A First Elk Encounter
My alarm goes off, its 330 in the morning. I jump out of bed like a kid on Christmas. Today is my first solo elk hunt. The temperature outside is thirty-five degrees, clear skies expected. The entire town of Bozeman is sleeping and the streets are quiet. An hour later I'm behind the wheel, winding my way up a dark gravel road into the mountains, cell phone service is gone. I arrive at the turn-out of a dead end road, at the end, a gate. I unload my mountain bike, rifle and gear. One last chug of coffee. The truck is locked and the doors close. I begin the six mile trek into the early morning wilderness. The air is cool and crisp, stars emitting an illuminating light. I lift my bike over the gate, then my pack, lastly the rifle. I continue on gravel for another mile before the road turns to trail. Under the thick canopy of pine trees the starlight is cut off, blackness all around me. The towering forest continues in front of me for miles now. The mountain butti
