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I never took hearing an elk bugle for granted. It seemed I lived a life time to get that done. I remember being 50, one year after lung surgery. Back packed in with bro for 5 days. Laying under a nylon tarp, listening to something clicking in my lung when I inhaled. Hard to sleep.

Sat on a mountain ridge the next morning I had climbed hours ago before daylight. Seemed a lifetime since killing a bull with my bow. Nearly was, I guess. Feeling sorry for myself. Going to give up on rifle bull elk. Probably archery too.

Then I took off my grey brown old Stetson and thanked the Lord for just letting me be alive and able to sit up there and breath the sweet aspen/fir scented cool mountain air. Said Amen, put my hat on and then heard the heard bull bugle 200 yards away on a timbered ridge above Valleceto Lake. Took my hat off and said, Thank you Father in Heaven.

Put it on and went and called him a while and spooked the heard out when I got meaner sounding than I guess he liked. He made a funny call and cows came running into the evergreen thicket he was in and then they booked it. But I made a miraculous shot between two Aspen, by the grace of God when they showed themselves running through an Aspen draw heading to go over the rim.

It still took an hour and another miracle to find him, but I was 3rd time blessed with another miracle that morning after I gave up after finding no blood. I was really down then, thinking I had missed and hit an Aspen in the lilltle draw between me and them they had run across headed over the rim.

Sat down and rested, thanked the Lord for the chance and decided to try one more place in lower oakbrush on the way back to camp.

From low, to high and then low again.

But, by Gods Grace, there he lay, surrounded by thick oak brush, having peeled off from the herd.

I guess you could say I believe in prayers answered, and miracles, too. Yep, HIS and HIS Angels HE's had save me on many close calls and near missed have laid many miracles on me.

PTL. Thank you Father in Heaven.

I wish I'd gotten more time hunting with my dad the guys from our camp. The Olde Guarde, as we called them are all gone now. There was so much to learn from these good men, but that time has passed. We'll hunt together again some day Dad. This I promise.

I quit in November of 1996. I grew tobacco from 1973 until 2000, so I wanted to support my crop, or at least that's how I'd justify smoking. Just laid them down, and walked away, actually pretty easy to quit.

Have to admit though, that a smoke with that first cup of coffee in the morning sure was good, and after a big meal, or when you were trying to calm your nerves. I smoked mostly Marlboro's, some Winston's, and a brand called Buck's that was on the market for a while. When I quit, I was smoking Winston Lights' and I still have the half a pack of them left that I had in my pocket when I laid them down. I kept them as a reminder of how my stupid I was to have spent all money on smoke, when I could have bought some cool guns instead.

Minus the hand-rolled coffin nail, I've done the rest of that, Wabi. Deer camp, campfire, camp vittles, and then a bit of sippin' whiskey. More than one season, actually. High up here in the Utah mountains, with the sky like velvet and the Milky Way as bright as a diamond necklace above, campfire sparks trying vainly to join the stars. Memories of it so pure that I have no desire to try to do it again - and possibly ruin it all.

Somedays? I'd genuinely like to look at you on the other side of the boat, reeling in wallies and smallies in Ontario.

Like this Rock? That is my good Canadian friend Keith. Not afraid I'd break out in a sermon when you are helpless to stop me?

Get myself a jet pack

Been hooked ever since San Andreas GTA

With all the things I'd still like to do, I'll say I've not been shorted out of anything. I thank the Good Lord for the life I've led, and a wonderful wife, and family.

I'm immune to sermons - already been hit by lightning. Twice.

I'm moving somewhere good when my 8th grader graduates. Don't know where that is, depends on several factors. But I'm going somewhere.

Take her fishin'.

Shoot a charging cape buffalo or hippo at spitting distance with a big bore double rifle.

My retirement dream is to start duck hunting in northern Manitoba and Saskatchewan and follow the migration all the way to the Gulf of Mexico.
Load my camper on my truck, hook up my boat filled with deeks and load my dog up and live on the road for four or five months shooting ducks in two provinces and twelve states.
Then hang out on the Texas coast for a couple months and follow the Snow geese back north slaughtering them for a couple months.

Honestly catch a 1000 lb mako or tuna.