May 2023 - 46

WILD COUNTRY DISPATCH
Threads
I
Story by Tom Reed | Illustration by L. Eslick
n a wonderful little book called, " A Listening Walk, " the
late Gene Hill, the last, best outdoor writer, wrote the finest
dedication ever penned in a hunting and fishing book.
" For Jim Rikhoff who has enriched my life in all the ways I
consider important and given me both comfort and laughter
when I needed them. Although he has been largely responsible
for my not leading a normal, respectable life, we have, in
his own words, 'passed a good time.' Our companionship has
taught me the meaning of many things, but the two that have
been most outstanding are loyalty and hangover. "
Not long ago an old friend, one of three
whom I would consider the kind of comrade
that Hill considered Rikhoff, chewed back over
his years afield with friends. " How is it, " he
said, " that I can look back over 90 years and
think of only a few friendships that have that
something? It's a depth, a warmth. "
I got what he was saying. These are the allies
you want on your " end-days " team, who can
light a fire in the rain, put up a tent and get
dinner going after a long day. No nurse-maiding
here. I am lucky to have had three of this
ilk in this life. They are the kinds of buddies
who can listen to your sad laments about curve
balls, give good advice and share a glass of
empathy. It is said writers Tom McGuane
and Jim Harrison had that kind of friendship.
College buddies, they wrote letters to each
other on a regular basis for the next 50 years
until Harrison tipped over at his desk writing
poetry, pen-in-hand, a poet's death.
A few weeks after that night we shared a
splash of whiskey and tacos made from the
Alaska moose I shot with my old friend's rifle
- a rifle he carried and killed a black bear
with nearly 80 years before he passed over
the ridge to the great beyond. A week after
his death, his son and I went through some
old photographs, that sad exercise of grieving
survivors the world-over, and we found a
46 | May 2023
picture of my old friend as a young lad with
his comrades - boys he played high school
basketball with. One picture was of an old
pickup truck and a dead black bear. " Would
you mind if I took that picture? " I asked.
So now I have just two of those kinds of
friends for the years ahead. Not that I won't
hunt or fish with acquaintances, or hunt or
fish with friends of friends, but the word " particular "
is apt as one matures, refines, sifts.
Once, one of my amigos decided to take
his boss elk hunting in the high country outside
Dubois. I questioned his judgment before
he left and when he returned with a horror
story of a blizzard at 12,000 feet, a lazy hunting
companion who had to be coddled like an
unpaying client and rank incompetence in the
field, I couldn't help but tell my pal: " Well,
you were stupid enough to take your boss
elk hunting. " Giving a bud unending grief is
part of the equation. Better be prepared for
it to come back on you, too, and have a thick
skin about it. If you tap down your pride a bit
and take a moment to think about it, you'll
see it and say: " Yeah, you're right. That was
dumb on my part. "
We don't see each other much these days,
my elk hunting pal. He lives in Casper and
sends me pictures of trophy snow drifts and
his latest fox-trotting horse. On those rare
days we see each other it will be as if we are
sitting once again on bar stools in the Lander
Bar in 1994 without missing a beat. That is
a measure of a good friend, the kind you can
pick up where you left off with even if the
left-off was 10, 20 or 30 years ago.
Afield, we have this uncanny nature of
hunting at almost exactly the same tempo.
Maybe it is the experience, but our pace has
matched on young legs or old. If I ever top
a rendezvous ridge and have to wait for him
more than a few minutes, I will know he is in
trouble or has game down. Horses, elk and
wild backcountry, this we share.
The third amigo and I share a love of the
May 2023

Table of Contents for the Digital Edition of May 2023
