Then Mark mutters under his breath, "Elk", and an outstretched arm points, we stop and watch as the old lead cow travels past us threw the timber 50 years away, then another, and another...OMG, there must have been 50 of them! the cows and calves chirping and mewing like an orchestra. But then the 51st one is a regal old bull, with dark chocolate antlers with polished "Silverttine's" falling back over his rump. Mark looks at me wide eyed . . . . I wink, and nod with approval.
It's days like this that remained ingrained in my memory forever, this is my thing, my life, this is why I hunt, and I LOVE it!