A BLINK

   The first day of archery season and we had not time to anticipate, no time to argue over what to take or leave behind, just time enough to yawn and wash the sleep out of our eyes, and leave the house at 3:30 in the morning. The old Dodge Diesel rumbled its complaints about the early-morning ignition.

   An hour later we parked the truck, gathered our gear and, through the dark of morning, tried to stay to the trail as it circled around the draw. We kind of joked as we blindly stumbled and crunched our way over the shale rock and branches. A good friend had said that there was a spring up in the middle of the draw that might be a good place to be on opening morning. So here we were sounding like a herd of elephants heading to water.

   As soon as we rounded the knoll a sudden smell of moisture hit our nose and a light babble of a small spring tickled our ears. As daybreak began, we found ourselves at the edge of a cozy meadow, in the middle of the draw. A breeze was lightly blowing down the draw behind us. Trace looked at me and smiled.  I cow-called to Trace when I was set. 

   When I noticed a movement to my right, a single cow peaked her head over the ridge. She stopped and surveyed the meadow for a moment then broke into a trot down the hill to water. Several more cows were lining the ridge through the trees. The sun was breaking over the hill, spilling light where a moment ago there had been shadows. A cow and calf broke over the ridge and the morning light made their coats glow a rich gold and dark auburn. The calf took off down the ridge bucking and playing to the water and the cow trotted behind. It felt like a dream had clouded my mind. I closed my eyes and reopened them. Trying to clear my crazy imagination, as another cow topped the ridge.

   Then a gangly spike peeked over, his two antenna antlers sticking up precariously, like they were searching for identity among the cows and calves. An adolescent caught between two worlds: the past he knew and the future where he belonged.

   Then I heard a strong throaty bugle from over the ridge. He came through the trees quiet, almost graceful with a careless attitude. His mind focused on the cow in front of him while his body jogged effortlessly behind. His nose testing, twitching, anticipating the heat of the rut that had yet to fill his body.

   Trace sat dead still. Watching with every sense that was within him. Time had stopped. Not even 10 minutes had passed since we were joking about how dry it was, with shale rock crunching under our feet. Five minutes, when we had topped over into the springfed meadow and three minutes ago, we had settled into our spots; two minutes ago, cows were coming to the spring with babies in tow.

   To comprehend these events was impossible. Trace tried to quiet his mind and let his eyes absorb the moment.

   The bull tipped back his head letting his nose lead him. The cow ahead of him trotted 10 15 20  steps ahead. And as he came into the clearing he stopped and let her go. He looked back into the trees that he had just come, hearing more mewing. As he turned he spied a small spruce. Whether he was frustrated with the chaos around him or if he imagined another bulls threat, I dont know. But he walked over to that spruce and challenged it. Dropping his head, tickling the branches with the tips of his horns. Then he pushed forward with his body, twisting his head with effortless strength, within the limbs. The spruce didnt have a chance. Satisfied, he backed up a step or two, leaving broken twigs and fragments of velvet behind. The challenge was over for now.

   How the bull didnt hear Tracy’s ragged breathing was a mystery, because to him it sounded like a freight train. No time existed, only awareness.

   The bull stopped midstride and threw back his head as if to bugle. Tracy held his breath in anticipation, the whoosh of blood still roaring in his veins. The bull took a deep breath then lazily let it out in three soft woofs.

  Woof. Woof Woof. As if to say, jokes on you. Then he walked to the water.

   The cows wanted nothing to do with him and trotted off and left the bull standing alone. The bull dropped his head to the ground, smelling around the water. His head behind a tree, his hips behind another, he was 29 yards from Trace. There was nothing to focus on but the front shoulder.

   Trace attempted to pull his bow back, he was at half draw. His arms started to shake, his muscles were like jelly. He pulled harder. His brain willed his muscles to pull but his strength had somehow left him; he needed a half-inch more to break his bow over and he couldnt seem to find it. The bull took a lazy step forward. Trace then put his chin on his draw hand and twisted his neck to help pull the string. He was at full draw.

   The shaking stopped, the ragged breathing was silenced. He could only hear and feel his heart beat pulsing through his veins, set his sight and releases. It was a clean shot.

   The bull took three giant strides, cleared the spring, then stopped. He walked 20 more yards then lay down, quiet.

   More cows came to water.

   I was 30 yards from my husband – we waited together – alone.

   The cows came and went; the bull remained quiet.

   Twenty unending minutes passed. A lifetime. Trace crawled up next to me, his eyes wide and unbelieving. He hugged me so hard I could barely breath. Then he said something that totally caught me off guard: I cant believe it, Kath, and to have you here with me. This is so unreal!

   I thought of the other bulls Trace had taken before and his words he had always said I wish you where there. He meant it. We sat and waited together.

   There was no other place I could imagine being.

   We call him Woofie, a bull of a lifetime, a gift no money could buy, and memories that can never be taken, for they are embedded in my mind and now on paper. To be shared with those who are interested or may have had a similar experience.

   Woofie’s carcass weighed 542 pounds on the rail, hanging weight. He scored a 377 green score, amazing for this country. A blessing, a gift, a moment in our blink of time, that will be talked about even after we are gone.