The Hunt

Circus trucks blocking the road which was bare yesterday.

I usually leave for the train each morning about 6:30 am if I am lucky. The sun has not even begun rise so it’s dark. This morning as I was heading out the door not only was it dark but chilly. Someone had their woodstove going warming their homes in an effort to stave off the heat bills of the coming winter. I was transported in a twinkling to another point in time 46 years earlier.

It was early a dark and cool morning not much different then this morning. We had gotten up, my father and older brother, Ross, milked the very sleepy and then headed out in our old Studebaker truck to go hunting. I was less then thrilled to be along. I was a weird kid not liking a whole lot of what other kids my age like to do: football, baseball and hunting to name a few. But somehow this particular Fall dad got in his head that we ( the men) should do the hunt. Up early, I can remember being sandwiched between my dad and my brother. Sitting in the middle with the stickshift to the old truck coming up between my legs. I knew it was going to be an comfortable trip. If there was heat in that old truck the heat was slow heating up. I don’t think there was a working heater in that truck. There was some heat by virtue of the beasts combustible engine. In due time I think the three bodies packed into the truck’s cab would generate enough heat to ensure some reasonable comfort. Anyway, I am sure I was asleep before we reached Lucky Peak reservoir east of Boise on the way to the killing zone. I hated road trips—I sill do. All I can think about on any trip is that it will more then likely take as long to come back as it did to go. You will have to see the same things but in reverse. The benefit of leaving in the dark of morning you only have to witness the road images once.

We drove I am sure two hours to get to where ever were going. I was astounded as the early mornings light invaded our surrounding that we were actually in the mountains; huge mountains covered with pine trees, pine needles and dirt. It was that “early time dark light” when we stopped and finally got out. I do not know what my dad used as the ascertain the qualities of a good place to start the hunt but we were obvioudsly there” I hobbled out of the cab and stretched my legs, for the first time understanding, really why that cliché was a cliché. We had not eaten yet dad passed our tins of Kippersnacks , the first I had ever eaten, I was amazed at how great these snacks of smoked fish were. Later on we had Chef Boyardee spaghetti and meat balls heated over an open fire. This was the best canned food I had ever eaten.

We did not kill anything that day And I shot a tree out of boredom and to hear sound of the rifle. The darkness surrounded us by the time we drove into the barnyard. We never went hunting again which was Ok with me but I sometimes wondered if this hurt my dads feelings.