The drive forth from Reno on highway 50, the loneliest road in America lulls me toward sleep. I had to slap myself hard just to keep between the lines. I was mean to myself and it stung. I guess it must be the pent up stoic anger. I know a few folk that would gladly have held my right hand swinging away. It stung only for the briest of time and I had to pull off on a pass where the winds howled. We had a week of low pressure off the coast and it was swinging through the Great Basin again bringing snow to the peaks. The moon was waxing and in a few days it would be full. Bull elk would begin their roar and the necks of many a man who drew the coveted Nevada bull tag would also begin to swell.

My friends were already up in the mountains looking at road conditions for the upcoming winter hunt. The herds would migrate here and poor Dave, a kindly barrister would have to outwit these magnificent creatures. Dave was not a trophy hunter, just a guy who had been putting in for 18 years and finally got enough bonus points to draw. He had no idea what was lay ahead but somehow he’d manage.

Kelly another swollen neck hunter had drawn an elk tag for the Table Mountain area. He was determined to make this hunt a lifetime adventure and with the help of several friends and pilots, Kelly would siege the mountain early November when the roar was finished and the bull elk became solitary again.

I left the group and head west on 50 through the Great Basin National Park. Just awesome but I decided I would do it with ELLEN.

Onwards through some of the finest valleys out west. Breathe taking I transformed my rig into the STAR SHIP ENTERPRISE put on Lorena McKinnett and I was sailing across virgin space with almost no traffic except for a traveling couple. This land is still remote and I feel light years away from the Sierra’s