The boy’s name is Mark (quickly nicknamed Funky Bunch or FB by my housemates in homage to the quite steamy Marky Mark we all know and love so well).  So after a chance meeting and a lot of information exchanged I am intrigued but don’t see him again for a week when I then run into him at the hospital coffee cart.  I sit and chat with him and there is instant chemistry and ease.  We talk for 45 minutes.  He seems great; adventurous, honest, funny, and seemingly does not have a lady in every town.  He shows me a suggestive email and a sexual door creaks open just a bit.  I go back to work and 30 minutes later get a text message from him.  Somewhere in there I open the sexual door a bit wider and we both proceed to walk right through.  I realize after some time that I am sexting at work!!  Holy shit!  What has come over me?!  Coffee the next day turns into an hour and a half of talking, laughing, flirting…this is getting good.  Playing hooky from work is suggested by Mark as is getting a drink sometime.  But alas we both return to our respective jobs and he leaves town that afternoon to head back to Seattle.  Hoping to see him again the following week, I keep my eyes open around the coffee cart.  Monday goes by.  No Mark.  Tuesday goes by.  Nothing.  Wednesday morning I’ve given up.  My coworker and I are rushing to a meeting over lunch and I hear my name called out a few times.  I turn, see Mark, beam (according to my coworker) and give him a big kiss on the cheek.  I run to the meeting but Mark suggests getting drinks the next night.  I’m super excited, go to the gym after work, get all dolled up and head out to meet some friends for dinner.  8:30 approaches and I haven’t heard from the guy.  I call in more friends and a housemate for respite and start drinking.  He’s losing points fast.  10:00 rolls around and not only do I hear from him but he’s just down the street and will be walking over shortly.  I’m smiling, excited again.  Then… James walks in!  WTF!  He comes over and says hi, chats it up with my friends.  Then… Mark walks in.  For about 20 minutes I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone.  And then James fades into the background.  Mark and I reconnect in a big way and he quickly regains all points previously lost.  I do give him a hard time about how the night had gone earlier and he says to me several times, “Katie, don’t sweat the small stuff.”  Right.  Me?  Good luck.  The night progresses to a walk to my car to drive him back to his hotel.  We make out by the truck and I swear to god the earth moves.  Our chemistry is insane.  So I drive him to the hotel and in a whirlwind valet the little purple pickup and get swept up to an 11th floor room overlooking the river.  We make out, no sex, but hot.  Again in one context or the other I hear him saying not to sweat the small stuff.  Again I think, ‘nice try,’ but only fleatingly because I’m otherwise engaged.  The morning rolls in slowly and I depart, knowing when he will be back in town but with no formal agreement to see each other again.  I walk out to get my truck, which is so clearly not in line with the other BMW’s and classy cars the valet is pulling in and have the following conversation:

Valet: “What’s the name under?”

Me: “Mark.”

Valet: “Are you checking out today?”

Me: “He is, but a little later.”

Valet: “Um, is the truck coming back?”

Me: “Nope.”

Valet: “OK. Do you need a map of the area or directions anywhere?”

Me: “Nope.”

By the time I get home I’m still chuckling to myself about the exchange with the valet and a really wonderful night with Mark.  I climb out of the car with my dinner leftovers and high heels.  My neighbor looks at me coyly… “I think we call that the walk of shame.”  I laugh outloud.  Certainly it is!  And I think to myself walking in the house, ‘but it sure was fun and life is short.  Don’t sweat the small stuff.’

New snow on the ground was providing critical information and detail about what was moving where, and when, but the more-or-less haphazard foraging tracks had been replaced with straight shot runways. Despite thoughtful consideration, study, observation and tracking to get me down to a 45 minute window, it still proved not enough and exact movements of the herd alluded me.

As the final weekend unfolded I was convinced that hunting pressures from below my ridge, wind patterns, and a brother-in-law who’d taken a shot with his muzzleloader on the far side of the range had greatly rearranged the patterns I needed to get within 30-40 yards. Sunday afternoon as I stood at the wall of windows of the home I watched new snow begin to fall and spoke a silent message to the herd that we’d resume in October, and for now I wished them the best against the toils of winter, coyotes and men with no heart. I turned to Brenda and let her know I was home for good and invited the kids to help me pack away the gear while I removed the broadheads from my arrows – A bittersweet activity.

I tried hard that evening not to think about it anymore. I told myself I could begin scouting in a few weeks, but for now I needed to recharge and focus on the Holidays. I decided I would go snowboarding Monday morning to help. Life was finding a new balance with a new winter season and the next morning I returned from the mountain with renewed enthusiasm for the other sport I love. A settled 4-6 inches from the snow I’d watched out the window the night before proved to be quite a treat.

As I unloaded the truck in preparation to head into town and a desk, I visited with a neighbor enjoying a late start as well. And then I saw it … a decomposing jack-o-lantern on my stone wall was knocked to the ground. I chose to investigate. As I neared, I saw them.

A set of tracks.

And another.

Now three.

And this one could have been a fourth, and looked big, looked late to the party compared to the other 3 sets … a tell tale signs of a buck.

Regardless of exactly how many there were, and who was what sex, the trails indicated they did not pass through. Rather, that night the deer came into my yard and rifled through Brenda’s garden as they searched under the apple tree, chewed away at the rotting pumpkins and otherwise stomped around enough to make it look as if they’d gathered for a winter ball. Like they knew it was over, and a celebration was to be had.

Laughing with my neighbor we marveled at what appears to be the herd’s understanding that the jig is up. And I felt honored that they chose The Shire’s porch to celebrate.

For several months I hunted them with everything I had. I left the home at 4 a.m. I stood silent in the woods until it was dark. I mentally battled mild hypothermia. I took hours to move silently across stands of trees into position. I studied wind patterns and set out into the forest accordingly. I practiced. I shot arrows from all angles. I shot arrows amidst mowing the lawn to simulate elevated heart rate and fatigue. I dialed in a rifle kill shot from 100 yards. I read almost everything I could to understand their behavior in the time that I had. And I got close a few times, and even released a drawn arrow once.

So in a unique sort of way, I felt honored they’d chosen my yard to feast. Was it taunting? You could see it that way. But me? I see it as a tip of the horns, so-to-speak. A subtle message that they know who I am and know I am now an element of their habitat that they cannot ignore.

And in the end, that’s why I started this. I look forward to seeing them again. I look forward to the hunt, and the kill, but in the meantime I have accomplished exactly what I really wanted – I became part of the wilderness cycle around me.

And the deer themselves told me.

One morning in particular, I’d headed out along the trail in an effort to circle around and catch the deer as they headed to their bedding area. Their evening movements were now really late (presumably) and I was shifting to morning hunts. As I moved up trail I found some tracks. I took note and moved on. Their location and direction were of interest, but armed with a bow in the dark, I’m not stalking a damn thing. Plus the single track was unfamiliar. I was looking for the threesome and it was no time to alter the course. I continued on and took a position high on the ridge.

More than an hour later, the rising sun was having little affect on my rapidly chilling core. Quiet woods only invigorate my curiosity and thoughts quickly returned to those tracks. I moved toward them for some investigation. I was fascinated to see that the tracks had come to a dead stop, moved to a flank and then doubled back and headed directly into the thick pine zone. They were from that morning and based on their pattern it looked like the deer stopped dead when it heard or smelled me coming, moved to observe or satisfy curiosity, and then moved safely away.

Outstanding.

I continued into the heart of my hunting zone with an intent to learn more than find. And I learned.

I opted to follow a set of tracks of what appeared to be 2-4 deer … More likely 3. The 3 does I’ve been seeing all fall.
Their trail was a straight shot. Not a lot of hunting for food with this morning line. Very little acorn scrapes and very little wandering. These girls were moving with a purpose. As I was looping back near my home I came to my original trail (picture that I walked a ridge south in the morning, dropped east down a slope , headed back north and then northwest to my original route) and made clear note that these tracks were not there when I first entered.

So they followed me in.

This was perfect. Their route of travel is an area I have become very familiar with. The prevailing winds normally do not work in my favor, but when they move in this direction they do … Which might contribute to their haste through the area at dawn.

I was giddy. I can make a position in about 45 minutes without much noise or physically working myself into a stink and they’d shown me they weren’t worried about crossing my trail. So there it was. Take the longway around before the sun rises and steady your aim.

Passed on the next morning to keep them honest, and set the alarm to leave the house at 4:30 am the following. The schedule was kept.

Right off the bat as I entered the woods and connected to the trail I saw a big track. Either the loner doe my neighbors and I have been seeing (a big girl) or a buck. Not a concern. Not what I was tracking. So I moved on.

Farther up the trail I came across a few more tracks … A bit out of sync from what I was expecting, and early, but movements were more jagged. Still no scrapes on the ground. Something seemed out of sorts and then I saw why. Paw prints. Multiple paw prints. Coming in from a different angle, but following. One of the prints was big. Big as my own dog … German Shepherd size. I hear the coyotes at night, but this was my first confirmed track. Some scat and bedding areas have been suspected, but now we had something real.

And it wasn’t dog. The added snow was wet and heavy. Movements weren’t just clear, but could practically be time-stamped in 15-minute intervals. These were all fresh. It was enough to take pause. With a headlamp barely illuminating the area around me, no firearm I could legally carry, and a bow strapped to my back, I took an account and opted to cut down the ridge earlier than planned and avoid the tracks heading down trail.

I moved on.

And then I came across them again.

Again.

And again. The hunt was on, and it wasn’t just me.

Soon I found myself crouched. My bow now in hand and an arrow slid through the basket … Not that it would do me a bit of good. The sun was over an hour from giving me anything in regard to light, and one arrow against a pack of coyotes would do little. On most occasions you can count on coyotes to avoid you. However, these were on a hunt, and I was standing in the midst of it. For the first time in years, I found myself afraid of the dark. I sat still and tried to listen. Nothing. Nothing ever makes a sound out there when you need it to.

I kept my light on although I wondered if it was giving me a disadvantage. I was nervous if I looked too far into the dark woods I would find eyes staring back at me. It should also be noted I’d recently learned the coyotes in our Vermont woods are sometimes called coywolves. Apparently as settlers eliminated wolves from the Northern seat of New England, coyotes from the great lakes region moved in and bred with wolves … Giving us a coyote different than the prankster-like critter found in Navajo folklore. Fear had a good grip and humility seeped over to respect. On this morning, I was no longer welcomed into the woods.

It was not long before I doubled back on my own trail and I was back at home. Pride took a hit, but once again I found myself in awe of the land.

And for the record, I don’t care what the law says, you can bet next bow season, I’ll have a sidearm.

Jeff and I have gone on 6 or so dates.

All nice, good conversation, he pays or I pay depending on who presented the invite.  He seriously believes in Sasquatch which is both head scratching and interesting.  He moves at a turtle’s pace romantically.  Each kiss has been PG and wrenched out of thin air.  Once he has a few drinks, this 29 year old turns into a 6th grader…He makes excuses to break away from the crowd only to fumble and foul up any romantic plan he may have had.  (‘Ah, have you seen my new snowboard and while were at I’m going to kiss you…on the mouth/cheek/chin.’)

Had I been strictly honest with myself I would have said, “Self, this is not earthshattering.  Move on.”  But apparently sometimes I like to beat a dead horse.  …Until New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day.

New Year’s Eve I get slurry drunken phone calls and several 6th grade texts, the best of which reads (verbatim)…”Holler if ya wanna meet fir a drank at Charlies later.  Ima drinkin the bubbs too!!”  Holy lord.  He sealed his fate on that one I’m afraid.  Needless to say I did not meet up with him on New Year’s Eve.

Instead I watched fireworks shooting out of the back of pickup trucks with snow falling all around, kissing no one.

It was glorious!

So, cut to the first day of 2010.  For some reason I’m feeling wild.  I start drinking whiskey and by the end of the night, probably had half a bottle.  But before that craziness ensues, Jeff decides to text that he will meet me at Charlie’s (once again) and buy me a drink.  ”I’m already here,” I text.  He shows up as I’m approaching the front of a very long line and says ”Oh hi, here’s a 20.  Will you get a pitcher for me and buy yourself a drink too.”  So I do, much to the dismay of others in line and Jeff’s friend’s advice just to wait in line themselves.  I hand over the pitcher.

A few minutes later I get a rather abrupt tap on my shoulder and turn to see Jeff.  “Was there any change from that pitcher?”  He asks.  “I mean what is a pitcher…11 bucks?”  I’m totally shocked but, hey, not going to argue.  I give him back all but what the pitcher cost, paying for my drink myself.  A girl friend close by watches all of this and is appalled and I try to keep her from making a scene.  Shortly after that a friend of Jeff’s insists on buying me and all three of my friends drinks.

FYI, Jeff, he just made you look even worse.  To sum up the rest of the night quickly, he again turns into a 6th grader, I tell him it’s not going to work out between us, I dance and party with friends, he gets plastered and pukes his brains out.

Welcome 2010…

Here I sit, sipping on the first of what will be four grapefruit injected flutes of champagne.  It is so refreshing and of course goes straight to my head.  So the flirting I absolutely blame on the champagne.  In strolls a somewhat scruffy gent with cute broken-in jeans and skater shoes.  He has a nice smile and breaks out in several pretty adorable happy dances while playing pool.

So I start to smile and swoon and cheers his success with my now empty second champagne flute.  He chats with Stacy outside while smoking(strike 1) and charms her.  She says he’s witty and personable.  As an aside, he tells her he’s a libertarian and votes committedly for Ross Perrot.  What do I know of this…or care?  Oh but that answer will come soon enough!  By the beginning of the third flute, the dude starts to leave and introduces himself before he does.  His name is Terrance.  Odd name.  Still a bit curious.  He leaves.  No love loss.

Stacy and new friend Kat (hate that name by the way) prod me to run after him and give him the number I wrote down on a slip of paper mid-drink #1.  I say no but apparently not aggressively enough.  Kat grabs the piece of paper and dashes out the door, running the man down and giving him my number.

Oh well, I think, what could be the worst thing…let’s have another drink.  I’m feeling buzzed and altogether forgetting about Christmas, which is a good thing at this point.  Contented…  Shit!  Terrance returns, not 5 minutes after the number exchange.  I’m instantly leery as he plops right down beside me.  He does not present any interesting conversation or ask any questions.  Just sits there.  I get an uncomfortable feeling immediately (strike 2).  Stacy and Kat try to break the awkwardness that Terrance clearly is not picking up on by asking him questions about himself.  As he answers them, he puts his hand on my knee…what the fuck!! (strike 3, 4 and 5).  The hand is swiftly taken off of the knee and I squeeze closer to the wall to create some distance.  Trapped.  The more this guy talks, the more I’m turned off.

Apparently a Libertarian such as Terrance hates people who “don’t matter,” abhors all holidays and has no interest in being any bit a part of society.  As he continues to cross personal space boundaries, I begin to tell him gradually that we don’t really have a lot in common and that I am no longer interested in pursuing a dating-type path.  Terrance then turns the corner fully and picks up strikes 6-10.  He starts to become a bully, berrating me with questions about “what exactly don’t we have in common?!”  And “how do YOU know we wouldn’t be compatible?!”  Pretty sure he called me a liar (while talking about myself…whom he knows NOTHING about) and continued to dig himself into an ass-type of hole.

Finally, after a total of about 15 minutes since he sat down, I am thouroughly exhausted and look him straight in the face…”I’m done.”  He hiccups back more insults that would surely not protect his ego the way he had hoped and just stares at me.  I stare back and repeat the statement.  Stacy and Kat, who admit later that they had no idea what to do to help the situation, sit slack jawed across from us.  Terrance gets up and casually announces that he will be hanging out with his friends and that “oh, by the way, I do care about what matters.”  “Good,” I say nicely, not entirely sure of what he means but no longer caring in the least.  I leave the bar shortly after utterly spent and shocked.

And to make it worse, I realize that trying to forget Christmas may have somehow summoned the libertarian Christmas-hater.  At home I play the only Christmas CD I have while staring at my potted plant strung with lights and more ornaments that it can hold with a new appreciation.

i call them bear eyes, but really it’s the bear hour.  there is a certain time of night when dusk blurs to dark. what’s left of the light makes the whole forest come alive.  every tree, stump, rock and log threatens like a bear.  they all seem close, huge, and menacing.  its not a good time to get to your campsite.  especially not after you’ve read the “active bear” sign at the trail head and talked to the ranger about bear activity.  i was spooked.

ps.  the alternate title was : how two grown men are really just scared of the dark.

pss.  the bear update:  the bear rangers in yellowstone told us that 2009 was a remarkable year for the whitebark pine tree.  the whitebark pine cones are a major food source for the bears in that area.  after our night at the lake, we were told that most of the bears were staying up at high altitude for the pine cones and not bothering to come down to camp sites or dumpsters.  oddly enough, the colorado bear report was the opposite.  because of the wet western spring, the berries here weren’t able to develop properly.  all of the bears have migrated down into town dumpsters to make up for the nutrition they didn’t get from the woods.  so in the end, we’ve only seen one bear.  and really, that’s just fine with me.