This blog-post is dedicated to memories of friends from old times….

I looked up early this evening to see Orion the Hunter rising above the eastern horizon. It gave me pause as I thought about some friends from long ago. My hands-down favorite constellation, Orion has blessed me with a hunting life fabulously rich in experiences. But now, I suppose age has tempered the passion I once had for making that last trip to the woods before the end of the hunting season. There’s plenty of venison in the freezer, and the little lady would have a hissyfit if I went out and caught some old wall-hanger standing flat-footed, thinking the season had ended.

It seems a long time till spring. Maybe we’ll go back up to the Rockies again this year. Neither of us could make the mountain hikes we once made, but it would be nice to gaze up at the Tetons again, take some

photos of the antelope and maybe catch an old griz willing to pose without gnawing my head off. And maybe like that morning many years back when I was with two of my closest friends and our wives standing on the bank of the Snake River at Oxbow Bend, I will once again hear the wolves of the Pacifica Pack howling a greeting to the morning sun. The crisp morning air will bring a mist off the river as otters cruise by, and I’m sure the elk will be whistling in the surrounding hills.

Looking out over the Willow Flats at Jackson Lake, we can watch the Elk herds, and later we can drive up to Hayden Valley and watch Bison big as Volkswagen buses. The Jackson Hole Valley, the Tetons, Yellowstone, and traveling north up the Bear Tooth Highway, through Missoula and up to Glacier—it is all a memory I wish I could share with my children and grandchildren, but they will hopefully have their own opportunity someday, because I am saving this memory for others.

I’ve seen thousand-pound bull elk crashing into one another, the sound of their clashing antlers echoing against the mountainsides.

I’ve seen a mother grizzly flipping boulders in the air with the flick of a claw—boulders big as basket balls and all but buried in rock-hard clay. The muscles beneath her thick fur rippled in the morning sun, as she stepped back to let her cubs feed on the unearthed grubs.

And the question I am certain that comes to mind is that those weren’t hunting experiences, but yes, they were. I always hunt, but quite often it is with a camera. I’ve photographed caribou, moose, wolves and griz in Denali. I’ve walked with my camera amongst a group of Whitetail bucks in Mississippi, fighting so hard they didn’t know I was there until I had taken several photos. I’ve photographed hummingbirds, butterflies and just about anything that would pose in front of my lens.

Now, it’s no longer so easy. Once I could crawl on my belly to the base of a giant Cypress beside a bayou and film a duck, a deer or a heron. That was “once.” If the passion strikes now—which is seldom—I must stand up right and do my best not to stumble over the cypress knees as I stalk my prey. And by now, if you should begin to believe this is some pathetic whine about getting old, it’s not. It is a celebration for getting here—for living a full life—the mortgage on which was paid in full by others. They are the ones with whom I want to share these memories.

They are those young soldiers who never lived long enough to experience it. They died on some remote battlefield in some foreign country well before their time. No, this memory is not a complaint, but a celebration of a lifetime of memories which I hope someday to take with me to the other side and share with those that made the ultimate sacrifice. This lifetime of memories is for all those young Americans who gave their lives so that I might live mine. I stand in humble honor of my brothers in arms who never came home, because they made these memories possible.

Rick DeStefanis

The photos here are mine. I made them, which means they’re copyrighted, but if you want them, take them. Just remember what other vets did for you.

 

 

 

 

 

You may also enjoy:  Road Trip: Jackson Hole and Rawlins Research and About The Word Hunter-Rick DeStefanis

Photos of the Mountains, the Wildfire, the Bear and the Buck are by yours truly…

My wife and I just returned from a little mountain road trip that included driving the Blue Ridge Parkway from Asheville, North Carolina into Cherokee, NC. From there we drove over the top of the Smokies on Highway 411 down into Gatlinburg, Tennessee. The mountains were beautiful in some places, but much of the scenery was enveloped in a smoky haze from the numerous wild fires burning in the area.

I took this shot of a fire burning at the crest of the Chimney Tops in the Smoky Mountain National Park. The entire mountaintop was enveloped, giving the impression of a giant campfire.
A Chinook Helicopter was dropping water on the fire with apparent little effect. The smoke plume rose thousands of feet into the air.
Apparently we have a guardian angel, because we stayed the night in Gatlinburg and departed peacefully the next morning, only to learn a little while later the town was becoming surrounded by more wildfires. Only when we arrived home did we learn of the total devastation that began a few hours after our departure.

The big Black Bear pictured here was turning logs and looking for grubs only a few miles down the mountain from the Chimney Tops fire. I hope he survived.

The Whitetail buck pictured here was in a field in Cades Cove. There were no fires in that area, but the buck was so enamored with a doe that came and hid behind us, he probably wouldn’t have fled anyway.
If you haven’t signed up for the free flash fiction downloads here on this site, please do. This will put you on my mailing list, and I promise not to spam you with a lot of useless email. Also, if you decide you no longer want to be on the list, you can opt out at any time.
If you have a Kindle E-reader and want for FREE the Kindle Edition of one of my novels, contact me. The only caveat is that you must promise to write an honest review of the book when you finish.
Please send me your comments, and thanks for reading my blog.
Rick DeStefanis

You may also enjoy: Valley of the Purple Hearts and Life in the South