firm was still dark when I lonely Rawlins to hunt elk in the Sierra Madre Mountains godforsaken on the Colorado margin. I was, I thought, well prepared. In my pack I carried rope, a authorize hat, socks and gloves, some food, a plastic drainpipe tent, a activity blanket, several tactics to make fire further an aluminum pledge in which to abscess water if I had to. I had knives and a saw to bone out the animal if I had to traject out only the cheer. I was a transplanted Easterner. It was my first elk season in Wyoming. The "locals" didn't revel in "new comers" horning rule on their ample game hunting so, although they were willing to tell me how to hunt, they would not indicate where further unquestionably would not transact me along or go with me. They fabricated sure I realized that I had absolutely no chance of getting an elk. I was agog and confident, but once again, I hunted alone.
It was a sixty knot drive southward on rasping gravel roads to the national forest. When I'd surveyed the maps I hadn't realized that, in Wyoming, the national forest boundry indicated the very last tree. I crossed a rugged, almost barren wind blown highland. Sharp hog again ridges, dry cut bank washes and undulating sandy hills coverd with sparce sage brush and grass extended to each horizons because the majority of my drive. When the dawn began to hole over the Medicine Bow, whose snow covered peaks had popped into attitude approximately a hundred miles to the east, the country I was crossing assumed a stark, harsh beauty. The broken, dried outmost terrain began to emerge from the drab pre-dawn greys to glow in myriad shades of yellow and brown.
Dust rose from the wash board entrance behind me and quickly drifted eastward driven by the rush of bloodless October air over the Continental Divide. The downcast green creative and tufts of yellow grass squiggly and swayed in the ceaseless west winds. The countryside appeared beaten and tired. Crumbling, rocky hill tops, steep sided gullies and long drifted, sandy slopes tapering off eastward testified to the consistent assult of water also wind and of the rock division frosts that sculptured the "Pass Between the Mountains", that is Wyoming access Amerind tongue.
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