I swore I'd never stop

I swore I’d never stop.

Horn hunting was the coolest thing I’d ever done to make money. I was young and strong and could walk all day. Elk antlers were worth $7 a pound, the country spectacular, and the grizzly bears -- fresh out of hibernation -- added an edge that I relished.

After a winter in Cooke City spent scraping by on whatever work was available, spring offered an opportunity to finally make a few bucks.

While snow still lay deep in the mountains, the foothills began baring off in April and I looked forward to a chance to walk on dry ground.

A couple of friends and I would get dropped off at a trailhead, spend a few of days in the backcountry gathering antlers, and then shuttle bundles of antlers back to the highway.

It was hard work, but never onerous because it always had the feel of an Easter egg hunt. And the harder the work became -- and consequently the more weight we had to carry -- the greater the financial reward, a fact that always lightened the burden.

From late March to late April we’d gather freshly shed antlers. Once we had a truckload it was time for a road trip to either Ennis or Jackson, Wyo., where we’d sell our harvest.

We’d often talk about extending the season, but seldom did. Real work always got in the way.

But we always looked forward to the next spring, counted on it in fact.

I swore I’d never stop.

And then I did.

I moved to town and got a fulltime job that included working the month of April.

Although this new job provided a steady paycheck and health benefits -- important with a growing family -- I told myself I’d still get out and look for horn when I could. But I rarely did. Or do.

However, I still think about it.

A lot.

I remember what it felt like to spot an antler on a distant hillside, and upon reaching it, spotting another, and then another. They smelled of sage and pine.

I remember walking elk trails through deep snow in dark timber to reach open hillsides where the herds grazed on new grass and forbs.

I remember the grizzly bear that treed me and then vanished like a ghost in the timber.

It’s been years now since I hunted horn. I still pick up antlers when I find them (I can’t help myself), but I’m certainly no longer a horn hunter.

And I swore I’d never stop.

Parker Heinlein is at [email protected]