I have elevated camping to an eccentric high. Bow hunting elk in the Rockies is just an excuse to practice the art of camping. It’s an opportunity to dwell in my tipi amongst the aspens, Dutch oven cook on an open fire and laugh long and hard with friends and family at every politically incorrect moment. These are quintessential ingredients of a superlative hunting camp.
Dwelling in the tipi is a primitive luxury, its happy sleep with a touch of class; it’s what I call inhabiting sculpture. The adorned canvas filters sunlight casting pallid shadows upon my blankets. Nights are cozy, propane heat and gas lamps set the canvas aglow.
It’s all about the food. Cilantro chicken with hot Italian sausage, elk tip roast in burgundy wine au jus, green-chili pork posole, hot biscuits and cherry pie, all conjured in a Dutch oven before a roaring fire. It’s about cowboy coffee mornings and zinfandel nights.
Hunting is a diversion from camp pleasantries, pushing ones physical and mental limits to the point of exhaustion, only to revive with a hot nature shower amongst the ferns under a canopy of blue sky. It’s watching an ocean of aspen trees turn from green to gold their leaves lofting on the thermals before blanketing my camp with trappings of autumn.
It’s about nurturing the spirit to never loose sight of the important things, a favorable breeze, the warmth of an open fire, the caress of a loved ones hand; these things that bring so much pleasure to those in concert with life.