I gulped, ...  not physically, but in my mind, as I agreed to recon the other side of `A' canyon. It looked like a long ways … my destination was not even visible across the canyon, and up around a rugged north facing nose. As a crow flies - probably only 3 miles, but there was a lot of terrain - a lot of vertical - in between. I would climb down to the bottom, up the other side, sidehill above the cliffs, and go on around, eventually meeting Terry on the other side, halfway up, this side of the farmhouse at the top. I was in good physical shape - of course I could do it - but I am older now, and not immortal. I have a wife, and five children. I would be looking for the elk. The wind would be at my back - so it would be recon only (little chance of getting up on anything for a shot). It would also be mid-day. I would be crossing `unfriendly' territory - property for which we didn't have permission to hunt - and, in fact, would get chased off of (or maybe arrested), if caught. And there was always the fear of getting shot at - though unlikely. And the terrain was open - certainly a man would stand out like a sore thumb, should the owner or his deputies decide to drive the road - or perhaps peek out the window of their cabin - if they were even there.

Terry would go back up to the pickup and drive all the way around - I would climb down, cross the private access road, down to the bottom, and up the other side. It was hot. Terry warned of poison oak in the bottom - the least of my worries. I was concerned about being spotted, and the rattlesnakes at the bottom.

I finished off his water, preserving 2 pints of my own, and some survival rations and an MRE. He climbed up, I down. The road was farther down than it looked from where we separated, and the creek at the bottom, farther still. Below the road was a small whitetail buck bedded beneath a bush. It was not a legal buck. Earlier, before we split up, 3 big bucks walked down the road, midmorning - as though finishing coffee and donuts, and were heading back to work. I had spotted one of the bucks earlier, in another brush patch, sharpening his antlers - and maneuvered Terry to get in on them - but before he could around on him, he, it had moved down to the road.

It was hard getting to the bottom. The `A' canyon and Snake River canyon have hillsides that look like `nice grassy walking' … but are actually cheat grass hiding small rocks. And there are not game trails, since the game have difficulty walking it also, and stay away. At the creek bottom I took a cowboy bath - of sitting down in the stream. It felt great. But I still had wide open country to cross. As I climbed up out of the bottom, something else was with me in the brush - a pheasant? … a deer? … maybe a porcupine, or coyote. I wanted, but didn't want, to know what it was. There was some comfort at least knowing it wasn't human. I just wanted up and out. I never saw what it was. The climb up was hot. Every step was deliberate. Power climbs and summer bike riding mid-day made it possible, but not easy. I could tell by the dust in the game trail that a lone elk had gone down the way I was coming up. Finally I got to the `fence' - on the other side of which was supposed to be friendly territory - written permission only - but Terry had not given me the permission slip - and maybe didn't even have them himself. I slipped under the fence and took a break - out in the open in the sun, but it was okay. I was obvious, but safe. I changed socks, drank a pint of water, ate some rations.

Once away from the fence it was still hot going until I got up to the cliffs; then I sidehilled. There were good game trails in the otherwise comically steep terrain. To look down made one dizzy, or potentially `mad'. The thought of game in such terrain was ridiculous - but actually the sign was there the heaviest. Deer tracks, mostly small deer, and coyote tracks. As I sidehilled around one ravine (chute) to the next - I jumped does and fawns. Once around the nose and into more open (but still canyon) terrain, I jumped a nice, tall-antlered muley buck, accompanied by whitetail fawn, and, around another draw, 2 nice whitetail bucks.

About where I would theoretically meet Terry, I broke radio silence. He answered, though in broken communication - he was evidently talking with someone - the people that lived in the farmhouse. I reported 2 nice whitetail bucks were coming up to the fenceline, supposedly ½ mile or so west of the farmhouse.

There was a `nice' road going up the draw. (Nice meant dirt instead of rock and brush.) I was anxious to meet, so instead of waiting `halfway' down, I decided to climb the road. Over the radio Terry indicated that the road would take me up to the farmhouse. I was confused - I thought the farmhouse was farther east - but I took his word for it and started climbing up the road. What I thought would be easy - was indeed difficult. It wasn't a normal road, switchbacking this way and that to keep the grade manageable - it went straight up the draw bottom - so if the draw was steep - so was the road - and it was. It was hot. I decided to play golf, taking off the hunting tip - stuffing it in the `quiver' - and putting on a target point. I was shooting my way pretty good up the road.

I came to a garden hose - nice clear water - and watering trough. I supposed the hose came down from the farmhouse - so I drank my remaining pint of water - and filled the empty bottle with the hose water, but I didn't drink - just in case its source was another (cattle trampled) watering trough. Soon I found where the hose originated - yes, another watering trough - glad I didn't drink. As I got closer to the top - a locked gate - a sign of civilization. But no farmhouse - only field. I radioed Terry, who still seemed preoccupied … "Oh, that dirt road … we're a half mile or so east."

Well, I didn't feel like just doing nothing, so away I went across the field. It was a recently harvested dried garbanzo bean field. The remaining beans were dry and very hard - but did make for some good carbs. I played garbanzo bean archery golf across the field to the farmhouse. Terry was at the pickup truck, sleeping.

Epilogue …

We never did find the elk that day … nor for the rest of the season. It did appear on some maps that the `unfriendly' territory on the north-facing side of A canyon was government land after all - but in some sense it was almost a moot point, since I still had to cross unfriendly land to get there - and the adjacent landowners treat people like the government land is theirs, anyway. And I still didn't have that permission slip.