October 2021 - 47

achieved. This feeling among runners is
caused by exercise and a biochemical substance
called endocannabinoids which literally
improve one's mood. For an angler who
may not have exercised as much as a marathoner,
I suspect these " neuromodulators "
coincide with caddis or mayfly hatches and
trout rising to them in a back eddy. But I do
know that my best outdoor experiences all
have this one factor as a major component.
You will have planned, worked, done well.
You will have taken game or fish, perhaps
not a full bag, but that is of little matter. To
paraphrase Tom McGuane, this is serious
business. Along with it comes a serious and
tranquil reward.
I recollect a cow elk killed on a Colorado
spruce mountain and packed off in the dark,
but I remember more the wavering light from
the fireplace back home and the sound of elk
loin splattering in its own grease later that
night. I remember the taste of the bourbon
and seven and the calm space that my soul
lived in during that moment. The hunt was
one thing, but the " it " was another. It was
the hunter's high.
So that walk down the mountain those
a welcome, warm rain. A plumb gentle
rain, my soul at peace after having climbed,
sweated, worked, achieved and done it right.
This feeling - runners call it the runner's
high - is what it has always been about.
Not the taking of game, the trigger pull, the
trophy secured. Not the big brown trout in
the extended net, the slippery gasping catch
held to the camera. Not even the anticipation
that comes with a planned expedition ahead;
the packing, dreaming, map recon. For me it
is the plumb gentle rain. The after.
I recently sat on a porch enjoying a little
glass of brown liquor with an old friend and
two new friends. Three of us smoked cigars
against the occasional mosquito and watched
the light fall out of the sky and gray turn
black. The two new friends spent a week
with rod and reel in flung out corners of the
state and were awash, sated, accomplished,
years ago hangs like a favorite, comfortable
coat in the closet of my being, taken out to
be worn again and again and again. Not too
many years ago, I walked off a mountain
through the depths of a freak winter snowstorm
in early September to our camp in a
hidden meadow deep in the south Absaroka
Range. In the snowfall I saw my old hunting
pal - the same I'd ridden and hunted
with on that warm October day so many
years ago - at the game pole. He was busy
hoisting a good bull elk out of the reach of
grizzly bears. He turned from his labor and
looked at me, said nothing, then saw my
hands. Colored with the blood of a good,
young bull up the mountain, a bull ready
for a pack horse. He smiled and it seemed
as if the snowfall turned to a gentle, warm
rain carrying comfort and peace.
- Tom Reed considers hunting and all of its many
forms from his cabin office on his ranch not far from
Yellowstone. He is the author of several books including
" Great Wyoming Bear Stories, " available in the Game
and Fish Store.
- Lori Eslick is an illustrator, artist, presenter, children's
picture book illustrator, author and workshop leader.
She regularly creates illustrations for Wyoming Wildlife
magazine's Wild Country Dispatch column. More of
her work can be seen at eslickart.com.
Wyoming Wildlife | 47
http://eslickart.com
October 2021

Table of Contents for the Digital Edition of October 2021
