The moment has finally arrived. Standing before you is your prey. You have the cross hairs on the animal waiting for the exact moment of the best shot you can take. It could be an elk, a whitetail or a mule deer. It may be a pronghorn at three hundred yards or a gobbler at twenty. You may be using a rifle or a pistol or a bow.

Nothing can describe or prepare a new hunter and even those with considerable experience for the moment of truth that comes as your finger pulls on the trigger and you send a bullet or an arrow to take an animal. Nothing.

The moment of truth comes sometimes without warning, but always with unbridled anticipation and a rush of adrenaline that will not be satisfied until the shot is taken. You can feel your heart pounding so hard that you just know it is sending vibrations through the woods. And those so-called involuntary muscles that are suppose to control your lungs suddenly become non-existent as you realize that you are trying desperately to rein in your wild, erratic breathing. You know you have been sitting quietly yet it feels like you just ran a hundred yard dash uphill, against the wind. Yes, the moment of truth is branded with an excitement and a sense of awareness that I have not found a substitute for.

Leading up to the moment all of your senses are on full alert. Your eyes strain to catch a glimpse of your prey, looking for that glint of an antler or the twitch of an ear. Your ears take in all that is around you. Sometimes the rustling of a tiny, unseen ground squirrel sounds like a bull making its way through the woods. The gentle breeze touches your skin to let you know which way your scent is heading.

When the prey appears there is an unmistaken sense of keen awareness and knows no description. It is as though your body goes into full alert mode. Your mind races as you check and recheck an unwritten list. Self-doubt sometimes creeps in as you ridiculously question yourself, trying to remember if you have a round in the chamber or if you will remember to use your thumb to take the safety off before you use your finger to squeeze the trigger.

Why do our bodies go from a sense of serenity as we sit in peace to such a turbulent state of turmoil in a matter of moments? When you examine the whole picture of the hunting experience it is quite clear indeed. Following is a report of the all of the moments of anticipation that lead up to the moment of truth for me when I held a steady finger on the trigger waiting for a bull elk as strode cautiously toward me on October 11, 2004.

Hunting is a series of exercises in anticipation and patience. It started as I cleaned my guns and stored them away at the end of the hunting season the year before. It was not long, however, before the Big Game application guide became available and the process of planning for the fall hunt began. In Colorado the forms are filled out and sent in at the beginning of April and the anticipation and waiting begins for results from the draw. If I was to be successful, the notice would come sometime in June and the excitement would be taken up a notch, to another level.

Now more details of the hunt could be made. Lodging reservations, solidifying vacation plans, inspection of my gear, window shopping for, and actual purchasing new stuff would all take place, for after all I was going hunting! There is also the sighting in my rifles and constant practice to ensure that when the time comes the projectile I send down range will strike its target precisely where I aim. These are just some instances of the low level degree of anticipation I felt throughout the year.

And then there are the piles of hunting magazines adorned with covers that enticed me with pictures of prey that ensure that I would open the pages and read the articles of hunts and new gear and tactics to help me. These magazines keep the flow of anticipation alive in the hunter's sensory glands. There is really no off-season for the skilled hunter.

The time finally arrived. Then there was the journey from my mostly comfortable, somewhat predictable life to the happy hunting grounds where things happen at a much different pace. For me it is began as it usually does with a left turn off of Highway 287 at Ted's Place and an early morning ascent through the Poudre Canyon, west of Ft. Collins, Colorado. It is at this point where I realized that all of the preparations have been made and the hunt is on. Along the route were the familiar landmarks.

Thirteen point seven miles up the canyon is the Mishawaka Amphitheatre where the shoulders of the narrow road are sometimes lined with pup tents and Volkswagen mini vans and other assorted makeshift sleeping arrangements. I recall having to slow down my truck and my daydreaming and concentrate on the road ahead for there were also newly awakened and dazed weekend concert goers who must have thought they had just woken up in their living rooms as they wondered down the centerline of Highway 14. Some looked at me with a scowl as I maneuvered around them. They probably wondered what all the cars and trucks were doing in their dream. I imagined they were completely oblivious to the parallel intentions of those using the road.

Just after that probable obstacle came the fourteen-foot high hole in the rocks that I had to pass through. It may well be the shortest tunnel in Colorado. As I passed by the Stove Prairie turn off I wondered if I would have been at this point sooner had I taken that windy, narrow route from Loveland. On up the canyon are some rock formations with names like Profile Rock and Sleeping Elephant followed by the summit of Cameron Pass, which is a good place to empty out the first couple of cups of the morning's coffee.

The next stop would be the gas station in Walden. Before I got there road signs directed me to closer hunting areas such as Gould and Rand and the Colorado State Forest and the KOA campground. Leaving Walden was the seemingly endless drive through North Park to the base of Rabbit Ears Pass. When I rose to the crest of the pass and begin to descend the Western side, I looked forward in anticipation to Steamboat Springs at the base. Signs of familiar hunting towns started to show up on the side of the road. Oak Creek, Craig, Meeker, Rangely, all took their turns at announcing the distance to them. The end of the long morning drive was getting near. With each passing landmark, the steady, unconscious building of anticipation reached yet another, still manageable plateau.

I got to the cabin around ten o'clock in the morning before opening day. I got my gear from the truck to the cabin I waited for the other hunters to arrive. I was a short time of solitude to ponder some reflection and anticipation. After the others all had arrived we visited the outskirts of the in the area we were going to hunt the next morning. We had hunted this particular area for the last three seasons so the area was familiar to us.

We scouted around for tell tale signs of the presence of game in the area. A fresh set of tracks or a soft, gooey pile of acorn-sized droppings will shoot the anticipation hormone into high gear. After finding some good sign it was time for a really good dose of collective patience to take over and convince us to leave the area until the next dawn.

The evening meal and plans for the morning hunt made sleep elusive as the thoughts of anticipation raced through my head, one quickly replacing another. When morning arrived it was time to brew some coffee, swallow some breakfast, inspect my daypack, and check one more time for the license and ammunition. The time from the opening of my eyelids until the sound of the vehicles warming up went by like a freight train. The ride from camp to the hunting area turned sleepy, bumbling men in orange into fully aware, keen-eyed stalkers of prey.

As we turned off the good county road the glassing began. Every few hundred yards the vehicles stopped and the area was intensely viewed from a completely different angle. Hopes rose of seeing a nice herd in the wide-open grassy area. Care, as always was taken not to spook anything that may be grazing in the early morning haze and send them trotting off and disappearing in the heavy dark timber that distinctly outlines the meadow.

Nothing was there and my thoughts turned to the long, steep two-mile hike to the bowl at the top of the mountain. We gathered our gear snapped our packs into place, checked our firearms and said our hunting prayer. Again the anticipation crept in.

As we set out on the journey our voices turned to whispers, because we just knew they were close and listening for our approach. As we left the well-worn trail and began the last part of our stalk to the top we became more aware of our environment. A couple of us went on ahead at a faster pace while I took up the rear much more slowly. The closer I got to the field of aspen in the bottom of the bowl more was revealed to me. The oh so inviting, musky stench of fresh elk beds filled my nostrils and got my eyes and ears straining as my pace slowed to a few steps at a time and a good look around. The last few hundred yards to the top took much longer than the just traveled mile and half. More was noticed and absolutely nothing escaped my senses. I was ready to drop to the ground or thrust my rifle out in front of me and glare down the scope. I knew the choice may come without warning and a split second decision may have to be made.

Nothing gave me a chance for a shot and the rest at the makeshift blind near the very top provided a haven to relax and let the built up anticipation of the morning slowly ooze out of my pores until my breathing and heartbeat slowed down to normal.

I have learned from experience that I probably would be resting in a place with a good view and hopefully with a shooting lane of ample width. Getting to the top was then, as always, strenuous enough for a person with two good legs and I realized that I expel a little bit more energy than most. I walk slower than most carefully placing each step of my prosthetic leg and ensuring that the knee does not buckle while traveling over uneven terrain. With all that taken into consideration I pack for the day and for a night if need be. I am not walking back down that hill to take a break only to return for the afternoon hunt. Once I am where the elk or deer are more than likely to be I am staying there.

Throughout the day there was plenty of time for reading, writing or taking pictures of the gorgeous hillsides like a tourist with way too much film. A good nap in God's country is always on the agenda too.

After a long day of waiting and relaxing with one eye and an ear open the sun began its slow descent over the western horizon the sense of anticipation built with increasing momentum. The anticipation grew in proportion to the length of the shadows, as they grew longer before my eyes.

Day one and two of the hunt proved to be nothing but anticipation followed by a long slow journey back down the mountain and my thoughts turned to a good warm meal and a soft, inviting pillow and the anticipation of the next journey up the hill through the aspen.

On Monday, the whole day was very much like the first two days of the hunt with various spurts of anticipation and an emotions jumping around like a twelve year old on a brand new trampoline. It all came to fruition as the sun set in the West and the shadows grew longer and the two cows and a bull came over the horizon two hundred yards out in front of me and walked down the hill directly towards me. What happened in the next few minutes is written in my story entitled “Wait for the Bull”.

If you are in the right place that moment of truth may come without warning. You may get the shot of a lifetime and wonder why you shake after the trigger that you do not remember squeezing, the recoil of your rifle that you do not feel or the blast of bullet leaving the muzzle that you do not hear all takes place in an instant. Yes, combine anticipation with a healthy dose of adrenalin while sitting still and as quiet as you can makes for a pretty jumbled up feeling swirling around inside a hunter.

Add up all of the moments of anticipation felt throughout the entire year and there definitely is a lot of pressure on a hunter when the time comes to make a shot. All of this emotional roller coaster ride can be avoided if you treat the whole idea of the hunt as a wonderful way to get out doors, enjoy the company of good friends, and the taking of an animal is secondary.