My First Elk Hunt

This spring, After a 20+ year hunting hiatus, I decided to put in for an elk. For those of you unfamiliar with the vernacular, "put in" means to apply for the lottery drawing (with a $70 fee...) to the New Mexico Dept. of Game & Fish for a permit to go into the woods with a high-powered rifle, kill a large animal, and return home with a bunch of meat. I "put in," and my name was drawn for an area close to home, for a 5-day window in November.

Since this was my first real participation in the New Mexico hunting community, I watched in fascination (and took some notes) as the camo came out and people started talking about scouting, stalking, hunting, "sighting in" rifles (yes, I did this, too; see my post on the target stand), and whether or not they were going to camp out during their hunt. I got to postpone these decisions and activities a bit as my hunt was right before Thanksgiving, and my music schedule had a bit of a lull in October & November. I still had to prepare, though, and here was my sort of general checklist.

Sighting in rifle: check. I still need to work on "squeezing" the trigger so I don't jerk (I've been working on this since I first started shooting at 12 years old!), but my dad's .270 shot straight and sure, even out to 250+ yards.

Scouting: check. My friend, Eric, and I spent a couple weekends in the woods looking for elk sign (droppings, tracks, bedding/sleeping areas) and found a few likely spots.

Supplies: check. I had almost everything I needed from my pursuits as a backcountry enthusiast, and a friend who moved to Alaska several years back had given me a nice heavy-duty canvas camoflage coat. I went ahead and negated the camo, though, with a bright orange vest over the top (so other people could see me and not shoot me if I was inadvertently in the line of fire). I did find it interesting, though, that most of the folks I ran into hunting were camoflaged head to toe. When I was a kid, only archery hunters, duck hunters, and the military were so attired. Anyway, the only things I bought for this endeavor were a 3 gallon water jug, food, and gas for the truck.

Partners: check. My friend Dan joined me for 2 days and Eric joined me for one. I skipped 2 days because I was exhausted. My lovely wife offered to go one day, but Dan stepped in at the last minute.

The experience: I decided not to camp as my hunt was close to home. However, despite having hunted as a kid, this was a relatively new experience for me. I had never hunted for elk, only deer, and I really had to consider how I would get a 500 pound animal out of the woods if I shot it. I brought along a cheap kiddie sled, made some game bags out of an old sheet, read a lot, and watched a few YouTube videos on harvesting the meat from a dead animal. But more to the point, I was in charge of my hunt. When I was a kid, Dad drove, read the maps, chose the spots, maintained the guns, and loaded the ammo. Now I get to do those things, except the ammo, because I don't have the equipment (yet). Not that I mind, really. My 4Runner did awesome on some pretty rugged roads, and I got to see some great country on foot and from the truck. And my efforts in learning navigation through ski patrol paid off as I wandered through the woods mostly un-lost.

Unfortunately, all that effort and preparation were fruitless with respect to the ultimate goal of harvesting an elk. In fact, I only saw 2 elk, and that was after dark in our nearby national park while driving home (and they were, consequently, illegal to shoot). My wife also saw two elk, right at the edge of town, silhouetted against the skyline above the gas station, but they were also off-limits. I did, however, see 12 deer, 6 coyotes, 2 bald eagles, 3 turkeys, an owl, several hawks, and countless squirrels, rabbits, crows, and woodpeckers. I got to see places I hadn't seen before at times of day (dawn and dusk) that few people bother to experience. And I alternately froze and baked--on Monday, it snowed. On Wednesday, I was way too hot.

But why bother? In addition to experiencing all the aforementioned natural wonders, there's an intentional philosophy around it. My family and I have made the conscientious choice to avoid food from factory farms and their overuse of antibiotics (among other things), and we came to the conclusion that the most basic, simplest way to know the source of your food is to grow/raise/harvest/kill it yourself. Hence, this process of hunting.

The process of hunting also encourages fully experiencing the outdoors. It requires planning, stealth, observation skills, memory, and diplomacy (dealing with other people as they, too, have unfilled elk tags!). Being able to carefully and competently operate a 4x4 helps, too. The senses are heightened, and I found myself noticing things I might not have if I'd been driving faster than 5 mph, mountain biking, or cross-country skiing. All in all, I had a great time wandering around outside. I plan to put in again next year.

Thanks for reading!

Spry As An Old Dog

First, upcoming events, all with DK & the Affordables:
- Saturday Aug 16, Wedding at Pajarito Mountain
- Saturday Aug 23, Beer & Band at Pajarito Mountain
- Wednesday Aug 27, 6-8 pm, Santa Fe Bandstand on the Plaza
- Thursday Aug 28, Wedding gig in Las Vegas, NM (not NV--we aren't that cool yet!)
- Fall piano lessons start September 1
- Saturday Sept 13, Los Alamos Ashley Pond stage 2:30-4 (Science Fest), then the Cowgirl Bar & BBQ in Santa Fe from 9-midnight

The rest of the Affordables are also playing gigs on Aug 24 in Albuquerque and Sept 12 in Los Alamos, which I've bowed out of, but please go out and see 'em if you get a chance.

------------------

Man's best friend on a ski trip in the Jemez Mountains a few years back. No, Rossignol did no pay me to put their name in this shot. But maybe they should! (I love those skis, BTW.)

A few weeks ago, I was walking with my dog, Rusty the Chocolate Lab, on the trails behind my house, and musing on the pet/human relationship. This musing came as a result of reading some John Gehrach (I just finished his book Standing in a River Waving a Stick which is of course about fly fishing). He was observing the relationships hunters have with their flushing/pointing/retrieving dogs. My dog and I are tight, too, and it stems from our time together training for search and rescue work.

Man's best friend, the much younger model, circa 2006, shown lounging in our freshly mulched backyard of sticks.

Rusty came with the house we bought in 2003. He'd been living with the previous owners of the house and was a year old when we got him. At a year old, he was pretty much a 70-pound puppy and barely knew how to sit on command. So, we went through basic obedience class. At the time, I was very involved in ski patrol, and was looking for some search & rescue (SAR) stuff to do in the summer. So, Rusty and I did agility training, wilderness tracking, and wilderness air-scent search training. The following winter, we tried avalanche rescue training.

One winter we trekked up to Monarch Ski Area in Colorado. Here you can see Rusty's hind end as he searches for someone buried in the snow. Avalanche SAR training and work is pretty tough. 

That was before I had kids, when I could spend an evening and a Saturday every week training a dog, when I could travel a weekend or 2 a month to train with some SAR guru or another (I did have the distinct pleasure to train with Elane Flower (who trained Sizzle, one of the best SAR dogs I've ever seen), Sue Purvis (SAR volunteer, excellent dog trainer, and all-around good person from Crested Butte), and Patty Burnett (who literally wrote a great book on avalanche dog training). I ended up with a well-trained, well-behaved dog. Rusty and I were a month or two away from trying for the New Mexico state certification for K9 SAR when my son was born 2 months early. That put an end to our K9 SAR career, which was for the best. I liked the idea of being a SAR dog handler, but the time commitment was getting to be a bit of a drag (and I had some music projects poised to take off!).

Rusty has been a great family dog. The kids love him, and Rusty helps keeps track of them since they are part of the "pack." Rusty ran, biked, hiked, backpacked, and skied with us. For a long time he could ski as hard as I could (A while back, I put up some pictures with Rusty skiing; you can see them here). But that's changing. He's getting to the age now (12!) where he is slowing down dramatically. A long walk leaves him pretty tired. The heat of summer requires early morning or late evening walks to beat the heat. He has a hard time jumping up into the back of the truck. But he still needs his daily exercise, just like the rest of us.

The old dog could still bound through the snow last Winter (Dec 2013), though at a slower pace than he did 5 years ago. Note the gray eyebrows and muzzle--he looks so distinguished. My gray hairs make me look "distinguished," too.

We ran into one of my wife's former co-workers (Debbie) and her black Lab (Noche) the other day on the "new" trails near our "new" house. Noche is one of Rusty's old dog buddies and is currently 13 years old. His hips are failing, he tore an ACL in a hind leg, and his muzzle and legs are all gray. Still, he was out for his 20-minute walk, same as every other day. As I watched the Rusty's and Noche's faces light up (and tails wag) when they saw each other, I realized that we all need a buddy, especially as we get older. I also realized that we all need to keep going, keep running, keep searching for that hidden rabbit, right up until we can't anymore. I also realized that 13 years old in "human" time is the equivalent of 91 or so "years" of dog time, give or take. I hope that if I live to 91 years old, that I'm as spry as these old dogs.

Thanks for reading!

On Completing a Long-Term Goal

I'm sure you've been waiting for my next input with baited breath. I apologize for the delay! Fact is, I've been swamped. It looks like the next couple weeks will give me a bit of a breather, though. I just completed a long-term goal that should help free up some time and mental energy, and it feels great to be done with it and to have had it go off as well as it did.

Some of you may have read my post on quitting ski patrol. While I stand by that decision, it didn't come lightly, and there was one obligation I needed to complete before I could quit: teaching Mountain Travel and Rescue Level 2 (MTR-2) in my region of the National Ski Patrol, and laying the groundwork for the future success of the program in our region.

That's me, bringing up the rear at last year's MTR-1 class I led down at Ski Apache near Ruidoso, NM. That smile hides the fact that I'm secretly jealous of Brian's (the guy in front of me in black) lightweight, streamlined pack. Lightweight backpacking might be a next endeavor. Stay tuned...

Why, you may ask, did I need to do this class? Why didn't I just make a clean break, right now? I can't tell you how tempted I was to just call it good, especially with my recent bouts of back pain. But the short answer is this: I said I would (as far back as 2008). The long answer is, well, longer. I had the unique combination of coursework, rescue, practical, and teaching experience to plan and execute. I was interested in doing it and I enjoy the subject matter. I had been planning this thing for roughly 5 years. Issues with my back postponed it twice (and nearly cancelled it this year, for a third time). There were a couple people who were interested in becoming MTR instructors and needed this specific class to realize that goal, and since I've applied to jobs that would take me out of the area, I needed to get it done for those folks.

By all accounts--from students and my fellow instructors--the class went really well. I plan another blog post to describe the course and show images, but this post is an attempt to come to terms with the joys and sorrows I'm feeling. I incorporated ideas from other classes I'd taken and added a couple ideas of my own, like staying in a yurt/hut/cabin, doing a good bit of ski touring, and a night-time search & rescue exercise. I wanted to challenge people but not destroy them. We streamlined the lectures to coincide with and fit into meal times in the yurt, and spend most of our time during the weekend in the field. I had a blast.

A couple students putting an improvised splint and improvised litter to use in this year's night-time search & rescue exercise. Tracy, the Queen of Good Sports, acted as "patient."

I'm particularly proud of this class. I've organized 5 of the MTR-1 classes, and been involved in teaching several more. But the MTR-2 class required much more logistical wrangling than the level 1 courses. The level 2 course required me to refresh some of my knowledge in order to teach it, and to dust off some of those climbing/rope handling skills I'd learned and forgotten. It's said that in order to truly learn something you should teach it to others, and it is from that point that I have approached everything I've taught.

While it was enjoyable, I'm glad it's over. I'm exhausted. I typically get family and alone-time during the weekend, which I need to recharge, but that didn't happen this weekend. I was surrounded by 7 other people who, while they are great folks, are not my family. During the week prior, I was finishing up the details for this class and wasn't really focused on anything else, including sleep. So, my body says I need some catch-up.

There are, of course, mixed emotions. I was planning this course as a last "hurrah" in my ski patrol career for a while. I've pretty much left the Pajarito Mtn. Ski Patrol, and my involvement in patrolling at all has been minimal for the past few years. Like all big organizations, National Ski Patrol has its bureaucracy and corruption, the details of which I won't go into here, but it's annoying enough to make we want to avoid it. That said, I have really enjoyed the Mountain Travel and Rescue curriculum in its breadth and flexibility. No other discipline in the National Ski Patrol education programs offers the same range of topics. The MTR classes cover everything from nutrition and clothing to avalanche safety and search and rescue. And I love teaching other folks (I'm looking to make a career change to teaching, in fact). The people I've met, taught, and learned from have kept me involved this long and make it really hard to stay committed to quitting. Still, it's time for me to focus on my own kids, getting them out on the slopes and in the hills, and give them the opportunity to enjoy the activities that my wife and I have loved so much through our lives. Who knows? In 10 years, we may all be patrolling together! I guess the bottom line is this: while I enjoy teaching these courses, my energy is needed elsewhere.

Here, I'm (in red) demonstrating one way to make an improvised litter from skis and a snow shovel, again at Ski Apache. Lizzie the Jack Russell Terrier and her owner (in blue) look on.

Take care, and thanks for reading.

Ghost Ranch, "The Secret," and Upcoming Events

It's been an interesting few weeks of pain and recovery. My back was giving me fits, so I took a trip to a chiropractor last week (Merry McIntyre here in Los Alamos) and she got me all straightened back out. I'm feeling a lot better this week and am contemplating a run or two (went to the gym Monday). The family & I had a nice hike on Sunday up at Ghost Ranch (to Chimney Rock), and the imaginary needle that's been stabbing me in the lower back and hip went away.

Almost there. It's only 1 1/2 miles each way, so it's a great trip for those with short legs. In the right half of the picture, you can see Cerro Pedernal (the flat topped one) and Chicoma Mountain in the background, Abiquiu Reservoir a bit closer, Chimney Rock almost straight to the right of the people. And in case you're wondering, it is damn dry right now for February. And warm. I could have been hiking in a short-sleeve shirt.

If I was a crow, I'd hang out there, too. Fantastic view. You could watch stuff die for miles in every direction. Chimney Rock is just out of the picture on the left-hand side.

I've been thinking a lot about "The Secret," and while I couldn't get very far in either the book or the movie (too much of a sales pitch for the goal of becoming rich and famous, which I don't care about), the premise has stuck with me. That premise: you can shape your own destiny, not just in your actions but by your thoughts and words. In their (the Secret people's) words, "Everything is possible, nothing is impossible." So, while I've been thinking a lot on back pain and recovery, and my mantra has been "no more back pain, please" the universe hears "pain" and throws it back to me. A couple nights ago I changed my mantra to "wellness, wholeness, strength, flexibility" and I'm already looking at it differently and feeling better. Part of the good vibe is certainly the chiropractic adjustment mentioned earlier, but PMA (positive mental attitude; term courtesy of Scott Beguin!) goes a long way.

I'm working toward a couple fitness goals. First, I want to get back into Karate. I'm starting to miss it, especially for the hip flexibility it promotes, but I'd really like to avoid landing flat on my back again (which is what precipitated this latest bout of back stuff). I'm still at least a month out from that goal, as I need more core strength first. Second, I'd like to run another half-marathon (I'm looking at the one in the Valles Caldera in June). I'm hoping to start training for real this week (got a nice trail run in tonight), which should give me plenty of time to get my mileage up. 

That's all the insight (and time) I have for this week.

On my calendar:
- Feb 22 gig with DK and the Affordables, Pajarito Pub & Grill, 8-midnight, $5 cover
- Mar 8 fly tying class at Warm Hearts Yarn, 1-3 pm, $20 per person
- Mar 15 gig with Craig Martin Experience, Betty Ehart Senior Center, fundraiser for the Empty Bowls Project.
- Mar 21-23 weekend, Mountaineering class for ski patrol.

This weekend I'll be working in the wood shop/garage finishing some projects for the kids, teaching my daughter everything I know about archery (which isn't much), practicing Affordables tunes, arranging some music for CME, and working on an art project (giant flies tied from recycled materials) for an upcoming show at Fuller Lodge. Stay tuned!

Thanks for reading, and have a great week!

Friends in the Great Outdoors

"I've got a good old friend who's seen me at my worst
He can't tell if I'm a blessing our a curse
But he always shows up when the chips are down
That's the kind of stuff I like to be around" -----Guy Clark, "Stuff that Works"
 
First, PRAY FOR SNOW! We are in that typical New Mexico snow-free doldrums of January. Hopefully things will pick up soon and we get our February and March allotment of snow. Otherwise, it's going to be another flammable spring and early summer.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Next, my gig schedule into March:
--Jan 25, Dixie Girl Restaurant (Craig Martin Experience), ~7-ish
--Feb 8, Blue Window Bistro (Craig Martin Experience), benefit for the K2 Women's Weekend (and breast cancer research)
--Feb 22, Pajarito Pub & Grill (D.K. and the Affordables), 8 pm
--March 15, Betty Ehart Senior Center (Craig Martin Experience), benefit for the Empty Bowls Project

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Finally, this week's musings--

Initially, this post was going to be about outdoor gear and clothing. I have some great stuff that I really like, from the EMS Bergelene long underwear that they'll have to peel off me when I'm dead, to the Marmot Dryclime windshirt that is either in my pack or on my back, to the crocheted wool hats my wife made me, to the Black Diamond "flicklock" adjustable poles. Backpacks, skis, other jackets. the Jetboil stove. Initially, I was going to write about that stuff, but in the end, that's pretty boring, and doesn't speak to the theme of "abundance" that I'd like to explore over the next couple posts.

Always watch out for G.A.S.--Gear Acquisition Syndrome.

I was thinking about gear because I was putting my stuff away last night after a fairly short, but fun, ski tour near Taos Ski Valley with my friend and ski patrol colleague Scott. I'm teaching a ski patrol class in March and we wanted to check out the area where we'll be conducting the class. Of course, we didn't skin in silence. It was great to catch up and discuss the joys and travails of having children, talk about work, and lament how "soft" we've become, which was made even more obvious when we were passed by Sam, one of the local, premier, Los Alamos hardcore mountaineers. Anyway, Scott and I did a few great trips together back in the days before kids, but haven't been backcountry skiing together now for a few years. It was nice to know that an old relationship like that can click back into place. During the past ten years, we've trained together on rescue toboggans and in first aid, spent hours in the car to and from ski patrol education classes and other destinations, and rebuilt avalanche and mountaineering programs at our local ski patrol and regionally. I'm proud of what we've accomplished, both on and off patrol. Off patrol, we managed a somewhat rare descent from the summit of Wheeler Peak together (rare due to the westward, wind-blown face we chose to ski) in 2004, and a few other backcountry days here and there. (Scott's other exploits in Colorado and Northern New Mexico, though, are also noteworthy. Search for him on SummitPost and you'll see what I mean.)

This reflection took me back to other trips and partners. My friend Ryan and I spent a lot of time climbing in Rocky Mountain National Park when we lived in Fort Collins. Routes like Taylor Glacier, the Spiral Route on Notchtop Mountain, and Dream Weaver were our favorites, though we also went to Ouray to ice climb and did a lot of skiing (and driving) in (and to and from) Utah and Colorado. Matt H. was always up for a ski tour, no matter how big or small. He was also a patroller and frequent companion on our ski patrol education trips. Just try and keep up with him. Mike D. is a newer backcountry ski buddy of mine, and we explored some of Cumbres Pass on skis last spring. I'll be calling him again. D.K. is a great band mate, but has also been involved in a few of my adventures, such as taking my second MTR class in 2005, and setting up several trips in the Jemez to ski, fish, or camp. My brother in law, Chris D., also makes this list as he's put up with my slowness on several climbing and skiing trips. Mark W. was my most reliable running buddy, and we did many "lunch laps" together at our local ski area. Regardless of the company I keep on a particular day, it seems like every time I go out and tick something off the top of my list, 5 more things are added to the bottom. I'm thankful to be surrounded by folks who inspire me to take on new challenges.

On the summit of Wheeler Peak with Matt H., showing our brand affiliation. Photo by Scott.

So, while this post started as an account of my favorite gear, it evolved into celebrating good friends. My take isn't necessarily novel, but here it is: what matters to most folks--be they hunters, gatherers, hikers, bikers, climbers, knitters, worshipers, artists, musicians, or skiers--is the fact that they can find a few like-minded souls to congregate and venture out with. I count myself lucky that I have a few old friends that I like and who can stand to be around me. What's more, while we each choose our *insert activity here* buddies based on how well they *insert activity here*, some of the most important and friendship-determining time occurs in the car, on the approach, over lunch, or in the pub afterwards.

Scott, Ryan, Matt B., Matt H., Mike D., D.K., Chris D., Mark W., and others I'm sure I've forgotten: thank you for the turns, tours, and climbs of the past, and here's hoping for many more.

Ryan H. near Mt. Tukunikivats, UT.

Of course, my wife should get special mention here. She holds the ultimate place in my co-adventurer ranking. We've skied, backpacked, climbed, hiked, created art, grown food, remodeled houses, raised kids, celebrated, lamented, laughed, cried, and learned together. We have spent hundreds of hours in the car, tent, hotel room, and kitchen discussing and planning the next adventure. While the journey hasn't just begun, it will continue as long as we're both alive.

The Mrs. and her bro, Cerro Rubio, NM.

"I've got a woman I love, she's crazy, paints like God
She's got a playground sense of justice, she don't take odds
I've got a tattoo of her name right through my soul
I think that everything she touches turns to gold." ----Guy Clark, "Stuff that Works"

Thanks for reading, and have a great week!

First Tracks

For me, a skier since I was 5 years old, first tracks meant getting out the door at some ungodly hour to brave challenging road conditions (traffic or snowpack or both!), and/or find a mountain and start moving. The goal was to be the first person on the mountain, either riding the lift up or hiking up to ski down. I've skied--downhill, cross-country, and backcountry--in 7 states and Canada. Blizzards, snow-packed roads, jack-knived semis, and traffic jams were my frequent companions. I have poor circulation in my feet from standing around in the snow during too many avalanche classes. But I've logged many miles in the mountains in pursuit of something else, something beyond, and yes, the bragging rights that come with being the first one there (or maybe even the only one!) and doing things that few others will or can do.

When I lived in Colorado's Front Range, ski traffic was a horrendous ordeal: it caused more fear in me than the impressive Rocky mountains, and contributed to the desire to move. Avoiding traffic motivated creative schedules (up at 5 am to beat the traffic then leave the mountains by early afternoon), added expense (meals out, lodging, etc.), off-the-beaten-path destinations, or spending the night in the car. Here's a morning after a chilly night on Tennessee Pass, CO in my wife's old Subaru: We got up, had our oatmeal, and toured around the pass, but we were back on I-70 by early afternoon to, you guessed it, beat the traffic.

Then we moved to Los Alamos, where Pajarito Mountain is 20 minutes from town. First tracks are closer, but, in some ways, more difficult to get because the outdoor community in Los Alamos is extremely motivated. There's always someone who got up earlier, went further, and climbed higher.  

While I've slowed down a little, I don't plan to quit the mountain lifestyle any time soon. Here, Rusty the dog and I are getting first ski tracks on a beautiful Spring day near Wolf Creek Pass (photo by Ryan Hess)

in the Nambe Chutes near Santa Fe on another, cloudier, Spring day (photo by Scott Hsu)

 and on Wheeler Peak, New Mexico's high point (sans Rusty; photo by Scott Hsu).

Come to think of it, though, those pics were all taken about 10 years ago. A lot's changed since then.

Like having kids.  Here we are in our local Jemez Mountains, getting a different kind of first tracks (yes, that's me pulling a kid in a sled on my lightweight Nordic gear; photo by my lovely wife):

As you can see, my accepted meaning of first tracks has relaxed a little. I was musing on this little revelation the other day while out walking with Rusty the dog. Even at 8:30 in the morning, we were the first ones out on the local trails behind our house. I could hear the crunch of the snow, feel the crisp, cold morning air, and see the tracks that the crows and coyotes had left during the previous night's snowfall as they, too, were looking for something.  Rusty and I got first tracks that morning, and it didn't involve traffic or treacherous roads or a long hike. Rather, it required an openness to what was: the fact that we were the first ones out on the trail, getting some exercise, and enjoying a little fresh air and solitude.

Maybe that's just the persistence of time, the willingness to compromise on what we will endure for bragging rights. Now I'm as apt to brag that we can get the kids to bed by 8 pm, or that I got a chilly but beautiful moonlit walk, as I am about anything else. That said, Pajarito Mountain is currently blanketed in snow, and I'll be digging the skis out for their season prep sometime this week. Hopefully Sundance run stays un-tracked for another few days, but I doubt it will.

As a parting shot, here's a picture I took that I think captures the essence and spirit of "first tracks."

After a light snow a couple years ago, the boy put on his winter clothes, went to the garage, grabbed his cross country skis, headed out to the back yard, and toured through the garden. Adventure, it turns out, is where you find it.

Thanks for reading, and have a great week!