The sheer darkness of the early November morning should have been enough to send shivers down my spine, but it did not. Paired with the crisp, cold air and lingering snow I should have been freezing, but I did not feel it. As we lumbered up a ravine left icy from sunny days and cold nights, I should have been nervous, even scared, but I felt nothing except contentment. Though I could not see him, the soft sound of his even breathing and the snow crunching lightly beneath his boots soothed me.
We had been climbing upward for more than an hour and he was still not winded. Hiking up mountains is in his blood and it shown outwardly as I huffed and struggled to keep up with his pace. Being born and raised at sea-level, the high altitude and tedious climbing left my lungs and muscles on the brink of surrendering. I relished every second of it. Each time I thought about giving up on the difficult trek I caught a second wind and I had never felt more alive. Even the smallest of steps forward felt as if I had accomplished the biggest mountain in the world. It was empowering.
Twilight began to cast shadows around 7 a.m. and physically I felt the two hours we had been at it, though mentally I did not. I had already asked to stop three times for water or to shove more peanut M & Ms into my camo pockets to fulfill my incessant need to snack. If my inability to keep up with him annoyed him, he didn’t show it. Instead he smiled at me and joked every time I slowed to a stop to catch my breath. When I asked how much further he would say “about 15 minutes” with a laugh because the dim light prevented him from knowing where the summit was.
As the sun peeked over the mountaintops, I could see we were close to reaching our destination. The sky was clear and the variations of orange and yellow haphazardly strewn across the snow by Mother Nature was breathtaking. Until that moment, I did not know such colors existed and I was certain the reflection of the white powder was the only reason they existed at that point. I tightened my pack and shifted my rifle from one shoulder to the other as I prepared for us to make our ascent. It seemed the closer we were to the top, the longer it took to get there and my body ached.
When we finally reached the summit he took the time to point out various mountains from his childhood and tell stories pertinent to each one. Stories such as “and on that mountain over there I shot a six by six bull elk. He rolled down a rocky hillside and it took three of us an entire day to pack him out” or “I lost my favorite hat to some high wind while looking over a cliff when I was in my early twenties”. I stood in amazement and marveled over how grand his childhood must have been. I was envious.
We walked to the other side of the mountain to peer over the edge and search for elk. We saw only a small doe. Although it was an upgrade from the birds and squirrels we had seen earlier in our journey, she was not what we were after. She peered at us briefly and seemed to sense our thoughts through whatever natural channels animals use to recognize imminent danger. Satisfied that we were not going to harm her, she bent and nipped the tips off some tall grass that remained above the snow before trudging down the hillside.
As we continued to follow the telltale signs of elk, I could not help but periodically stopping to stare at my surroundings. The green trees that lay in swaths on the mountainside created a stark contrast against the snow and kept my attention most of the time. A blizzard hammering a mountain to the Northeast stole my admiration of the landscape before me. Slightly concerned, I turned to ask him if he thought we would be caught in the same storm, but the words were lost when I saw him standing against the majestic backdrop that Montana provided. He looked like he belonged right there in the snow. Everything about him fit perfectly. His stance, his features, the way he tilted his head when a branch creaked or there was a random crunch in the snow. The well-worn hunting attire he donned along with his beard, gun, and pack made him look nothing short of a lumberjack.
After a moment of me staring at him and him gazing back at me with an expression that said “what the hell are you looking at” , I finally asked if we should be worried about the storm. He was quick to reply “no”, mostly to quell my fears I imagine, but also made a point to remind me that you really never know where blizzards may hit. A half hour later we were hit by that very storm.
The thought of the storm made me a bit anxious. Being from Mississippi I had never really dealt with much snow and had definitely never been in a blizzard. Although I had already lived in Montana for three years at this time, I still had managed to avoid it. Despite my initial fears I changed when we were encapsulated by the sideways snow. It stung any exposed skin like little angry frozen hornets furious that we were in their realm, but I remained calm. Fortunately, my only exposed skin was my face and, as long as I kept my head down, I could keep myself from the worst of it. I could hardly see my hands when I held them out in front of me much less where we were going so I followed his deep bootprints as we made our way to the distant treeline. While this made me feel somewhat childlike, and I’m sure looked childlike, it also left me with a zen sense of security.
If I had felt powerful before, I now felt like a superstar. Something as strong as this storm we weather couldn’t stop me, so what could? Reaching the tree line only furthered my confidence. He sighed at what lay before us: a twisted maze of thick, unrelenting deadfall. I smiled at the obstacle course ahead of us. This was my element. I had grown up hunting in a thicket, always having to maneuver my way through vines, trees, and brush. With each fallen log we climbed over and every set of bushes we squeezed through, he apologized for taking me down the mountainside that way. We really didn’t have a choice considering the storm around us and I was enjoying every moment, but I appreciated the thought he put into my wellbeing. I was also reluctant to admit I was much more confident walking through the forest than I would have been shuffling down the icy, treacherous ravine.
Being inside the forest was like being in an inverted snow globe, as if we were encased in glass while a mightier power than we shook the world around us. When the globe was tilted one way the snow flew east and when it shifted the other direction it flew west. The rounded bubble we were in shielded us well and the only sign of the storm was actually witnessing the large white flakes flurry outside our haven. Inside the globe the only noise we could hear was our own feet hitting the forest floor littered with branches and packed with evergreen needles. It was surreal. I have never felt more at one with Nature and I now crave that closeness.
When we reached the service road, he leaned his pack against a snow bank, sat down, and rested against it. I followed suit and my knees thanked me for the release from the long, arduous trek. He smiled at the relief on my face and twisted around to dig something out of his pack: two Coldsmoke beers, my favorite. While we drank our well-earned beers and waited for his father to pick us up in his side by side, I came to a realization: I did not find an elk, but I did find a home. We can love our hometowns and culture, but that does not mean it is where we are meant to be. Sometimes we wander a seemingly endless journey searching for that place. The place our heart calls home. The place that naturally feels right and warm regardless of the actual temperature. A place where you exist effortlessly. In that moment I realized for me, it is a place with endless wilderness, looming peaks, and adventure. It is Montana.
