Heaven

“One-by-one, as my loved ones arrive, I’ll gift them this thing I’ve made and they’ll smile at the sentiment. “You haven’t changed a bit” they’ll proclaim through tearful elation and an appreciation for the newly realized absence of pain. “Imagine that,” they’ll speak as their naked feet wade through ancient crystalline glacial waters and upon split granite, “no suffering.”

How it will happen is speculative. Maybe I’ll finally be humbled by the Vid19 and learn the hard way that all the cowards were justified in their calls for total authoritarian control. Maybe it’ll be the motorcycle I’ve promised my wife a thousand times I won’t buy or, maybe I haven’t really learned my lesson and it’ll be another fast car that does me in. Hell, judging by my recent history, my best bet is it will be the Grizzly who finally catches me slippin’, and I’ll meet my fated end while nostalgically tip-toeing alone in a Rocky Mountain high country willow bottom. There’s no way to know how but, what is for sure is that, one day I will die. When I do, I assume that it will be the result of somebody, somewhere in the governing body at the gates who fumbled the paperwork or placed a decimal in the wrong place which in turn, will lead to my admittance into Heaven. A true paradise for which I only narrowly ducked the guards in order to sneak into but, once I’m in, I won’t be surprised or at all disappointed to learn what my Heaven is.

It’ll be a comfy stump on a tall ridge in the early morning, while a thunderous bugle echoes through the opacity of a heavy fog hovering above a sugar powder coating of fresh frost. It will be my best pals there with me, waiting for shooting light, best identified when you can determine the contrast between the orange and yellow colored Aspen leaves on the ground. It will be the sound of surprisingly violent snaps of twigs made by scurrying chipmunks and jack rabbits in the early silence and the obnoxious barking of excited, tree limb perched squirrels. It will be a successful hunt, a triumphant pull off the whiskey bottle and a downhill packout. It will be the smell of a Lodgepole morning fire as I near camp and, an exuberant “Dad!!!” when my little Moose, as I’ll always cherish him in my mind, notices the antlers protruding from the pack on my back and excitedly runs to meet me on the trail. It will be midday reheated taco meat made from last year’s Mule Deer, wrapped in a tortilla with a slice of avocado and a sprinkle of cheese. It will be coyotes howling under waning gibbous on a warm, dry night and the popping of burning pine logs just before their molten embers trickle down from the immediate sky to burn holes in my camo pants, for which I’ll be too whiskey drunk to feel as they burn my skin.

It will be the endless banks of the Gros Ventre headwaters and there I’ll reunite with all the good folks I couldn’t help in this life, who have fallen to their demons over the years; and we’ll toss big foam bodied hoppers at goliath sized and vibrantly colored rising Cutthroat. On the same banks I’ll wait for all my friends and family who haven’t yet crossed over, and I’ll chip away at Quartz findings until my lame version of an arrowhead is materialized. One-by-one, as my loved ones arrive, I’ll gift them this thing I’ve made and they’ll smile at the sentiment. “You haven’t changed a bit” they’ll proclaim through tearful elation and an appreciation for the newly realized absence of pain. “Imagine that,” they’ll speak as their naked feet wade through ancient crystalline glacial waters and upon split granite, “no suffering.”

My heaven will be the longevity of an August sunset, best viewed from above the treeline, where the forest turns to a map a razor rock and alpine lakes. In those lakes, with the timing just right and my patience primed, I’ll present one of Ostoff’s mega scuds to gigantic Brigit and, when I hold one, I will find it difficult to determine which is more beautiful: the sunset or the vivaciously arresting golden undercoat of the critter, accented with a fiery red band and a seemingly unlimited stock of bulbous black spots. It will be the satisfying feeling of conclusion at the end of each day, as each day will provide fruits of labor, of course without the labor. An infinite utility for which all the best moments in life are fabricated, for an eternity of glory.   

Yep, my Heaven may not sound like much to you but for me, it is the album title for a list of harmonically balanced, spiritually actualized, and infinitely altruistic songs I never want to stop playing. 

And everyone is welcome to come listen. 

Author’s Note:

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this story and all the content associated with it. As an avid sportsman, I hope that this tale inspires you to get outside to enjoy the wild with the ones you love most. I write these stories as a supplement to my lifestyle as a sportsman and guide, and with them comes a certain accountability. The details of my stories are purely based on my recollection alone and in no particular way do they reflect a chronologically factual, indisputable timeline of events. They are in no way intended for official use or as a reference for official purposes. These are simply tall tales meant to entertain the tired mind; best served with a clear evening, a warm fire and, a strong whiskey.

All the photos and content featured in my tall tales are my own, unless expressly cited otherwise, and the unauthorized use or reproduction of them is strictly prohibited. That’s all for now, my friends. If you enjoyed this content and would like to see more like it, I can be found on Instagram by searching “Authentically Wild Out West” and on YouTube by searching the same phrase. Until the next campfire, stay safe out there and look after each other.

On another quick note: I’ve launched a new publication on Substack, specifically to showcase my serialized fiction and poetry! 

I hope you’ll join me there! Follow THIS LINK to have a look. 

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If you’ve been reading my tall tales and outdoor articles for a while, you have probably recognized that much of my writings revolve around anecdotes. I live these stories, here in one of the last truly wild places on Earth and now as a full-time guide, I’d like to extend an invitation to you: 

Come experience this prestigious place with me. 

You can do this by reaching out to Wyoming Fishing Company and exploring the many options we have available to accommodate your next fishing, waterfowl, upland bird, small game, or predator hunting adventure. We can facilitate small & large groups alike or offer a one-on-one guided experience. Come make some memories this season! I’m already looking forward to adventuring with you.

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