Yesterday afternoon I was suddenly finding myself in the clutches of a maniacal urge to sleep on hard, cold ground. Being unable to talk myself out of it, I grabbed some apples, granola bars, jerky, couple water bottles and bedroll. I rolled it all into a canvas tarp along with a few tent stakes and a hank of rope and headed for the area where I had hosted last spring's turkey camp.
I had wandered thru a series of meadows to the north of camp and wanted to scout the area a little closer in order to determine if it would make a better site for next spring's turkey camp. I wasn't sure I could find it right off, but what the hey? Guy has to try once in a while, right.
I found another spot that was every bit as nice as the mysterious meadow I cannot find, but this meadow also had an outcropping of Black Hills rainbow slate. The rocks would make good windbreaks for camping in rougher weather and with the impending rain, I settled.
Rain came on just as I was set up and settling in. I lay on the bedroll and listened to the rain pattering on the canvas. I read a mindless detective novel as I chewed my way thru the cold camp rations. Now and again, my worthless dog, Lena would run thru to check on me as she harassed and harried the local chipmunk population. Each time thru the camp, she was wetter and wetter until she resembled a hairy sponge. My bedroll is a good quality sleeping bag, and I have it wrapped in Italian wool military blankets.
Sunset was brief and unartistic, the change from pale grey to black happening in mere minutes. The everpresent hushed rustle of rain on the ponderosa pines and the grass around me was a lullaby all in itself. Lena came in walking slow and her long red tongue hanging far out the side of her gaping jowls. I splashed some water in her bowl and dumped her kibble on the blanket next to me. She flopped onto the blankets and proceeded to eat tidbits from my hand. When she had licked the last crumbs from the blanket, she lay her head down and looked up at me as if to ask me to douse the single beeswax candle in my trekking lantern. I got the hint and the weary flame battling against the entire hemisphere's darkness surrendered without a whimper.
Lena has only camped with me once before and there were other people and several dogs along. This was new and she was unsure of her role in this strange improvisational play. Every hour or so, something in the dark I could not hear brought her leaping to her feet and barking. Each time it rousted me from my warm bag and revved my heart to redline and over! It was looking to be a long and restless night. But each time the pattering of rain on the tarp worked it's magic and I would eventually fall back in the arms of Morpheus.
I don't know how many repetitions of this played out, but the final one played differently. Lena lifted her head and listened intently, staring into the blackness intensely. She began to growl softly in the back of her throat. The growl tapered off into a whine as I unholstered my .45 and desperately wondered why the hell I forgot to bring a flashlight. One hand on the 1911, a thumb on the safety, and the other on the dog's collar. About the time I felt I oughta touch off a round, the visitors in the dark announced their presence.
The elk rut is still on. And I am here to tell you, the sounds of a bull elk 50 yds away in the dark is something to behold. By the way, the campsite is now called Elk Rocks.
