ends of the contest. He knows the score.

J-

Great story!  Keep them coming.

C-R,

He's a Zen elk...he knows fighting is a sin, so if yer gonna sin, WIN!

 :biglaugh:    :nono:

Nobody or nothing fights to lose!! Lets get this off the third page and up top where it belongs! Oh yea ......great job, it gets better and better!   :notworthy:    :campfire:    :coffee:

Doc,

Did anyone ever tell you that you look like Ernie Kovaks??  Am I giving away my age by that comment?? OMG, I am old!!!!!!!!!!

NOpe. Been told I looked like a variety of things, animal and mineral, but never ole Ernie!

I knew that I knew the name...but had to google... and then seeing his mug and some of the routine's he'd become famous for, it came back.

He died just a few years after I got outa high school. But lookin at your profile, I still got ya by a few years! Ya pup!  :)  :)

:campfire:     :coffee:

I hope the monarch will be still there when the season starts,maybe....

ttt

TTT

:coffee:

ttt

The archer pulled his daughters gear out of her mothers car and loaded it into the back of his pickup. She was wearing her good luck hoody sweatshirt. On the back was "STATE CHAMPS" in bold letters. On the front was a black oval with MVP in red crowding its center.
His daughter kissed her mother good bye, waved a last acknowledgement to the shouted "good luck" and turned away from the retreating vehicle. Carefully  she placed her longbow in the rack behind the seat of her fathers truck. It was slender resting there above his hunt scarred recurve.  The riser was muted wood, with a single embellishment of her own design on its side. She had always shot a longbow as soon as she had the choice. It suited her, the way the archers recurve suited him.
They drove the lonely road to the north base of Bull Mountain. With only three days to hunt they had agreed to hike into camp in the dark the first night. Better to be up on top that first morning. They unloaded their packs from the truck bed. She laid out a small canvas tarp on the ground beside them. On this the archers daughter placed the gear   she knew she could not afford to forget. Then each  found its way again to its rightful place in the pack or on her belt.  The archer had taught his daughter to think for herself. From the beginning, when the adventures they shared were measured in yards instead of miles, he had asked of her to consider what became known as "the list".
"The list" was an account of the basic things any woods wise traveler would need. In the beginning, they had gone over the list together, checking the items one by one, the archer doing most of the work. His daughter crossed off each item as they found their way into her pack. The list was fun and a part of the bigger adventure.  As she grew older however, he became purposely less helpful. This worked for awhile, until one trip the archers daughter declared the list "a bunch of crap." She had decided at that point in her young life that any list her parents were associated with was not a list worth considering. This was about the time of the divorce. She then forgot to pack her extra warm vest and it had turned wet and cold. The archer did not offer her his extra clothing, even though he had it to spare. It was hard for him to watch her suffer as she clocked the day without complaint. He remembered the piercing looks she gave him as he fished the river warm while she shivered against the wet wind.
But his daughter never forgot anything after that and it was not long before the list became a simple tool again rather than a point of tension. It became something they discussed as they packed for a trip together  while on the phone, though the archer did not mention the list by name any more.
He went over his own equipment in the waning light. September itself was diminishing. The days shorter and the evenings had a new edge to them that sometimes seemed foreboding. Watching his daughter from aside, he knew better than to ask her if she had everything. She didn't have much patience for stupid questions, no matter how well meaning. She was her mothers daughter in this regard. He did not like that. The archer then wondered if he may have been too hard on her the trip she forgot her warm vest. He looked up to check the glowering sky and cinched the straps that held his sleeping pad to his pack. It was hard for him to admit it, but he wasn't being fair. He knew much of his daughters good character was also from her mother.
Finally they pulled their packs off the ground, shouldering the loads. They then confirmed an extra key, placed under the wheel well of the truck.

"Which way Dad?"

The archers daughter wanted the compass heading.

"Up" was all the archer said and with that they were in the timber, bows in their hands.

Interesting ....can't wait for more   :thumbsup:    :campfire:

:bigsmyl:

Josh-Awesome! Yet again,lol.

Charlie- Love the signature...but, I find it hard to relax after a posting such as this one,lol.

The archer and his daughter climbed steadily. It soon became monotony: climbing, climbing, climbing. Their world shrunk to encompass the small sphere defined by their headlamps that chiseled out a small oval of light in front of them. The bases of trees, rocks, scree fields and seeps passed under their bent bodies in a forgettable blur. They only heard their own heavy breathing. The hours passed as slowly as the shrunken landscape beneath them. The archer sometimes gave his daughter encouragement, even within his own blooming frustration.  They rested in the dark when needed, until finally they stopped and wearily let their packs fall off them onto the forest floor of spruce needles and leaves. They switched off their headlamps and the darkness shut in around them like a vault. Only a few feet apart, neither hunter could see the other. The darkness was absolute.

After a minute the archer heard his daughters voice reach across the dark void between them.

"Dad"

"Yes"

"This better be worth it." He could hear the fatigue in her voice.

"Only you can decide if its worth it."

"Is the Monarch worth it?"

"I don't know sweetheart."

They stood invisible to each other for a few minutes, silent.


"Dad?"

"Hmmm?"


"I wonder if its worth it sometimes."

"If whats worth it?" The archer realized they might not be talking about the big bull up on the mountain.

"I don't know if its worth it Dad." He could hear the  earnest tension in his daughters voice.

"At first it was fun. The pressure didn't matter. It was exciting. Then we took States and the recruitment letters started coming and everyone expected a repeat just like that. They don't understand how hard it is to win. Sometimes, I just want to disappear, not have to work, work, work at it.

"And you are always the one expected to win it..."

Her voice faltered.  "Yes..."

The archer felt as if he were floating in the darkness. Only the tired weight of his own body told him he was not suspended, adrift. He wanted to make it alright for her, but he understood he couldn't.
He spoke to her then, carefully, his words chosen and clearly spoken.

"Someone made you shoulder that responsibility?"

"No Dad!"

He knew he had to be careful. Careful not to mess this up.

"What do YOU want to do?"

"I don't know Dad."


"Don't run from it." He spoke her name clearly.

"I won't Dad"

He knew she meant it. If his daughter was anything, she was not a coward.

They shouldered the weight of their loads again and climbed the last mile up the mountain to camp, lost in tired thought. The sky was black above the crown of the forest. A river of cooling air fell down off the big mountains side like a water fall. The archer knew they would have rain by morning.  They both were glad to finally be on level ground and under the light tarp the archer had prepared for them earlier.
He climbed into his sleeping bag and the last thing he remembered doing before awaking at dawn was telling his daughter he loved her...

Deja vu-I've had a similar conversation with my daughter-and she doesn't hunt!!

Great story Josh!  But there is only one problem.  I am off to find my own monarch on the 25th of this month.  Be in S. Co. when the season opener finally gets here.  I am not sure I can wait until I return on or around Sept. 9,10 or 11th to see if the story is continued or wrapped up!

Good luck to you my traditional bowhunting brother in your quest to locate your own monarch this coming season.  

K.C.

The archer and his daughter hunted hard the next day. The hike in the night before had leaned heavily on their stamina, while a steady rain made upslope hunting difficult. They tried a  couple of set ups, but no elk responded. They walked one very promising meadow on a narrow bench to the west of camp. There was plenty of recent sign, and a very rutted up wallow at its low end, but the elk had moved on. In the afternoon the archers daughter bumped a big bear. She had only a moment. In one smooth, graceful motion, she nocked an arrow and had full tension on the string. The arrow flew true, but the bear was the faster. The heavy thwack of the broad head sinking into an aspen told the story. She looked up at her Dad and shrugged her shoulders. He stood on a height of ground just above her, laughing.  That was a very lucky bear, he thought.
His daughter was the most gifted physical person the archer had ever experienced in his life. She rarely missed. She never took a shot she didn't fully expect to make. A long time ago, the archer had stopped trying to take credit for his daughters skills. It was obvious to everyone that her gift came from someplace special.
Back in camp, the archer was careful to make a good dinner and even went to the trouble of hot cocoa, something he almost never did for himself. Wet and tired, they ate mostly in silence. It was already dark by the time they had gotten back. The rain continued to fall softly, but the larger drops off the trees above them made an unsteady drumming on the tarp. It had been a good day. They found their sleeping bags under the open shelter and slept the contented slumber of woodsmen. Totally at ease and comfortable, deep in the raw wilderness, there on the rugged slopes of Bull Mountain.
The second day found them up on the high top. The rain had let up, but the mountain was wrapped in a heavy veil of cloud. The colors of the aspen leaves seemed to vibrate in the muted light, their saturated yellow almost unbearably perfect. The archers daughter found an incredible group of rubs, all well over her head. Only a giant could have made rubs like this. They both felt the keen focus of the hunter when prey seemed near. Were these the sign posts left by the Monarch? They stalked forward through a series of linked parks, separated only by narrow bands of timber, always playing the wind. Elk sign was everywhere. It was obvious that the herd had used these parks heavily in the days leading up to the rain.
The wind suddenly sawed around on the pair of bowhunters as they moved silently forward. It pushed into them now from behind their left quarter, taking their scent ahead and at angle into a thick stand of spruce. They both instinctively stopped, but it was too late. The sound of elk making distance through the thick grown forest was enough to tell them what they already knew. They had been winded. A large group of cow elk filtered through a sloped opening above the heavy timber they had been resting in. The archer and his daughter watched them through the mist, tan ghosts floating over the rugged ground. There must have been 30 or more. Finally, no more crossed the glade.  A bank of heavy fog closed in over their heads, shutting off any view of the slope above them.  The archer had turned away when a cry from his daughter brought him back around. The fog had cleared, opening like a curtain. He followed his daughters intent stare and there standing broadside just above them was the biggest bull elk the archer had ever seen. His massive body was in vague relief against the gray ground, while his fantastic antlers melted into the shifting fog above his head like the limbs of some isolated and lonesome tree. The archer could see the long scars on the bulls left side. He knew it was the Monarch. Another heavy cloud drifted in front of the staring hunters like smoke. The blocking wall of grey passed quickly, but when it cleared the slope above them was  empty.  The mighty bull was gone.

"Did you see that! Dad! Did you see HIM!

His daughter was jumping up and down.

"Oh Dad! That had to be the MONARCH! I KNOW it!"
She kept her eyes on the empty slope, hoping for  another glimpse of the mighty stag.


"He's gone now. You won't be seeing him again today" The archer wiped the wet off the riser of his bow, but his hands were shaking.

His daughter wasn't going to be swayed.

"Lets get him Dad."

She said this with a gravity in her voice that implied she had already made up her mind. She had a hard, intense set in her eyes. The archer knew that look. He had seen it when she was about to put away the championship game...


'

Don't worry K C. I got ya.

Besides, I can't be thinking about THIS bull, when I am hunting mine...

Joshua

Wow!
Don't you DARE rush this baby. Matter of fact, I never want it to end. I guess it's gotta, or she is gonna be up there hunting forever, a granny in the crannies.

Killdeer

JHG - This is getting better with each written word... Well done!

Your story telling skills are amazing.......   :notworthy:

:bigsmyl:    :thumbsup:

:bigsmyl:

Don't know from squat, but something in my gut tells me we're being allowed a peek into something a bit more personal and familiar to our talented author's life story than a intricately woven story of many stories past.

Thank you for allowing us to peek.

Joshua, thank you so much for sharing this gift with us.  God has blessed you with a wonderful creative mind.  Can't wait to read the rest.  Blessings.

ttt

When the Monarch saw his chance and used it to put the bull from Snaggletooth Creek onto the ground, he did more than win a contest.  Elk know each other. The Snaggletooth bull had come up onto the high top and thrashed every bull elk of any importance- until he tried for the Monarchs cows. After he was done, all the elk on the mountain knew the Snaggletooth bull well. When the Monarch so clearly crushed this foe, a foe who had beaten up every other bull so easily, the other elk took note. The Monarch had little trouble keeping his harem together after his triumph, despite the frustrated pests that seemed to always buzz around his cows like flies. To him these bulls were of little concern now, for it was obvious none of them were willing or able to challenge his supremacy. This indeed was fortunate, for it allowed the Monarch to continue to shepherd his strength and bank it for another day. The lives of wild things hinge on luck. For a bull elk, this luck was often measured in calories. The plus and the minus of energy ingested against energy expended often meant the margin between life and death. If winters mean winds later came howling across the slopes of Bull Mountain and the rut had left them weak and undernourished, a few extra mouthfuls eaten here, a decision that saved exertion there, made all the difference.
When the archer and his daughter bumped the Monarch harem out of the dark timber rimming the giants favorite park, the old cow that led the group took them up slope and over a small rise behind the timber. The park the Monarch preferred was chosen well, because behind this rise was a narrow bench that allowed the elk to watch and see if they would be followed. If not, they would simply settle into grazing the ample grasses that grew there, until such time as they decided to move elsewhere. But if trouble came, the bench quickly dropped into a broad gulch of dark timber into which the elk could easily fall, using the steep topography to excelerate their escape. The elk did not reason out these choices, or how they reflected the equation of expenditures vs deposits. It was simply instinct.  They understood in some innate way the value of only doing what was necessary, and no more. So it was that the Monarchs harem only traveled a mile before stopping. No threat hounded them. There was no reason to continue fleeing.
 
The narrow bench made the Giants life more complicated than it would have been in the open meadow of his park however. Now he could not simply stand in the broad open meadow that was its jewel during the night and from a single view watch his cows. The trees meant cover for the other bulls. He would now have to continually circle them to keep any lesser bulls from sneaking in and horning away one or two of his harem. The bench was timbered sparsely, but even in the waning light of late afternoon it was enough to offer cover to those bulls that coveted what he had. They dared not challenge the Monarch directly, but began to test less courageous methods of getting what they wanted.. As a consequence the Monarch would have to spend a vigilant, restless night.
The gray sky lowered until it seemed the clouds were only inches above the crown of the stunted high top aspens. A steady wind came out of the North, pushing its crisp message through the scarred timber. A single coyote loped across the rise above the narrow bench which sheltered the herd of elk, his interest only in the meadow voles so abundant in the park the elk had so recently vacated.
Night closed in on the high top of Bull Mountain. It became colder and the wind ebbed like a slack tide. Two hunters bivouacked lower on the mountain made their plans, even as an owl drifted silently above them...

This building to a great end.....   :clapper:

:clapper:

Win.Loose. or Draw.

This has touched so many levels of emotion and raw human nature I'm transfixed with each new installment!

Thank you, Josh for this excellent read!

Outstanding Joshua!!!...... Terry

QuoteOriginally posted by Doc Nock:
Don't know from squat, but something in my gut tells me we're being allowed a peek into something a bit more personal and familiar to our talented author's life story than a intricately woven story of many stories past.

Thank you for allowing us to peek.

Agreed Doc...agreed.

:archer:

Too good to be on the 2nd page! TTT

very nice story, you have a true skill there
  :campfire:      :coffee:

TTT!

Thanks for taking care of us before opening day sir!  Anxiously awaiting more.

You mentioned that copies would be available and I would like to get my name in on two copies please and thank you.  I'd be happy to pay for them and postage just let me know.

God bless you,
K.C.

The archer kept trying to close the valve on the gas line. It hissed as the gas escaped even as he torqued the wrench tighter and tighter. He had to turn it off! He put the weight of his body onto the wrench and then in front of his vision knelt his daughter, her headlamp lit against the early morning darkness shrouding the North slope of Bull Mountain. She was boiling water on their roarer gas stove. For a moment he was confused, the dream so real. But there in front of him was the little stove, its burner hissing merrily to the task. The archer laughed to himself. He sat up under the open tarp shelter, rubbing his eyes as he shivered against the chill. Seeing movement, his daughter greeted the archer with a "Get up Dad!", but ignored his request for the time. He found his watch tucked where he had left it under the edge of his sleeping pad. It was 3:15AM. The archers body wanted sleep, but he only had himself to blame for the early bird making a hot breakfast for  them both on the little one burner stove. He also knew better than to display any reluctance getting up. Taking the steaming cup his daughter offered with a thank you, the archer set his mind for what he knew was going to become a long, interesting day.
The daughter reviewed the hunt they would bring to the Monarch of Bull Mountain.  Between spoonfuls of oatmeal, she confirmed the route the two bowhunters had decided would bring them to where the Bull might have gone with his cows. She checked the map against her compass that she lay along its declination marks the way her father had taught her so long ago. She reflected on the constricting contour lines seemingly so benevolent on the maps flat surface that actually meant such profound physical challenge. They had planned to cut under the bench the elk herd had escaped to, playing the mornings downslope breeze to their benefit. They would stalk up from below the elk feeding up on the bench, then finally make a set up to call the big bull out to them.  They had to get under the elk before the thermals changed direction and brought their scent up slope to the bulls harem. They needed to climb up from their camp to the high top, circle its North rim, descend into the deep gulch of black timber behind it, then fight back up through the old growth blow downs and dead falls guarding its steep slopes. The plan was a demanding one, both of time and of physical expenditure.  It ignored the reality that they might not be able to do it...

Joshua...... I was hoping I would get to read another segment before heading up to the high country tomorrow for my Deer / Turkey / Lion hunt. I, like Killdeer, and many others I'm sure, find your writing so good I don't want this story to end...... Thanks for taking the time to share this with all of us and good luck on the mountain this year!!...... Terry

The last segment is later today so check back.

J-

:thumbsup:

The archer came up short and called out softly to his daughter, whose headlamp he could see bobbing just a short distance ahead of him. Alpen glow   scribed the horizon to the West of the high top with a thin ruby line. The faint blush of sunrise was already on the Eastern edge of the horizon, back lighting the rugged topography of the surrounding peaks. Two cloud formations hung suspended above it all, silent and tilted like the very tectonic plates that had themselves humped up from the earth's incredible internal pressures to form much of the Wests mountain ranges. The archer had been following his daughter all morning up the steep slope of Bull Mountain. He had become aware of an immutable fact. The last two days of hunting had drained him while it seemed to make his daughter stronger. Her youth thrived on the physical intensity of the challenging terrain. It was the first time he had not been able to choose his position and he knew he was only glimpsing the future for himself. But he was reflective about what it meant. The archer had seen enough challenges in his life to know when to accept what he could not change. Most of his friends had long ago fallen away from the physical demands that he still embraced. He had chosen to remain doing what he loved best for as long as he could. If that meant he had to follow his daughter because he had slowed down, so be it. All the hard work of preparing his body was a small price of admission to witness the dawning day, bowhunting upon the high top of Bull Mountain with his daughter.  He knew one day soon her own interests and her own family would make what they were experiencing together a memory. He accepted that too. With these thoughts in his mind he caught up to her in the dimly lit forest.
They had stopped just inside the edge of an open park. The belly high grasses from a wet summer were now tipped with frost and bent gently in golden waves across the meadow. The day broadened. They could now see the sawtooth outline of the dark timber above them and the opening centered in the timber was a bowl, the warming sky its domed lid. It reminded the archer of the evening he had spent at Husky's, when he had only just begun to decipher how to hunt the Monarch.

They laid out their map of the high top and decided on another way to approach the Monarch and his cows. As the archer waited for his daughter to fold the map, a faint bugle floated across the meadow near them. The daughter shifted her longbow to her off hand and checked the three arrows in its small quiver.  The bowhunters moved forward, hearing  more bulls bugling with each yard they traveled. The archers daughter started running. She knew they had a chance. If it was the Monarch that was being surrounded in the timber it might be the only one they would get. She looked back at her father and the archer saved his breath, motioning only:

"GO!"

They ran, keeping to the timber along the linked parks they had slowly stalked through the day before. Each meadow fell behind them and the sky grew brighter above them. A pair of raven pumped across the blushed horizon ahead, unnoticed. The bugling bulls grew louder. The bowhunters could hear the differences now between them. It was a contest for the herd bulls cows in the timber.  The archer knew a bull being tested like this would not hold his place long. He thought he could hear the base note of the big bull answering the others in a rage. The archer and his daughter ran and ran and ran. They broke through the woven limbs of tightly spaced spruce and charged over dead falls. The archer watched his daughter ahead of him plow through a shallow pool of standing water, spray coming off her in every direction, then coil her body to leap over a four foot tall blow down. It was incredible. He had to climb over it, the obstacle too much for him to attempt.
They were breaking branches and snapping brush that blocked their path, but it made no difference. They had no reason to be quiet.
The archer shifted his bow to his off hand trying  to balance his gait. They were running slightly up slope and it hurt. The daughter was becoming smaller, steadily widening the gap between them. The archer was about to attempt whistling her to stop when she suddenly went down onto her knees, skidding on the wet ground cover of mixed needles and leaves. He watched her slide into a scarred aspen. almost knocking it over.
The bulls continued their yelling contest as the archer, panting hard, ran up to where his daughter crouched.
She had almost run into the open of an aspen glade, just stopping in time to remain undetected. In front of them he could see several cow elk as they trotted through the scarred trees. He could smell them and hear their excited cow talk. A bull bugled no more than 30 yards to their off side. Someplace farther into the glade came an infuriated answer. That bull was mad. His daughter was intent on the unfolding drama in front of her. The archer grabbed his daughters shoulder and pulled her ear close to him.
He whispered urgently. They had only a few minutes before the whole place blew up. He could feel the tension in the air.

"We'll set up here! Keep in front of the cover so you can make a shot! I am going back about 30 yards and will call that big herd bull out to you! Be ready, because its going to happen fast."

"Dad, do you think its the Monarch?" her voice was almost pleading, but he couldn't lie to her.

"I don't know. Maybe. Its a big bull though."

"But what if its not the Monarch?" Her eyes were intent. The archer met her stare.

"Do NOT pass on this herd bull. Whatever he is,  he is worthy."

The archer wondered even as he delivered this lesson if it would be one of the last he had to teach her. He knew his daughter was spreading her wings to fly out into the world on her own. The time for lessons was ending.

"I'll try Dad" and she looked at him with the familiar, open expression he loved. He knew she would make up her own mind when the moment came, but would consider his advice. It was all he asked. That was enough.

He tried  to be serious as he turned to go, but his voice had mischief in it.

"Keep an arrow nocked..." and the archer ran back into the timber behind them.

So now I'm on the edge of my seat........

Joshua,

I won't second guess you, but you wouldn't do this to us, would you-counting coup??

Summmer ain't over yet! He said it would take all summer!  :readit:

The milling harem of cow elk and the bulls surrounding them made the glade into a passion play. The scarred aspen became the set pieces and the brightening sky above Bull Mountain the theater lights. The daughter moved to the side a few yards to wait under a lone spruce that tilted away from the chorus in front of her. She knelt in front of its brown trunk, nocked her favorite arrow and waited.
In a few seconds she could hear her father begin the sequence he knew would bring out the big herd bull. She glanced around to find where he had hidden, but she could not see anything and she quickly returned her attention to the glade. The archer was making distressed cow squeals. He kept at this, making sure all the other elk in the glade could hear the panic in the whines. He kept it up, then followed it quickly with a bulls demanding cow call bugle. Without waiting, he then squealed more distressed cow whines. The daughter didn't dare look, but her father sounded so real she was not sure it was him or another part of the confusion overflowing all around her.  Another moment passed and the archer let out another bull bugle. He hadn't finished when the herd bull answered with a scream that overtook the archers. The bull was mad and the archer could hear him coming. Heavy branches and limbs where breaking from someplace deeper in the glade. He was coming! The archer could see his daughters bow peak out from behind the big spruce directly in front of his set up. He let off another bugle followed by another distress squeal. The herd bull screamed over him again. The archer could feel the sweat building on his palms. He wiped them on his shirt unconsciously.
The bull was coming. He could see just a bit of his daughters shoulder behind the spruce. The the big bull was coming! The archer saw a flash of antler among the scarred and stunted aspen of the glade. The flash became a massive rack floating  through the trees like a ghost ship. The archer  suddenly saw the tan body of a very large bull under the wide set antlers. The animal wove a path through the stunted trees that lay between between him and the archers daughter. Cows milled around everywhere. Other bulls bugled. The herd bull screamed again and this time the sound was deafening. He was close to the daughters hiding place under the big spruce. The archer watched him clear the last few trees in front of her. He could see the bulls left flank for a moment. There, the long scars left by the Black Bull of Deadman Gulch lay in the tan fur like brands.  It was the Monarch! The archer watched the big stag walk toward his daughter. Before he knew it, the giant bull was almost upon her. He kept coming. The bull was too close. His antlers where on both sides of the spruce trunk, surrounding its base on both sides with their sharp and glinting tines. The bull was only a few feet from the daughter. He raised his head and lay his crown of horns along his back. The bugle was like a train horn in the forest. The archer lept up, shedding his pack. He could see the bull start to bob his head, his antlers visible on each side of the daughters hiding place. Limbs above her began to break and fall down onto the ground around her as the Monarchs fury destroyed them. The archer heard his daughter yell. He began running toward her. As he ran, he pulled an arrow. He couldn't keep it in his hand and balance. Without thinking, he put it between his teeth and using his bow in his off hand like a staff the archer lept over the uneven ground that lay between him and his daughters cry. The Monarch was standing in front of her place at the base of the tree. The archer was running hard. He snapped off an aspen as he ran through it with his shoulder down. It sounded like a rifle shot as it sheared off. The Monarch stepped around the spruce tree to meet the challenger, but he saw the archer leaping toward him instead. The giant bull wheeled and with antlers back ran crashing into the protection of the glade.

O BOY

HUH?  Didn't see that coming!  More PLEASE..........

The archer came around the tree his daughter was crouched against. She was pressed into its knarled skin. He could see tears running down her cheeks. He called her name and she was in his arms, her face pressed against the rough wool of his hunting shirt.

"Oh Dad! All I  could see was HIM! All I could hear was HIM! All I could smell was HIM"

"I could hear him breathing Dad! It sounded like a bellows! He looked right at me! He looked me in the eye!"

The archer tightened his hug on his daughter.

She began to sob.
"I am sooo sorry. I am sooo, so sorry. I know it's my fault."

The archer hadn't realized it until that moment, but he had misjudged things he had been very certain of. The archer realized he wasn't the only one who had suffered when their family had broken apart, even if he had thought differently.
He took his daughter by the shoulders and stepped  gently back. He dipped his head to meet her gaze and when he had it, he looked into her as only a parent can.
He spoke the only words he knew would sooth her. Not words of consolation, but words that were the  truth. He told her things that should have been said a long time ago. There in the deep forest of Bull Mountain, the archer finally emptied his soul of all its regret and the grief he had been carrying so long floated away into the clean air of the high top. He spoke the words he knew needed to be spoken and in doing that two hearts let go of their pain.  His daughter buried her face into his embrace again in a way she hadn't in a long, long time. He could feel her sobs diminish until her breathing slowed and the tension fell out of her body. A big hawk screamed its intent in the sky above them as it tilted  toward some unknowable destination.
The archer and his daughter gathered their bows and began the long walk down off of Bull Mountain. As they traveled the game trails and linked them together,  the archer watched his daughter ahead of him slowly regain the familiar bounce that was her trade mark. They stopped to listen to a bull elk bugle, far away in the direction they had come. It was the Monarch. The daughter jumped up onto a big rock.

"Hey Monarch!" she yelled and gave the archer a look he had seen before.

"You won't be so lucky next time, so you better watch out!"

The mighty bull bugled again, as if in response, the long scream trailing away in the wind.
The daughter laughed and jumped down to the ground. The archer knew then it was going to be alright from now on. He met his daughters intent look with his own. He had seen that look before, when she was about to put away the championship game.
The daughter turned and with a bounce started down the mountain.

Watch out is right, he thought and the archer fell in behind his young bowhunter.


--------------------------------------------------


Join the archer, his daughter and Husky next year as they team up to once again hunt the mighty Monarch of Bull Mountain and learn the secret that  will change  their lives forever.


Thanks to everyone for helping me through this. I know its not perfect, but it was fun writing it anyway. Good luck hunting this fall and may a little of the daughter be in us all when the big boy steps into the shooting lane.

Joshua

Can't wait until next season Josh! I hope she gets him. Wow! Wow! Wow! I haven't been on the edge of my seat like that over a story since Big Dan and Lil Ann were chasin coons through the Ozarks. Thank you very much Sir. Mike

:clapper:  

Thank you very much Josh!  Bravo, bravo!!  Thank you sir for pouring out your creativity for those of us that have been following your story.

God bless you as you head out this elk season to seek out your own Monarch.  I for one will be looking forward to catching up with the Archer and his daughter after the long awaited bow season.

Shoot straight my LW friend!

K.C.

Marathon finish, love it, great story. Goes to show it aint about the killen so much as it is about clensing the sole. I too will look forward to the next installment of this story.

Thanks for a wonderful ride and an excellent tale!

Excellent  :clapper:    :clapper:    :clapper:

WOW!!!!!     Thank you for a wonderful read!!

Josh, Great read, Awesome tale. Thanks

:clapper:  Awesome Story    :clapper:

:notworthy:    :notworthy:   Until next year and a new chapter, stay well and hunt safe!

:clapper:

Well done....

:clapper:    :clapper:    :clapper:  

I loved it!

:thumbsup:    :notworthy:    :campfire:

Well done Josh  :thumbsup:   :clapper:

That was incredible!! What a wave of emotions you took us through. Thanks for sharing and I can't wait to read more of your work, you are truly a gifted writer. Good luck to all this season!

Such Power.

Such raw energy and emotion.

I sit here before this screen hoping nobody at work will see the tears welled up in my eyes.

I'm at a loss to fully understand where these emotions come from.

Having had to make some tough choices in life that resulted in no kids of my own...and seeing the years fade and not having that "connection?"

Or the pure raw energy that coursed thru my veins with the hunt?

Or having to see myself further down that path knowing my own age has already robbed much of the "someday" dreams that this old body might not allow anymore?

Doesn't matter. Each of us was drawn in and related in different ways and at different levels.

Joshua, that was pure poetry in motion.  I don't know where you had go to emenate that level of emotion and feelings, but we all thank you for taking us along for the vicarious ride.

Excellent! May all broken relationships be so mended and with time, all hearts revealed so healing can begin!

Beyond excellent,Thanks for sharing.  :thumbsup:    :thumbsup:

excellent story

doug77

Joshua, excellent journey.  Thank you my friend.
Shick

Thank You and Well done! Maxx

Bravo! Well Done Josh.    :clapper:  

You brought-up emotions I didn't know were there. I have a daughter 9,000 miles from me that I haven't seen for 16 years. Oh, to share a hunt with her and maybe make things right between us.

Good Luck this season, I hope you run into a Monarch on your mountain.

great job!! Thanks for the ride.

Cant say it any better than Smokin Feathers, "Thanks for the ride!"

Bravo!!  :clapper:  

Nathan

Thank You. I got goose bumps still.

What a treat!
I have been wanting someone to tell me a good story, and here you came, traipsin' through my computer screen. Happy endings for everyone, even the Monarch.

Thank you!
Killdeer

This is the best sports writing I have seen in many  years.  I mean that a bunch as I grew up reading Corey Ford, Alistair McBain, Havila Babcock, Archibald Rutledge and Nash Buckingham just to mention a few.
   
Your spinning of words and placement of characters is exquisite.  I was drawn further and further into the multi personality plot of man, place and animal. I have  literally hung on each installment.

You are gifted.... Do not let this lie below the surface of who you are.  Continue to put your "minds tales" in print...  please, at least, so an older guy can read stories that are not presented in "bytes" and live a life (although vicariously as I likely will never get to hunt elk again) with characters deserving of our attention.

My God this was good.......

This has been GREAT ,Thanks!!!

Great job of writing. I think hunters, more than most sports people, realize that at the end of a successful hunt something usually dies. Sometimes it's a better hunt when you've been challenged, didn't make the kill, but came away with something even better.

Keep these stories coming. There is so much garbage published that it's a treat to read something really good.
Ron

Oh my goodness, this was head and shoulders above any thing I have read in a long time.  You are an extemely talented wordsmith, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for sharing your gift with us.

The sub-plots in this is amazing, when is the next season? Please don't make us wait a year!

Bravo,  :campfire:    :clapper:    :clapper:    :clapper:

A beautiful story. Thanks for sharing it with us. Keep up your writing. There was an intensity to the story that we all felt but it was developed, not telegraphed. Really fine writing.

Thanks for an excellent,be looking forward to next year.Good luck in your own quest for the monarch this fall.

My self and my best friend are going up to Elk camp today to get thing set up and this is the best way to start the day. Thanks for a great read!!!Now to find my own Monarch.    :thumbsup:

Well done!!  I can't wait for the next installment, even if I have to wait a whole year.

Joshua, thank you for such a gift. I couldn't wait to get home to read and re-read your story.  You are blessed beyond measure. This was elk camp for me this year.  Thanks.

Absolutely incredible!  You can sure paint a picture with words my friend!  I am soooo glad I waited until you were finished to start reading--the anticipation would have been rough.

Goes to show how memorable hunts don't have to end with filled tags.  I have countless memories with my father.  Memories carrying recurves that don't revolve around antlers and longbeards.  I'm also starting to add some with my wife and our daughters, 5 and 3 y/o.  

Great story Josh.  Thanks for sharing.

Manolito

Josh I don't know what else to say except Wow! That was an amazing story. I look forward to the archers adventure's next year.

Thanks everyone for the nice words.

And don't forget, the archer arrowed a really big bull opening day...


Joshua

I hope to follow in his foot steps next Saturday. And it really does not have to be a Monarch.....

Thanks Joshua!!..... I didn't get to read the end before my hunt and really enjoyed knowing I would be able to have this finale waiting when I got home. With a hunting world full people pretending to be something they aren't it is refreshing when the real deal comes along. You my friend are "The Real Deal".Very few ever achieve what you do through your writing. Thanks again for sharing this with all of us..... Terry

Great story from A to Z.

TTT. In case you missed it.

Did miss it, thanks for bringing it up. Epic story thanks for writing it. Sitting here watching my 2 yr old put her fishing waders on to go fishing, too bad the water will be frozen till may and ther is 2 ft of snow on the ground. Maybe I should look into a bow for her now just so she has it. Either way great story, time to go blow a few bugles and make the neighbors even more suspicious.

Josh, I know I'm late but it was well worth the wait. Specialy since I just read right thruogh it no waiting. It was outstanding, I was so glad you left the bull, there should always be the majic and secrets of a mamoth bull and the mountain to draw us back. Can't wait fot thier next adventure.

To the top for anyone who missed this, and for all those people who cannot wait for elk season!

I enjoyed the story can't wait for the next installment.

Thank you for your time, efforts and talents. It was an enjoyable read.  I don't know how I missed this before, but I got the benefit of reading it straight through while recovering from the flu.  Just what the doctor ordered.  :thumbsup:    :thumbsup:

I think I even shed a tear. Great !

SO EXCELLENT!!