I have heard the saying 'Pass it on' in many areas of my life for the past twenty some odd years now. It is quite a generic statement as it can apply to just about any endeavor that we take the time to introduce and help the next generation to begin the journey of sharing a passion that we enjoy. Most often for hunters it will conjure up visions of children tagging along on before they are old enough to carry their own firearm or bow. Many times we will pass it along and not realize just how far passing it along will go.

Whatever we choose to pass along will most likely be something we are passionate about and when the seed is planted it will grow and branch out to places where we will not have imagined.

This is the story of how it was passed on to me and where it has gone so far. Elk hunting was introduced to me in 1995. I was forty-three years old at the time. Twelve years before that I was in an automobile accident, which resulted in my left leg being amputated at the knee.

By chance, I met Denny Jay in April of 1994 and we became friends. He ignored the fact that I sometimes wore a prosthetic leg and sometimes got around with just a set of crutches. I instinctively tried to ignore his infectious tales of hunting elk and mule deer in the mountains of Colorado. The labor of climbing around mountains in pursuit of wapiti was something that I never thought that a handicapped person would be able to accomplish. At the time I only thought that I would have to enjoy the tales of hunting big game in some vicarious way.

Denny grew up in Northern Colorado and has lived his whole life in the Ft. Collins, Loveland area. He has hunted deer and elk for his entire life and I had never associated myself with hunters up to that point in my life. That was all about to change.

Denny was an accomplished hunter. He could track and stalk up on an elk or a mule deer and loved to teach others how to look for sign of animals in the wild. He was a Boy Scout that seemed to have remembered every lesson he learned in his youth. He always wanted to be a big game guide and in the autumn of 1995 he got his chance and by luck of the draw I got to experience my first elk hunt.

Carl Spina of Eagle Spirit Outfitters that operated out of Oak Creek, Colorado hired Denny as a guide. He was elated. The guides got the opportunity themselves to hunt the area during the last couple of days of the third season. Denny had drawn an elk tag for an earlier season and his hunting was over for the year. He asked Carl if he could invite his one legged friend along in his place for that late season adventure. Carl agreed and the rest they say is history.

Suddenly, the simple life of a handicapped guy was thrust into high gear. There was much to do before I could take my place in the mountains of Colorado. I had to take the proverbial Hunter's Safety course, acquire all of the necessary equipment and even borrow a rifle from a friend and ensure that it was sighted in. The last thing I did was obtaining an over-the-counter bull tag. All of this was foreign to me. The last time I shot a rife was during my days as a Marine in the early 1970's.

At the time, the lodge used by Eagle Spirit was at the base of Rabbit Ears Pass. It could be seen high on the hill as the turn was made to Oak Creek. As fate would have it, Denny was between four-wheel drive vehicles when his was crippled with transmission trouble. I gave him the unusually long ride to work the week before my hunt, which familiarized me with the first of many rides to the Western Slope in pursuit of the dream.

During the last week of November, 1995 I made that trip solo. I remember the feeling of awe and inadequacy as I pulled up in the parking area of the lodge and parked my trusty 1990 Subaru Legacy next to an array of bigger four-wheel drive pickups and Denny's newest ride, a 1978 Scout. Luckily for me, the Subaru would not have to leave the parking area until the trip home.

There were several things that still are as vivid in my mind ten years later as when they were as fresh as a still steaming pile of the droppings of a bull in the fresh snow as the sun breaks over the horizon.

I remember sitting on a camo seat that swiveled and wondering how far the sound of those steel balls in that lazy-susan bearing could be heard and what was I going to do if I ran into an elk at close range while the guides were up at the top of the hill trying to drive one down the hill in my direction. This is the subject of a whole different story.

I still remember watching Denny across the meadow as he slowly stalked up and a bedded bull in the thick underbrush and the sight of that first elk that I put my cross hairs on as he emerged from the opposite end of the long thicket. Then there was later on in the day when we returned to the vehicles after breaking new trails over a few hundred yards of deadfall in the timber, only to find that my crutches no longer had rubber tips on them.

When the idea was presented to me in the late summer of that I only thought of it as a once in a lifetime opportunity for a handicapped fellow to experience an elk hunt. In reality a seed was planted that yearns to be nourished. My hunting experiences began during that season and my life has not been the same since.

My wife and I have a large combined, yours, mine and ours family consisting of ten children. Since that serendipitous hunt, I have enjoyed hunting big game every year since. We hunt elk, mule deer and antelope in Colorado and travel north to Wyoming for antelope too. My wife has joined us on a few hunts and at the moment has the only head mounted on the wall. It was a nice buck antelope that she harvested after waiting for four years to draw a tag.

My now teenaged daughters have taken their hunter safety course and my two preteen sons will be taking theirs soon. We all enjoy a day at the range and take part in processing our meat from field dressing to wrapping, labeling and putting those nice white packages into the freezer.

Now I have more firearms of varying calibers than I need, but not as most hunters I know, more than I want. I have a wardrobe of camouflaged mostly bought on sale including a good selection of orange vests and hats. I now drive a 1987 Ford Ranger pickup that has been chained up and has flung mud and snow high into the air from all four wheels trying to get to the top of the next hill in front of me.

Denny and I have hunted together, side-by-side for most of the time since that first introduction, but we have together in different parts of the state at the same time as well. Being new to this way of life I prefer to pitch a tent and be where I am going to hunt when the morning coffee is brewing and he prefers a warm soft bed at night. His reasoning is that he has had more than his share of cold, hard nights in a tent. I, on the other hand hope that day never arrives for me, although there have been times when a hot meal in a restaurant, a warm shower and a soft warm pillow were definitely welcomed.

Denny has been a member of the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation for many years. I have enjoyed reading his hand-me-down issues of 'Bugle' for the last decade. I do not consider myself much of a joiner of any organizations. I prefer the felling of absolute freedom I enjoy as I sit on the side of a mountain or out on the plains waiting for an elk, a deer or an antelope to come within range. I have come to realize, however, that this world is changing and that if future generations are to enjoy the same feeling of waiting for an elk we cannot assure this heritage without banding together for conservation and preservation of elk habitat.

Denny offers to take friend's children hunting for their first time on a regular basis. I am convinced that if every member of the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation were as enthusiastic and dedicated to passing it on as my friend Denny the future of hunting would be guaranteed.

I suppose the lesson in all of this is when the ceremony of 'Passing It On' is taking place as was conducted by my friend Denny ten years ago we will never know weather we are merely planting a seed that may take years to nourish or we may be starting a wild fire that will spread faster that we can imagine.