In the wilderness with a new moon, turning your headlamp off at 5:30 in the morning, darkness becomes a full body experience. I’m used to the slight feeling of vertigo, being temporarily blinded as my eyes adjust to the subtle starlight and how it’s easy to feel part of everything when senses other than sight are awakened.
I’m not just here at o’dark thirty to get connected with Life, the Universe and Everything as it were, though that’s worth getting up for in it’s own right.
I’m here to hunt.
I’m following through on a plan I developed yesterday, scouting before elk season started, when I spied a herd of elk a few miles off, near where I was standing now.
And the plan seemed to be working.
The herd bull bugled in response to my lumbering, crunching footfalls in the refrozen snow. Still flooded with testosterone this time of year, he was more concerned with advertising to his harem than in avoiding unknown sounds.
But there was a wrinkle in my plan. He and the rest of the herd were across private property.
I’d spent the previous month hunting for elk and deer with a stick and string. Though I got close to animals a number of times, no arrows were loosed and the freezer at home was getting lighter each day.
I had five days, one last chance, to put 175 lbs of intentionally harvested, organic meat in the freezer for the family this year. So…no pressure.
Now, I had a choice to make. Either go ½ mile down then work back up to the elk on public land; a good call with the downslope pre-dawn diurnal wind. Or, go ½ mile up and try and contour above the private land over to the elk; risky with the thermal.
I heard the bull bugle again, he was moving away from me, downhill.
Go down! My brain shouted at me. Though I was standing still, I could feel my pulse quicken and a tinge of anxiety wash over me with that thought.
I wasn’t ready to act—didn’t need to. As I stood and awaited more information and a shooting star added movement to the stillness and an even further away bugle pierced the darkness.
DOWN! GO DOWN! My brain screamed at me. Since the choice in response to adrenal stress is flight, fright or freeze, and especially when it’s 15 degrees out, I was frozen.
I’ve hunted for 15 years, harvesting close to 20 elk and deer and I’m starting to relax into seeing how it goes instead of worrying about outcomes. But, I do still get worked up, confused, unsure what to do next and just plain anxious and stressed.
And though I can see this situation for what it is, that doesn’t make me immune to feeling those feelings. It just means that I might be able to choose something that works.
What works well when I feel anxious and stressed, when I see my thinking is speeding up, is to aim for presence. Looking towards intuition and innate wisdom to guide the next step instead of more thinking. And like most people, when I feel stressed my thinking tries to take over and my intuitive self gets very, very quiet.
I chose to turn to intuition by using a technique called muscle testing or kinesiology. It’s a way to get intuitive information though the body when the mind is revved up. It works really well paired with simple, clear and direct “yes” or “no” questions.
“Is it optimal for me to walk up this road, now?” My fingers, the way I do the testing, said “yes.”
Being a thinky kind of person, my brain felt left out and wanted more. So I tested for “Is it optimal for me to walk back down this road, now?” “No.”
I double checked for the up—a “yes” again.
Sorry brain, sorry thinking. I totally hear that you’re upset with me, that you have other ideas, but you lose. I’m stressed, I’m going with intuitive wisdom. I’m going up.
I walked to the corner where the private land met the public and turned north and up the hill. The snow was refrozen, crunchy and impossible to move in while staying quiet. I started to settle, my stress and anxiety were fading as I followed that innate intelligence instead of my thinking.
As I continued to calm down other intuitive information started to quietly and comfortingly flow into my awareness. I thought “how can I put a stalk on the elk when it’s this noisy in the snow?” And the words “maybe you don’t need to stalk” came to me.
I stood there for a few minutes not sure of what to do next, then I heard the words “why don’t you go up to that big Christmas tree and hang out for a few minutes?”
Ok…why not…I didn’t have a better idea.
The elk bugled again and again, getting further and further away, down the hill the other direction. I choose wrong, my brain said “get your butt down there!” But I tested the fingers again and they said “stay put.”
I thought to myself, at least I kinda know where the elk are and maybe when the snow softens this afternoon, I’d have a chance to quietly find them. I stood there for another 10 minutes or so, checking the fingers a few more times and relinquished myself to a morning of hanging out listening to but not seeing elk.
Then, I heard a bugle that sounded closer but still far, down by the creek about ½ mile away. And again, another one, closer. Then another, closer still.
I was so resigned to having lost the hunt opportunity this morning that I was busy trying to record the elk sounds on my phone for a friend who would enjoy it when the words “put the phone away and get ready to shoot” came to me.
The bull is often at the tail end of the herd, making sure all “his” cows stay together. To be clear, they’re not “his” the cows actually decide who they want to be with, not the other way around.
Standing, I put my hand around an aspen sapling making a steady rest for my rifle. I glanced at my watch—6:51am—legal hunting begins at 6:52am on this day and at this longitude.
I started to hear the crunching of the elk walking as they were slowly feeding up the hillside.
In the low light I could just make out the shapes of the elk feeding up the hill at 50 yards—too dark, too far. Then I heard the ripping of grass and hooves in snow closer by. A dozen paces from where I was standing an elk fed slowly uphill and upwind of me.
Moving only my index finger the sound of the shot echoed off the timbered valley walls. The elk took one last step then slid down the snowy hillside coming to her final resting place next to me.
The other elk kept feeding and the bull kept bugling while I stood there in a state of shock and disbelief.
I sat down with the elk, put my hand on her head and gave thanks.
******
Though I’m a planner, my best shot in navigating high-stress decision making is presence not planning. What works for you?
Recent Comments