Bighorn Hunting Fort Wayne IN

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Aa Forensics
260493347
229 West Berry Suite 300
Fort Wayne, IN
 
Steven R Jenkins Co Inc
260483799
1533 Goshen Rd
Fort Wayne, IN
 
Roethele Building Materials Inc
260482959
3100 Wells Street
Fort Wayne, IN
 
Jb Custom Inc
260417209
1025 Osage Avenue
Fort Wayne, IN
 
Schwarze, David A Gunsmith
260484578
2527 Crescent
Ft Wayne, IN
 
Ed Hirschy`s Discount Guns & Shooting Supplies
(260) 627-3119
17929 Tonkel Road
Fort Wayne, IN
 
H & H Firearms
260483913
1525 Directors Row
Fort Wayne, IN
 
Wayne Black Oxide
260484028
4505 Executive Blvd
Fort Wayne, IN
 
Polara Sound Studios
260420793
1701 W State Blvd
Fort Wayne, IN
 
Luley, Scott M
260422644
1009 Edgewater Ave
Ft Wayne, IN
 

Preparing for a Bighorn Hunt

Engaged in a peerless but somewhat reckless parody imitating a bolt of greased lightning, I narrowly missed setting a new world’s record in the three-meter dash as I darted for the warmth of my down filled sleeping bag. Piling under the covers, I stuffed myself deep inside the cozy refuge in hopes of kick starting my circulation again, after stumbling around in the pre-dawn darkness brewing a fire to life with frost covered tinder.

As I lay there listening to the wind bluster down the craggy walls of the valley, the old tin box in the corner started to cough and groan, each sputter it made belching forth a chimney full of sparks that would go dancing up through the treetops like tiny fireworks before they fizzled from life and delicately swirled back to the ground disguised as miniature ash bombs. I hadn’t even the time yet to reach a hand and wipe the sleep from my eyes or enjoy the small waves of heat starting to trickle my way, when my outfitter rapped a couple times on the canvas shell of my wall tent.

“Up and at ‘em, Steve!” he barked. “The cats are back in camp, and coffee’s a brewing!” Half turning to leave, he illuminated my gear with the yellow beam of his flashlight. “Oh ya, sure hope you got film in that there camera of yours because you’re going to need it!”

My head still whirling in a dizzy haze of dreamland wonder, I yawned, reached for the stars to stretch the well rested knots from my back, then let a big shiver go. “Brrrrr ... holy snappers is it cold,” I thought and half said to myself, rolling out of a toasty bedroll and into starch stiff hunting duds I could have sworn had spent the night in an icebox.

Shuffling around the now growling stove to warm up a few of my more tender spots, I scratched a couple itchy body parts that were nagging me, including the top of my head. “The cats are back in camp? Huh, better go check this out,” I muttered groggily. Taking one last sweet draw of smoke emanating from crackling flames gnawing through an armload of sappy pine I had fed the toasty fire, I jumped into sodden boots, and stepped beneath a wonder of twinkling stars. Burning off yonder over the easterly mountain range, an abysmal pool of molten darkness was busy fighting off an encroaching sunrise. It would only be a matter of time before the purple hue draped across the horizon melted into a fiery mixture of pastel rapture. In bliss, I stood there awe struck inhaling the beauty of it all, relishing the promise of yet another day climbing mountains in pursuit of bighorn rams.

I was in paradise chasing a lifelong passion of hunting sheep, a small niche of heaven in the Rocky Mountains. It was grizzly country, as grizzly country as you could ever expect to find. The makeshift electric fencer strung around camp was an affidavit to that. So were all the fresh bear diggings down along the creek that riffled past our rustic lodgings no more than a strong arm’s throw away. If that wasn’t enough, there were countless tales swapped o...

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