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I recall so well living at my little half dugout in the mid 1970’s, and after a long winter of chopping mesquite firewood with a double bit axe, how nice it was by mid February to enjoy those intermittent days when the weather moderated and a hint of spring shown over the winter tortured land.
One of the aspects I remember so well were the innocuous little robins that fluttered about the waterhole beneath and south of my humble one room half dugout. Their distinct and joyful voices added life to the deep, rugged canyons I knew so well from months of running steel in the cold depths of BJG, John Bell and Dark Canyon. The little birds were my friends with whom I could not speak but did appreciate their own interaction with one another.
Yesterday Sylinda and I drove to the Antler Creek Dugout for a checkup visit and found that several robins had made themselves at home in the trees around the location. A light wind stirred high in the tree limbs above but otherwise the place was so peaceful, reminding me so much of my life over 50 years ago in that lonesome canyon with my flock of robin companions. I remarked to Sylinda how similar it felt to the life I lived so long ago as a young man immersed in the rare and ephemeral life of a professional predator hunter on hundreds of thousands of acres, shared only with the wild creatures indigenous to the land.
Glancing into the dugout I could see all was good except for a need to do some work with a broom.
Reluctantly, we soon drove away and left the tree covered campsite to the robins and whitetail doe and her yearling fawn that also call the quaint location their home.
The short visit yesterday was certainly a deja vu moment to my past life. It made me happy…
One of the aspects I remember so well were the innocuous little robins that fluttered about the waterhole beneath and south of my humble one room half dugout. Their distinct and joyful voices added life to the deep, rugged canyons I knew so well from months of running steel in the cold depths of BJG, John Bell and Dark Canyon. The little birds were my friends with whom I could not speak but did appreciate their own interaction with one another.
Yesterday Sylinda and I drove to the Antler Creek Dugout for a checkup visit and found that several robins had made themselves at home in the trees around the location. A light wind stirred high in the tree limbs above but otherwise the place was so peaceful, reminding me so much of my life over 50 years ago in that lonesome canyon with my flock of robin companions. I remarked to Sylinda how similar it felt to the life I lived so long ago as a young man immersed in the rare and ephemeral life of a professional predator hunter on hundreds of thousands of acres, shared only with the wild creatures indigenous to the land.
Glancing into the dugout I could see all was good except for a need to do some work with a broom.
Reluctantly, we soon drove away and left the tree covered campsite to the robins and whitetail doe and her yearling fawn that also call the quaint location their home.
The short visit yesterday was certainly a deja vu moment to my past life. It made me happy…
