The snow came, that great revealer, and with it came the elk herds, antelope herds, mule deer herds and the quiet shush of the slumbering winter world. We went out in it with our eyes and hearts wide open.
From our skis, on the first day, we saw a bachelor herd of elk in the sagebrush. To run away from us, they first ran towards us, traveling on the old, trampled trail they share with the deer and pronghorn, until they crossed the two track we were skiing — not twenty feet from our rosy, wind bitten faces. Farley was ahead of us and he reared back on his hind quarters and cowered in the snow as they passed. The world then was thrashing and humming with antlers, mild-mannered-testosterone, cold smoke and wild eyes.
We saw the way the snow had pushed the birds down low in the canyons. We saw how desperately they were feeding on spring moss when we inspected their crops in the evening, before dinner. We watched the fit survive and the unfit die. We saw how the Hungarian partridge fared best of all, more adapted to cold and deep snow. We saw the bony breast of the chukar, the fatigue of the quail who lives there on the tender threshold of his territory.
Sometimes the lives of the unfit were taken by our own guns and dogs and we didn’t feel badly about that. So thin were the quail, if we didn’t eat them, the coyotes, hawks or owls would have.
What’s the difference, in the end?
I saw that beautiful shift and sway and cycle of energy, of consuming and being consumed, that has always been and always will be, as far as the stars, and beyond them too.
Another day, while I skied alone, I saw the same herd of elk, the full herd, a herd of what I estimate to be 400 animals. I saw them out in the sage as I skied and they saw me. And to run away from me, they ran toward me again, on that same old highway the ungulates have been walking this winter, and once more they crossed my two track so close that I could smell the musk of their piss and wildness and fur and see the pupils in their eyes and Tater and I stood in awe and wonder as the snow-muffled thunder of 400 elk crossing took our breath from us. We waited while they all crossed our trail and at first I struggled to free myself from my gun and pack so I could recover my camera and photograph it and then the struggle began to take away from the holiness of the moment and I eventually allowed myself to simply sit there, squatted in the snow, hunched over my skis, arms wrapped around a hysterical dog as the elk passed us by. It occurred to me that everyone has been using the phrase “wild and free” lately and they don’t know what the heck they are talking about. They don’t know.
We skied down the hill from there into slightly lower country and as we came around the corner of a coulee, we came upon a huge bull elk, bedded down. He looked over his shoulder at us, his branching antlers cutting at the sky, slowly stood, jiggled his balls about and then trotted off through the sage.
I felt my human heart pounding.
I saw the way the mice zig zag between the sagebrush, darting between cover, trying to avoid the omnipotence of the hawks. I saw their tiny, pouncing, dashing footprints in the snow and understood their clever survivorship by the meaning of their tracks.
I saw a herd of pronghorn that was so big. So big. The biggest I have seen. Their bodies were electric in the sage, white rumped, bounding.
I saw the hard work and broad hearts and bright eyes of my dogs. I saw them live their instincts. I let them do the work they were bred for. I watched them follow their noses. I believed in them. I had faith in their abilities. I trusted in their body language. I brought home birds for dinner.
I shot so well. I outshot Robert. It was a miracle.
I shot my first, clean double on Hungarian partridge and we celebrated with a cold, numb-lip kiss in the field while Farley fetched them up for me and placed them in my hands.
We skied by headlamp. We saw the stars. We loved the moon. We drove home while sipping hot tea from a thermos. 
I saw a patch of bloody snow. I found the tail of a jack rabbit there. Just the tail. Soft and perfect — kitten grey on one side and ink black on the other. I pulled off my mitten, stroked the fur for a moment, then put it in my coat pocket to take home. I wondered if the kill belonged to hawk or owl. I’ll never know.
We hunted the place of hares. I have never seen such a thing in my life. When I looked up to the sagebrush covered hills above the creek and allowed my eyes to adjust, I could see jack rabbits moving across the snow like a plague — twenty rabbits, forty rabbits, sixty rabbits. They seemed to multiply before my eyes; double with each blink. All around me, I could see where they had stood beneath the sage on their hind legs and nibbled as far as they could reach up the branches. Beneath the sagebrush lay piles of mowed leaves, downy as feathers on the crust of the snow.
There were so many hares they had made highways, packed the snow beneath their long, broad feet, so that the trails held me up as I walked. As soon as I stepped off a rabbit track, I fell post-hole deep into powder.
We saw a parliament of owls. Oh, there must have been thirteen. I tried to count but they were whizzing around like mad and flapping those wide wings attached to weightless bodies. They had been roosting together in a tall clump of sage and as our quail hunt disrupted them, they rose up, beating at the thin air and we, so deaf to the drumming of their delicate feathers, marveled at their silent flight. I have never seen a parliament of owls like that. So close to me. So acrobatic in flight.
Later that night, on the drive home, I saw a great horned owl in a wind belt on the edge of a ranch. I called out “owl” as I pointed at it, but by then we were so desensitized to wild beauty it almost seemed ho-hum. Almost. No. Not quite.
No.
Never.
As we hunted, we heard a pack of wolves howling. The wolves go where the elk go. The elk are so low now the herds can be seen from the interstate that passes between Boise and Pocatello. I wish I could wake up one morning and see a wolf, riverside here, sipping from the turquoise-green as it rushes by.
We were looking for pheasant and quail but instead, we found porcupines. One was in a willow, high up in the skinny branches, shredding bark and slowly nibbling his dinner down. The porcupine is the North American version of the sloth but not as slow. I will testify to the fact since we saw a second descending the slope across the creek from us and he was covering ground at a porcupine-gallop. For a moment, I felt a little fear.
Naturally, I was compelled to do some porcupine research and the most important thing I discovered is this, “…porcupettes are precocious at birth.” Then, I laid there, crammed on our loveseat and covered in a cat, looking at Google images of porcupines and hollering at Robert each time I found a photo that was especially cute.
This is all to say that this winter, so far, has been incredible. Each time I step outside it’s as though I have entered a biology classroom and I’m gifted with all the truest teaching I have ever craved on the topic of the wild world around me. I would like to think that if I wasn’t hunting, I would still go out there, I would need no reason to go. But to have the reason to go out there to get my food is one of the greatest reasons of all and I have learned so much about my quarry, about my dogs, about my man and me, about being human, about being an animal, about how to move and think and feel, about how to sense, that I think I’m past the point of no return.
There’s no going back now.
The sun has set on any chance that I might have to be tamed in this life.
Oof. I’ve missed you and your writing. (I’ve been swallowed up, in a good way, by holidays and travel and work lately.) I agree with what you said about people having no idea what it really means to be wild and free. The phrase has become a mere hashtag, entirely unrooted in reality. I’m no hunter, but seeing large animals in the wild always makes me feel like a pekingese- frilly and frou frou and a bit out of my element. I saw a pod of orcas at close range (under sail, they approached us, we eased the sails to let them go by) and I’ll never forget the thumping of my little human heart as the dorsal fin of the largest male rose from the water- it must have been 6 feet tall. Graceful, powerful, menacing, the king of his world, totally unconcerned about me and my little boat. Wild and free. Amen.
Anyway. Thank you, as always for sharing your writing here in this space. It’s beautiful.
Yours-Beth
I’ve missed you too!!!
I still hope to meet you someday, Beth. It’s just so rare that I go coastal…despite living in the Methow Valley half the year.
Thanks for understanding what I meant by my “wild and free” comment. I didn’t mean for it to be critical sounding…it’s just that I have such a different definition of “WILD” than the average human being.
I want to hear more about your wild ocean encounters! Could I go out with you sometime? I’ll bring my camera. I know I’ll want to document life on that boat of yours.
XX
P.s. I’m off to do porcupette research, pronto. Important stuff.
Yes! Lovely! All of it. I was visiting home over the holidays and my pup found several porcupines in the Snake River canyon. We can attest to their gallop! I’ve never seen anything like it!
I AM SO GLAD that someone else has seen a galloping porcupine! Where were you? We’re living in the Hagerman area…I hate to think I might have missed you!
Such a treat to read your writings! I feel as if I was there, watching all the excitement around you.
Look forward to more.
Caryl
I am glad I was able to take you with me, in spirit.
LOVE having you here, Caryl!
X
Thank you for this.
My pleasure, Simone!
I’ve just been transported. My heart lifted.
When you described your experience, hunkered down, observing and being part of that massive-beyond-belief elk herd, many feelings and visions unraveled before my eyes. I’ve smelled an elk, too. I’ll never forget it. That is a wild scent if ever there was. I can only imagine that aroma from a group of 400! Mmmm…
In that moment, when you wanted to capture what your eyes were seeing, wrestling to find your camera…then resounding to just let it be…for once. Oh, Jillian, that reminded me so much, of so many times, when I am almost desperate to shoot a scene of unexpected mustang behavior that I feel will be “my last chance.” Just watch them, I have to tell myself. Don’t ruin the sacredness of the moment.
Thank you for this piece. It’s the best.
And don’t you dare leave that place! Ever! I won’t let you. You are one of them, now. Wild child. A fixture of that land.
I think this is the part of hunting that people most misunderstand. To hunt with a whole heart and to absorb the spiritual aspect of hunting, you’ve got to love the land and the wilds. You’ve got to. It’s a full immersion in the environment that gives richness to the act of hunting. We go out to get our food, but a big part of being out there is being a part of the food chain, noticing things, elevating our senses and understanding what is happening in the immediate world around us. It’s just so sacred. Truly. I wouldn’t trade my life for anything. I’m learning too much.
I know you have some of the same feelings when you are out with the mustangs. I hope I get to see the mustangs with you some day.
I might leave this place, this place in the high desert of Idaho…but I think we’ll always call Idaho home. We’ve become too much a part of the land here to easily divorce ourselves from it.
LOVE!
J
Halfway through this post I stopped and wept. By the end I was so uplifted, as if I too had just come in from the cold, from feeling vividly alive. Don’t ever, ever be tamed.
Bless you, lady.
I’ll do my best.
There is so much pressure, some days, to be other than I am…
X
I’ve never seen a jackrabbit, and I have no real reason to ever even think of them, but I literally just mentioned them and then clicked over to read this and there you are describing your sighting of multiple jackrabbits.
This has been happening a lot to me today. I think it means I’m in the right place. As are you!
Serendipity strikes!!!
XX
I love every single thing about this post!! What an incredible privilege to be out there soaking all that wonderfulness up! I’ve never experienced anything close to what you have, but feel so transported by your eloquent rendition of your experiences. Like Monique wrote above, don’t ever, ever be tamed! XX
I’m always happy to bring a piece of your spirit with me, out there. Thank you for being here. X
Freedom requires an awareness effort…love and heart with a spoonful of brain here and there…thank you for your loving capture of the land’s heartfulness…xo,hm
True enough! X
You never fail to bring me Home. ~~~ sigh~~~
XX
Once again…simply brilliant. Cheers.
Love having you here, Jeff!
You make me long for my more adventurous youth, my home, and a different life. Your writing as always is magical.
It’s never too late to become what you want to be. X
Hi Jillian, very beautiful, as always, but I have a question? I know your busy, and understand if you can’t respond, but I’ve been wondering for a while now… what are the collars that your dogs have on? It looks like they have a devise on them? Could you maybe explain to me? I’m so curious! Also, is there ever a fear that one of the elk, or any animal for that fact, could rush you and try to attack? I know you have your gun, but is there a fear that they might do that? I know this all may sound remedial, but I am honestly curious? I love it when you have anew post up, so breathtaking, literally takes my breath away~ swoon…….. Lindy~
Lindy,
Those are hunting collars. They have a shock box which emits an zap of electricity which we use as a last resort with our dogs — we have a remote that controls the collars. Our pups are trained to voice, whistle and hand commands in the field (and for every day purposes) so we rarely have to zap them but sometimes a bird dog really digs in and ignores a master in the field while on hot scent — they get excited and can suffer extreme tunnel vision…the only thing that can get through is a little zap.
I don’t mean that to sound apologetic. I’m not apologetic about it, either. Hunting collars are a wonderful training tool.
Also, on the flip side of the collar is a “beeper” that is stillness-activated. It sounds off when our dogs are locked up on a point. The beeper emits a piercing beep that sounds like the cry of a hawk so that when we are hunting grouse in thick timber or when our dogs are in thick sage on a low point we can locate them by ear in the field. We have very big running dogs that get up to a half mile out from us while they are working scent. The beepers tell us where they are so we can locate them, catch up with them, and then honor their points.
I’m not usually worried about being attacked by elk but I am aware that wild animals are WILD and I try to give them their space when I come across them. I don’t always have my shotgun with me and I don’t always pack my Glock while I am out. Sometimes I just go au natural and I depend on my senses out there. But I know what you are saying.
I guess I just don’t ever want to be ruled by fear. There are a lot of things that could happen to me when I am out by myself. But going out by myself is such a rich time, I won’t let myself be controlled by my fears. I just go. What will happen will happen and I will deal with it as best as I can.
Love having you here!
Lovely as always, Jillian! On the subject of porcupines:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UGz8jcbJjRw
You are welcome. 🙂
Oh Lord.
Yes, please let it be so. I can’t imagine you in any other setting, you seem right at home in this wild, awesome world. I just wanted to thank you for sharing it, I’ve been deeply inhaling your words and images for so many years now.
Susan, my pleasure.
XX
This post got me thinking about being human and being wild…
Here are some of my thoughts:
We, those of us with access to the internet, are not wild.
Being present in wilderness does not make us wild.
Shooting animals, with a camera and/or a gun does not make us wild.
We passed that point of no return so long ago!! We live lives that are highly dependent on the manufacturing and processing of SO many natural resources, especially oil. There is nothing wild about our down jackets, our fleece, our Goretex pants, our carbon fibre skis, the metal in our guns & ammunition and ALL the metal/plastic in our day-to-day lives. We would not be able to survive very long in the wild without a whole lot of support! (And even if we did, it would be an experiment, with a beginning and an end, not a way of life for us and our offspring.)
But all of us can recognize and appreciate (at least I hope so) the true wildness of animals, whether they be herds of elks or a hawk hunting in a farmer’s field. And who amongst us has not wished that we could not be like them, even if for a moment?!
Cheers.
p.s. staying with a friend who showed me your work today – I really like some of it.