My expectations were high. I had been hunting before, but hunting elk was a whole lot more challenging than hunting deer. Neither were my other hunting trips as high in the mountains, where it was bitterly cold and two feet of snow. This adventure was just outside the mile-high community of Philipsburg, Montana. A Montana tourism site describes the small town like this:
Philipsburg is situated between two national forests and surrounded by lofty mountains that were still snowcapped in early June. The two-lane Highway 1 leaves Interstate 90 west of Butte, Montana, and passes through the mining town of Anaconda. The scarred earth gives way to lush valleys, crystal clear lakes, marshes that attract abundant wildlife, and exuberant creeks and fishing holes just waiting for anglers.
The town boomed in the late 1800s because of all the silver mines in the region. Some of these mines were worked by Asians immigrants, because they were typically short and could work in smaller shafts. But all of that changed. Today, the county has 24 ghost towns, and Philipsburg’s population is around eight hundred. The region is more of a tourist destination now; a place where the rich go to get married and experience dude-ranching.
On the morning of our hunt, it was five below zero, in the valley where my buddy had arranged for us to sleep in a heated camper trailer. He served as my guide, providing guns, socks, boots and layers of clothing, hats, and gloves. Several of us piled into a four-wheel drive and began the ascent up a rocky mountain road to an area where elk had been recently spotted. After a few minutes of travel, I had no Idea where I was. If something had happened, I don’t know what I would have done. It was an adventure at the very edge of my comfort zone.
They dropped me and my buddy off off at one location, promising to go up the road and attempt to drive some elk our way. We then split up and positioned ourselves strategically so we could be ready when the game came our way. As mentioned, I had high expectations. An hour or so later, the day had not warmed up and my body heat was not keeping up. I consumed the snacks I had managed to bring along as I waited patiently for the prey. It was then that I realized I was experiencing one of the most amazing scenes of my life. The mountains loomed. In the meadow snow was untouched, except for where I had waded to the edge of the clearing. The evergreens were weighed down with snow from the night before. The sky was blue. And, the snow seemed to absorb any sound, so that the quiet was more complete than anything I had ever experienced. It was beautiful.
We didn’t see any elk on that trip. To be honest, I am not sure I would have wanted to dress, quarter and carry a five-to-seven-hundred-pound animal off the mountain. But I will always remember the hunting trip to Philipsburg as an adventure that I would have never enjoyed, had it not been for the guys who made it all happen. Sometimes I feel like God is taking me on similar excursions. I have expectations of one thing, but I experience other wonderful things along the way. My confidence is in my Guide. I trust He will get us where we are going, but sometimes I am living at the very edge of my comfort zone.