Alaska 2008
Yesterday, while driving to the “Wallace Compound” I spied, high in the air, a flock of Sand Hill Cranes. They are heading south very early this year. I suspect this means that it will be a very cold fall hunting season. Normally, they begin to head south around September 7th. Once they fly over you can count on the Northern Lights to flicker in the night sky; wisps of white, blue-green, and purples. Sometimes it looks like two children playing with flashlights between the mountain ranges. The beam of light appears drunk from the beauty below, staggering this way and that with no real rhyme or reason.
Melancholy becomes me.
I sat on a bucket today and talked to my old, dear friend, Cheyenne. He is lame and will not be going out into the bush as my guide horse this year. I light up my best cigar, put hay at my feet and spoke to him of our many adventures together – some good, some awesome, some painful.
I recalled with great clarity one particular day that we went to retrieve Dall sheep meat at five in the morning high in the mountains. A Guide and Client (I was a wrangler at this point) could not manage to bring it out the previous day. So, I saddle up Cheyenne and the pack horse, Tec and headed down stream to a ridge where I would climb until the tie off point. Along the way I was admiring the day’s beginning and not paying any attention (silly me) to the task at hand. Cheyenne stopped dead and I almost continued forward over his head. He was snorting and thumping the ground. I looked down to see a steaming pile of bear shit! It looked like someone had killed Boo Berry. It was huge! I immediately pulled out my 44 11 inch barrel hand gun and moved Cheyenne down stream, singing “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” replacing words with my own about my Hero Coke Wallace. (It gave me courage). We headed down stream double time and came to the apex of the ridge just as the sun hit us. It was warm, spectacular, and one of the greatest moments of my life! Down below were three huge caribou walking up stream. It was like a scene in a movie, all the while music from an emotional soundtrack played in my head. I wished right there and then that my mom, dad, and any girl I would ever date could see me.
Cheyenne, Tec and I enjoyed the morning sun as I pulled out a cigar, lit it up and watched the morning dew upon the alders. It was a moment I will never forget. If I were to die, I would want that scene of the early August morning on my tomb stone. Cheyenne and I talked for some time. The cigar was long enjoyed by the time I stood up (the best I could, my back tighten up.) Tearfully, I hugged his neck long and hard. He isn’t the horse he once was. Nor am I the naive wrangler. He symbolizes greatness and patience. He taught me to trust him. Hell, many, many times I looked to him for guidance in the mountains. He saved my ass many times and I returned the favor. I told him that I loved him – lame or not. To me our friendship will never end.
