Our Labor Day tradition the last few years has been chasing grouse for the Sept. 1, Montana opener, but in line with the nonresident restriction trend, they’ve opted to give residents the first 10 days, ending our beloved tradition.
As a substitute, we opted to camp near Medora and take in the sights as we hadn’t made it out there all summer. We had several friends who were also out there, some of whom held big game tags and we were slightly hoping a text for help would interrupt our fun.
It never did.
But we did get to check out the new presidential library, float around the lazy river, have picnic lunches and camp under the stars. Admittedly, it wasn’t a half bad back up plan.
But, on Sunday morning we woke up to a pretty good thunderstorm and a flooded tent. Scott peeked out the tent door and said, “This is gonna be a mess.”
As thunder cracked around us, I tried to remain calm and make light of the situation for Fischer’s sake. At least we were headed home that day, we just needed to pack up the wet stuff and, of greater concern to me, make it out on the now greasy road.
Scott ran Fischer to the truck to stay dry and mud free and we quickly packed up everything while the rain fell harder. The drive out over an already rutted road was a white knuckle one for me, but Fischer seemed to find it amusing and in the end we made it to the interstate and to town to have breakfast under a shelter at Chimney Park.
As we scarfed donuts and changed into dry clothes, I found myself proud of that nuanced parenting lesson in adversity and the outdoors.
It’s OK to get wet. It’s OK if it storms. It’s OK to be uncomfortable and a little scared. In fact, sometimes the departure from the predictable is even fun. You can do hard things.
Fast forward to Wednesday and we were back in the daily grind. Drop Fischer off, make sure he has milk and his show and tell items, login to my email, touch base with the insurance guy.
My phone lit up with a text from my friend who was still out west with her once-in-a-lifetime elk tag in hand. I’d heard from her a few times over the weekend with updates and questions, but I opened this one and it read “Bull Down!”
I looked at my calendar, fairly clear besides writing this month’s The Drift, so I called Scott to cover daycare pickup and ran home to grab my pack, some gear and a cooler.
Merely a few hours later I was headed with my pack 2 miles from my car to the pin she sent. Sun shining on a beautiful September day, happy to be out here and part of the experience.
I rounded the final corner to find her and her husband in orange still cutting meat and placing it in bags near a pretty impressive rack protruding into the sky.
He took the first load while we finished cutting, bagging, and then loading up ourselves.
While it wasn’t a particularly grueling stretch of badlands, it was still a 2-mile, one-way hike in the heat of the day.
We briefly rendezvoused at our vehicles for water, pickled garden beans and pretzels and set off for the second load, one more meat bag, hide, head and cape.
Hours later we made it back around sunset, a longer day for them than me. And cheers’ d to a job done, once-in-a-lifetime tags, friendship, big elk and beautiful places.
It sounds a little crazy but there’s something just so inherently fun about being back to the time of year with heavy packs, the feeling of accomplishment that comes with getting an animal out of a place like this, and a mid-week reminder that you can do hard things.
