“Hunting is hiking with a purpose.” Or so says my wife and so says I who’s hiked and hunted many a mile. Hiking is a term that John Muir was not too fond of. He preferred both the word and activity he described as “sauntering” and maybe it is in that difference that I prefer hunting over hiking.
Although the adventurous hiker might “bushwhack” or “go cross-country”, most hiking is limited to trails. By its very nature a trail will concentrate walkers and limit the opportunity to discover the unique and unusual. It is likely that someone else will have recently preceded you, so what you discover, although it may be magnificent, is not exclusive to you. Notice I said “limit the opportunity”, for hiking a lovely path is much preferred to watching TV and most trails lead to something of interest. A common hunter’s maxim is “If you’re not out there, you won’t see it.” And so it is for hiking – at least you’re out there and you'll see something!
A strong hiker will cover two to three miles per hour and success is often measured in the number of miles covered per day. The object of hiking is almost always a destination and the scope is the macro, not the micro. Quietness is not a virtue – especially not in bear country! Not so for the hunter. He usually has no destination. He might cover a fraction of a mile an hour as he stalks and stops, stalks and stops, sometimes sitting for hours in one place, watching, listening. Of interest are the hidden features of the country – what path through an aspen grove will be the quietest, are the crab apples ripe enough to attract grouse, are those droppings fresh or just old news?
Hidden stories and new discoveries are common findings for the hunter. I once stumbled across a twenty foot, single piece, stone water trough in the middle of the woods. Clear spring water was still running through it while yellow maple leaves floated on the surface. The trees growing at its edge were at least 30 years old. Lonely stone foundations, rock walls and even the occasional chimney tell of a farmer’s work come and gone. Skulls and vertebrae of cows, elk and deer speak to the circle of life and just once have I found an intact antler, a perfectly white 5-point that a bull shed, but mice and other gnawers had not yet recycled.
How often do hikers get within touching distance of deer or coyote? One November morning as I worked my way north along Starvation Ridge, I tucked behind an old growth ponderosa pine that was wide enough to hide four of me. It was a glorious day with a biting wind and grey, snow squalls interspersed with achingly blue sky. While waiting in the shelter of that tree for a particularly aggressive squall to pass, I noticed a coyote pair emerge from the trees about seventy yards away. The wind was moving perpendicular to their track, my body was plastered to the tree. My scent was covered and I guess I looked like a root. I couldn’t believe that out of all the possible paths they might take, they were headed directly towards me. I finally lost my nerve and said, “Shoo!” when the lead was close enough to lean over and touch.
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