We arrived at the spot we had picked out the night before. It was just about legal light when we pulled up next to a gas well about three hundred yards off the road, turned the engine off and went into quiet mode. Denny headed towards the East where he could get a view of the pristine hillside to the South and get a good look at the small valley below.

We saw some nice size tracks running along the road next to our parking spot. There was a small golden yellow meadow about thirty yards wide and sixty to seventy yards long next to and to the west of the truck. On the other side was a drop off filled with plenty of fresh sign. Directly to the South was the most impressive looking elk likely hillside we had seen the whole trip.

I took up a position under a tree on the west edge of the meadow next to the truck. The tree was situated just about in the middle of the meadow and had some nice bushy cover around the base. It was just the right height to hide a hunter. From vantage point I could see the hill to the south and by turning my head slightly I had a view of the top of the top of the deer trail east of me. If I turned around I could see the North end of the meadow and the trees that came up to its edge. Behind me was thick underbrush ablaze with its autumn colors.

I lost sight of Denny immediately as he entered into the cover of the tall foliage. It was me and myself and my scattered thoughts. The fear of five years ago sitting on the swivel camp chair in a foot and a half in Oak Creek wondering how a wounded bull elk reacts had long ago disappeared. My concentration was on making a clean, swift life ending shot with minimal suffering to my prey was foremost in my mind.

Denny had been instructing me on the ways of the Great Spirit and the Guides. His guide could not help me. I had to find my own. I sat, drenched in the peace and quiet of the moment and invited my guides to join me in the hunt. I had no real adequate understanding of the Native American ways so I did the best I could. I admitted that I was a stranger in the land and asked for permission to be there and for the Great Spirit to show me which animal I would be allowed to harvest. Above all I asked to be shown a sign. What happened next is or is not beyond belief depending on what you believe.

Suddenly from down the hill along the deer trail came a loud racket. It sounded like the laughter of a thousand voices. Over the hill came hundreds, perhaps as many as five hundred birds. They were bluish in color and slightly larger than a good sized sparrow. They followed each other from scrub oak to scrub oak. They would fill a tree and just as it was overflowing the ones in the tree would take flight at once and head for another nearby tree. As they exited another wave of the birds would replace them. They hop scotched through the trees all around me. Their collective sound was destractive and gave me the impression that Mother Nature was having a good laugh at my expense. My thoughts were drawn to why. Why did they start their merrimental flight? Something must have started them on their way. Perhaps deer moving up the trail. Was this my sign, my guides, laughing birds? I wanted a cool sounding guide like Denny’s Black Feather. I was already facing East and I spotted two does standing twenty yards on the other side of the meadow. They just appeared. Ever so slowly I drew my rifle to my eye and focused my attention on the two does. The head of another poked up over the rise. I put a bead on it. Another doe. Perhaps a buck might be with them. That doe came up on the flat and yet another head cautiously peeked over the top. When she felt safe she joined the others now grazing in the early morning sun washed meadow. Finally the last of the group of does came over the top. I watched them graze twenty five yards away for about ten minutes. They were even with me as far as the wind out of the south was concerned. They gradually moved towards the north. When they got downwind from me the head doe spun her head around and stared in my direction on full alert. It was a long still, no breathing minute. I was quite sure she couldn’t see me and I had not moved barely a muscle since I first laid eyes on them. It must have been my scent.

They lingered a few more minutes a slowly drifted into the trees at the north end of the meadow. I watched them through the trees for about five minutes until the blended into the brush and were gone. They seemed to be trailing the laughing birds that were now about a hundred yards up the hill by then. I slowly scanned the area just in case a buck had followed them. The was no sign of a buck. I turned my attention once more to the promising hill side to the south.

After about ten minutes of scanning the hill something within told me to recheck the area behind me. I slowly turned my head. I could hear the collar of my camo shirt rub against my orange vest. I must get some quieter clothes. I knew for sure that every animal within a hundred yards could hear that noise. There was a deer on the far north edge of the meadow where the does had been before they made their ascent into the wooded area. The deer was casually grazing with a large brush oak tree behind it. It presented me with a perfect left broad side view but, I couldn’t tell with naked eye if it was a doe or a young buck. Slowly, ever so delicately I raised my rifle and peered through the scope. The deer was grazing and it’s head was out of view, obstructed by the eighteen inch grass. I waited. I slipped my arm through the sling on my rifle and clutched the stock firmly. The deer raised it’s head and I caught a glimpse of a pair of antlers as the sun reflected off of them. Were they five inches long? The deer stuck its head back into the grass and a waited some more. The deer’s head came up from the tall grass and looked right at me, just as the doe did moments before. My breathing came to an abrupt halt and I measured the length of the antlers by comparing them to its ears. The fork horns were definitely longer. The young buck looked as if to ask what I was waiting for. It’s head went back down into the warm yellow grass. I took a deep breath, lowered my cross hairs to its vitals and squeezed off a round. The deer fell over and did not make another move.

I started to get up and hurry over to the downed buck, but instead held my ground. After five minutes or so I slowly rose to my feet and cautiously approached the deer. I checked the chamber of my 00.06 to make sure a round was in place just in case. It was then that I realized that I had not even ejected the shell that made the kill. I carefully removed the shell and placed it in my pocket. The quick, clean kill had been made. I lay down beside it, stroked it’s neck and said a prayer of thanks.

Denny came out of the brush to examine the kill and paced off the distance. Thirty seven yards was his guess. I think he was taking extra long strides, but I accepted his measurement. I questioned my ego around bragging about a long shot as opposed to how close I can get to an animal in the wild. Getting close wins. Denny asked if I wanted his assistance in field dressing him and I hesitantly said I would like to try it on my own. We both had elk tags yet to fill and he left in search of his. I thought it would be much easier than it was. I struggled with my prosthesis. I could not get comfortable enough to work on it well. It took much longer than I thought it would. Later he told me that it was hard for him to walk away and leave me there on my own. I am pretty sure that we both grew from the experience.