Bighorn Hunting Washington DC

This page provides useful content and local businesses that can help with your search for Bighorn Hunting. You will find helpful, informative articles about Bighorn Hunting, including "Preparing for a Bighorn Hunt". You will also find local businesses that provide the products or services that you are looking for. Please scroll down to find the local resources in Washington, DC that will answer all of your questions about Bighorn Hunting.

Patuxent Research Refuge
(301) 497-5761
10901 Scarlet Tanager Loop
Laurel, MD
Other Activties
Auto Touring; Fishing; Hiking; Hunting; Interpretive Programs; Visitor Center; Wildlife Viewing

Patuxent Research Refuge
(301) 497-5510
10901 Scarlet Tanager Loop Laurel
Laurel, MD
 
Shakespeare Theatre Inc
202547323
450 7Th St Nw
Washington, DC
 
Firearms And Explosives Services Division
202648716
99 New York Avenue,Ne,Room 6S144
Washington, DC
 
Arena Stage
202554906
Sixth St & Maine Ave Sw
Washington, DC
 
Elizabeth Hartwell Mason Neck National Wildlife Refuge
(703) 490-4979
7603 High Point Rd
Lorton, VA
Other Activties
Hiking; Hunting; Interpretive Programs; Wildlife Viewing

Elizabeth Hartwell Mason Neck National Wildlife Refuge
(703) 490-4979
7603 High Point Rd Lorton
Lorton, VA
 
Aaa Police Supply
781326884
940 Providence Hwy
Dedham, MA
 
Sugarmann, Joshua Alan
202822820
1730 Rhode Island Ave Nw #1014
Washington, DC
 
Greg Derr Precision Arms
781834322
879B Old Main Street Ext
Marshfield, MA
 

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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