« Proof | Main | Week of December 11th »
December 14, 2006
Reaching One's Boiling Point
You know when you're standing over the stove, staring at a pot of water, waiting for it to boil? First, bubbles begin to collect on the pot's bottom. Then, the bubbles begin to grow. Soon, they release from the bottom of the pot and make a quick trip to the surface of the water. Little by little, more and more bubbles are released and, finally, yes, finally, your water pot boils.
I'm reaching my own boiling point.
I was running today on the Eagle Creek Road in the Gallatin National Forest above Gardiner, MT. It was a brilliant winter afternoon for running, cold, cloudy, a bit breezy, and some light snow. 26 minutes into my run, 2 loud, very close shotgun shots interrupted the absolute silence that was previously present in the Eagle Creek drainage. The gunshots came from just downhill, and presumably out of sight in the brush and trees of the creek bottom. I jumped; my dog took off uphill in a full sprint; even the bald eagle in a nearby treetop took off flying. A short series of gunshots followed the initial two shots in the next few minutes, and then quiet returned to the wilderness.
There were no cars parked anywhere along the route, indicating that hunters were out and about (I saw only 1 car out there headed uphill, with telemark skis on top, containing a man presumably going up the road to ski.). I searched the drainage for hunters clad in bright orange but could see nothing. I literally had no idea where these hunters were. During this, I stood out in the open, on the road, as visible as I could make myself. I was minutes away from beginning a workout, and I didn't know what to do. If I climbed higher and out of the drainage, I would remove myself temporarily from the danger zone. But I would also dissapear into the low-lying clouds and I would eventually have to come back down again. If I headed dowhill and back towards my car, I would be putting myself directly in the area of the gunshots. But I would also be getting out of the area as fast as possible. I decided on the latter, to get back to my car and go somewhere else to do the workout.
It was a nervewracking descent back to my car, and I kept my eyes and ears alert as I ran. I never saw or heard another thing. I returned to my car, drove to another location, and finished my run. But, wow, was I ever scared and angry.
The bison hunt is on now, so it must have been hunters taking down a bison. Bison hunting is a pretty obvious activity. Usually it involves the person with the hunting permit, a full infantry of his closest buddies, and all their respective pick-up trucks. They all drive around until they find a herd of bison in a legal hunting area. Then, a few of the guys wander up to the herd and slowly, gradually cut their victim off from the herd. It's usually easy to convince a bison to walk in the direction that you want it to, typically back towards the road, the waiting infantry, and their pick-ups. As soon as the bison wanders close enough, the permit holder shoots. Hopefully, the bison falls in place, next to the road.
Then, the cadre of infantry men set in on cleaning the bison. The head is severed from the body; it is later made into a nice wall piece for the permit holder's home, a permanent, daily reminder of the fun of the hunt. Then, the creature is skinned; the bison's coat will later be converted into a rug that the permit holder's dog, Fifi the Miniature Pinscher, will lay comfortably on next to a warm, cozy fireplace. Finally, the meat is removed in a fairly arduous process as, quite frankly, there's a helluva lotta meat. The permit holder will take home a bulk of the meat, but he generally shares generously with his infantry. After all, these guys deserve a little reward for coming out and bloodying themselves up to their elbows in bison gore. They typically get a 30 or so pound hunk of bison meat to take home with which they might impress their wives. Thus, I would have expected to see a flurry of activity along the Eagle Creek Road during a typical bison takedown.
But I saw nothing, so I expected nothing. And all this scared the crap out of me. I was way over my boiling point today. The deer and elk hunts have finished for the season, but the bison hunt will continue through February 15th. I don't know how much longer I can maintain any semblance of patience for this nonsense. National forests are supposed to be shared use and shared recreation areas. However, during hunting season, I don't feel like I get my share of the national forest pie. I feel limited in where I can recreate, and I certainly don't feel safe out there.
Afteword: Upon inquiring with coworkers, I learned that some Native Americans are currently in the area for the bison hunt. Their bison hunting habits are often different from your typical white-guy-hunting-blaze-orange-ten-pickups-thirteen-buddies style of bison hunting. Perhaps it was them in the Eagle Creek drainage this afternoon, being all traditional and stealthy and stuff. It still doesn't make me feel much better.
Posted by Meghan at December 14, 2006 6:44 PM
Comments
Meghan, I can empathize with you. I've shared the same frustration during deer season here in Vermont. I also get the same feeling when dogs are off leash on the back roads of Vermont and furiously bark and chase me. Nothing quite gets my heart rate up as much as an unexpected angry dog. Good Luck!
Posted by: Mary at December 15, 2006 5:41 AM
Once when I was in army ranger training in the Appalachians, I got spotlighted by a pick-up truck full of drunk deer hunting mountain folk in the middle of the night. It was only a few miles from the banjo bridge filmed in Deliverance. Yeah, I had a rifle too, but mine was full of blanks. I don't think I would have provided as much meat as the bison you wrote about.
Thanks for the GC tips, Chelle and I had a blast.
Posted by: Jack at December 15, 2006 9:39 AM