No Elk For You

Hunting story after the snow starts:  (Second trip up the mountain) We walked up a hill and down a hill and up a hill and down a hill and up a hill in snow up to our knees.  In a blinding white-out of a snowstorm which made it impossible to see any elk.  The 4-wheeler came up lame and we had to shovel snow drifts up to our shoulders with one and a half shovels to get the truck out of the cabin.  I can't move my arms.

Hunting story after the snow ends:  (Third trip up the mountain) We walked up a hill and up a hill and up a hill and up a hill and up one more hill.  We finally saw some elk.   A herd in the distance just before dark.  A trophy bull running full speed across the road in front of us.  And a couple being field dressed by other hunters.  I thought I was going to die.

The moral of the hunting story appears to be:  Right place, wrong time.

The STP arrived home sick, tired, muddy, hungry, elk-less.   Sore and sorely disappointed. 
On the bright side he did not get eaten by bears, lost in the wilderness, suffer a heart attack, crash the 4-wheeler,  get shot by mistake, shoot anyone by mistake or any of the other morbid scenarios I may have imagined while he was gone.  I'm just glad to have him home.