Submitted to the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation (August 2009)
10,000 Feet
There is something very special about this number,something magical that keeps drawing me back to the same spot year after year.10,000 feet is where aspen groves and huge stands of fir and spruce line open meadows tinged in wildflowers and hip high grass. Below are the Ponderosa and Piňon forests, hot and almost desert dry. Above the trees give up and barren scree covered escarpments dominate like jagged teeth bared in defiant challenge to the sky. Above and below hold a certain beauty of their own, but 10,000 feet is where I chose to play.
There is a spot in Northern New Mexico that fits the description above to a T. In New Mexico, water is king and if your wish is to escape people and find solitude, you need to leave the fishing waters behind. That’s what I do whenever I can. No streams or lakes to draw the crowd. No boom boxes or ATV’s. No generators and no neighbors. I have spent days in this special spot and never seen another human. At 10,000feet it’s cool when the summer sun bakes the high plains and desert. In fall, aspens turn with the first bugles of a September rut and the clack of antler on antler resounds across the high mountain fingers. Spring is crisp and ever changing, an alpine renewal that can leave you breathless. For me it’s about wilderness and nature and ultimately,it’s about family.
I remember the first time I visited this spot nestled off highway 64near Tres Piedras. Lured there in high summer by the promise of a bull elk tag in the fall, and led there by a brother-in-law that had logged the area a few years before in the late 70’s. Imagine my skepticism,trying to bow hunt a logging operation, “did ya leave any trees?” I asked. He just smiled and nodded a ‘maybe’. But the logging operation had gone the way of the dodo bird and we cruised rugged roads through tall forests cut by deep drainages and virtual pastures of grass. Excited, he led me down a particular ridge to a spot still I return to year after year. A wallow high on the north side of a ravine overlooking a spring fed creek lined in willow and wild iris with game trails crossing like contrails across a dusky sky. Almost in reverence he whispers to me, “ain’t this just elky as hell”.
That was some 33 years ago and the place still is an elky paradise,but it’s so much more as well. It’s the spot where I taught my boys to shoot a .22 and cast an arrow. Introduced them to flocks of wild turkey,the taste of campfire roasted spruce grouse, constellations and moon lit nights so bright you could read a book. Counted satellites and searched the sky for hours just to wish on a falling star. Where my wife and I spent three days in the rain under an awning, tending a fire and simply enjoying the wonders of nature around us, not another care in the world. The place where I called a bull elk into the campsite one night,all the way to the fire. I saw my first bobcat in these woods, fed wild chipmunks by hand and had the misfortune of finding myself between a lovesick porcupine and his intended. A place where you can sit and eat wild raspberries from a ridge top while watching drifting clouds paint shadowed images across far mountains while trying to imagine what might be‘over there’. We’ve sat at camp and watched wild horses and elk graze in the meadow below us and listened to the bands of coyotes asthey sing to the moonrise or the successful hunt.
From this campsite you can explore old mines, hike or bike miles of woodland game trails and satisfy the amateur geologist in you.This is mineral rich country and many of my hunts ended with me carrying twenty or thirty pounds of rock back to camp, each a new edition to the homestead landscaping. I’ve chipped away at a bluff face of white quartz when I should have been hunting just to see if I could find a trace of what the old miners were looking for, and stumbled over the remnants of a hundred year old shovel stamped “Good Luck” in a place so remote you would have thought I was the first ever to visit. Then of course there is the wild side, animals and plants, and I could cite the diversity of flora and fauna almost endlessly, but since this fact is self evident so I will leave it be.
Even the temperament of weather and the earth itself provide excitement. From our camp you can watch as storm clouds build and roll toward you, lightning and thunder and whipping wind. In a single day you can have heat then rain, then snow and back to heat. I have seen summer snowstorms and blinding fall blizzards and winter days where you could be comfortable more than catching a suntan. And at night, when all is calm and quiet, you may even feel the earth move. With a groan and a rumble the camper will sway with the gentle quakes that remind you how big and alive this world really is, and that in somethings you truly have no control. It can be a very humbling experience.
Four dogs have grown old following me around these woods and now anew one has taken their place, warding our camp against wild animals,errant butterflies and the occasional passing truck. Two boys,grown from infants to young men as tall as me shared this site and my many adventures as I hope their families will share it as well, each building memories from all that these mountains have to offer.Adventure, solitude, simplicity and best of all, companionship.
Hunting? Yes there has been a bit of that. Every hunt is a success whether you tag an animal or not. Usually ‘not’ has been my experience,though I did take my first bull elk with a bow not far from camp. I have chased deer, called elk and flushed grouse all up and down these hills and never regretted a minute of it. I have hunted alone and with partners and each hunt was special. Once I called in a bull that nearly stepped on my wife as she curled up in a little camo bundle while waiting for me to shoot. She was mad at me after for not taking the shot even when I explained that at ten yards all I saw through the trees were two elk legs, an ivory antler tip and her saucer wide eyes. She was also there to witness my calling prowess as I bugled and cow-called another bull into such a frenzy that he thrashed a six foot pine sapling to splinters and gored the bark off the base of an eighty foot tall aspen,all the while his cows lying peacefully chewing their cud,flicking flies from their ears and generally ignoring his testosterone induced antics. Ghost bulls,herd bulls, satellite bulls, spikes and rag horns. All have challenged me atone time or another. I’ve shot over em and under em, and the trees in front of em; hey, it’s not always like the elk hunting videos where every shot is at fifteen yards in the open with the bull conveniently looking the other way.Errant branches you didn’t see, the limb on your bow smacking your knee or a branch above because of the contortionist position you have to shoot from all played a factor, and I find myself smiling when out on a hike and I come across the places where these tableaus played out, able to relive each experience in my mind time after time.
Memories, the outdoors and nature. That’s what brings me back year after year, season after season. Memories of past trips whether they be for camping or hunting. Memories of the family and friends who have shared my adventures. Memories of my kids growing up and yes, memories of dogs, old and new. The outdoors have always called to me, and spending so much time at the same spot gives you an appreciation of seasons and the rhythms of nature,ever changing and yet always the same. And of course, there is the anticipation of memories not yet made.Perhaps this year I will get that clean unobstructed shot on a royal bull just like in the videos, but mostly I anticipate more exploration and adventure in these mountains with my wife and sons, and maybe, in the future, a grand kid or two. All I know is, 10,000 feet holds a special place that I hope to camp and hunt for years and years to come and when I am old and grey and can’t anymore climb these hills,I will still savor those memories.
