Coulda Been a Contender

Walt Redman called that fucker in, and the son of a bitch just about jumped into the truck. He stood about twenty yards from us, grunting and snorting, bloodshot eyes, covered in piss.

He had just been talking to her from down in the valley. Then he heard some other asshole bugling up here with her and he came to see about that. She was here somewhere; that pretty little cow elk that he had heard talking all slutty.

He got to the top of the hill and stopped.

What the hell is this? He stared, still quivering with desire. Who are these bastards? Two big metal bastards and three two-legged bastards standing up here all alone in the early morning light.

He stomped the ground and turned slightly, grunting. Something ain’t right, he knew now. The wind shifted and he caught the scent and turned his big head bolted down the hill, pussy be damned this shit smelled dangerous and he got out of here.

That was Tuesday. Elk season stated Friday. That randy kid wasn’t going to be tricked a second time. No sir.

Friday morning we hit the call, waved, and said hello from 425 yards as he turned and walked away, knowingly. That was the end of that.

I will become a better elk hunter. Yes. I will.



-Alex who will never be okay with 2am as a "get up" time.