Vanished

By Jerry Mack Grubbs

With only the barrel of my gun poking out from under the leaves of my hiding place, I aimed at the head of my target. I moved the gun just enough to allow the crosshairs of my scope to center over his heart. I was only seconds away from firing the shot that would take the life of a living breathing creature. Once the trigger was pulled the bullet could not be called back. The decision would be final but if I hesitated I might be spotted and the opportunity for a clean shot would vanish. I exhaled slowly to expel all the air from my lungs. With my body rock still and steady, I squeezed the trigger. My Remington 270 bolt-action rifle kicked and the bullet left the barrel and traveled toward its mark. By the time I heard the crack of the rifle he toppled over from the impact of the bullet.

I had spent considerable time preparing for this moment. The previous day I scouted the area, first finding were the herd bedded down at night and the trail that the elk made as they moved to and from that secluded place. The same afternoon I spent some quiet time sitting and observing the surroundings. I wanted to determine the general direction of the wind so that I could position myself downwind of the incoming animals because elk have a keen sense of smell. Being positioned downwind of these wild creatures was essential for a successful takedown. Today I didn’t want the slightest movement to be noticed so I camouflaged my gun barrel with mud because it was shiny and made of stainless steel. Elk do not distinguish color but they are easily alerted by movement. I found a fallen tree about fifty yards from the trail. Lying prone behind that tree, I covered myself with a blanket of leaves as though the wind had blown them against the log. Now it was time for the hardest part . . . patiently wait and remain as still as possible.

This would be my third elk to take home if I proved successful in my hunt. The first was a cow elk that my son shot proxy for me. Proxy means to stand in for or to take the place of. I know it is illegal to shoot a game animal by proxy but it was the last day of the hunt and I injured my back lifting snowmobiles for the trip into the woods. I was in so much pain I could not raise my rifle and hold it still long enough to take a shot. I’m not trying to justify my behavior of having my son shoot the elk. I am just explaining what led up to that decision. I named that first elk Ethyl. You might think it odd to give a name to an animal that you were going to kill and eat. I have always valued life and the sacrifice that is made by an animal that gives its live for my benefit. This tradition of naming the animals I personally shoot started when I shot a hog in the back woods of South Georgia. I named that hog Dexter and we recognized him for his sacrifice each time he showed up on our dinner plates.

The second elk to be served at our table was Nate. His real name was Nathaniel but I shortened it to Nate. Today I employed the same technique I used when I successfully tracked and shot Nate. Nate followed textbook behavioral patterns just like the guide on my first hunt, Cal Haskell, taught me. Nate, the bull elk waited for all the cow elk to cross the clearing before he ventured into the open. For a few moments I was upset at myself for not going ahead and taking an available shot at the largest cow. I was mentally kicking myself for all the time I had laid in the snow behind a fallen tree in the mountains of Southwest Wyoming and now I would probably go home empty handed. Snow was falling and light was fading. As I was about to stand and brush the snow from my clothing, the bull elk stepped into the edge of the clearing. Sniffing the air for danger and sensing no alarm, he eased out into the meadow and followed the path that the cows had previously walked. A bull elk is always willing to sacrifice the cow elk for his own safety. The bull lets the lead cow saunter out into the unprotected open area. The remaining cows follow her and if they experience no danger crossing the clearing, about two minutes later the bull elk makes his way across the clearing. That certainly doesn’t sound very chivalrous but I didn’t write the rules of nature. I just studied them to try and use them to my advantage. If a hunter shoots one of the cows as they cross the open meadow, the bull reverses course and heads into the safety of the dense vegetation. The hunter never even knows that a bull was present.

Today my hunting permit was a combination permit that allowed me to shoot either a bull or a cow elk. I decided that I would hunt for a young bull. He would be larger than the cows and provide more meat but he wouldn’t be tough to eat like the old larger bulls of the forest. These younger bulls usually had only eight to ten cows that they had successfully stolen from a larger heard. I wasn’t worried about the survival of the herd if I shot the bull. There were always young bulls lingering beyond the tree line waiting for an opportunity to move in and take over. As you can see, the bull elk doesn’t provide protection for his harem. He uses them for his own protection and is willing to sacrifice them to preserve his own life. He will desert them once they were heavy with calf and he will spend the winter months either alone or with other bulls. It is like joining a bachelor club with other bull elk who were your arch enemies just a few months ago. In some ways these bulls are like men; they get along great together until they fall in love with the same female and then the swords are drawn. Or in the case of bull elk, the antlers begin to clash.

Today things looked perfect. I moved into position in the mid afternoon so that I would be in place well ahead of the herd’s return to the secluded bedding place. That is provided that the elk made the decision to return to this same place they had used for sleeping for several nights. If it is a moonlit night the elk will often feed through the night and sleep during the day. Tonight would be dark and they would bed down until dawn. There was a light breeze in the air that worked to my advantage for two reasons. First the wind was in the direction that carried my sent away from the trail and second, the rustling of the leaves in the wind helped muffle any rustling of leaves I might make as I adjusted in my hiding place behind the log. The time spent waiting wasn’t nearly as bad as I sometimes make it sound. I love the solitude of the forest. It brings peace to my heart as I hold perfectly still, only moving my eyes as I observe nature in all its glory. I use this quiet time to engage my mind and reflect upon pleasant memories of my yesterdays. Keeping my mind active reliving old memories also helps me not focus on how cold or wet or uncomfortable I might be at the moment.

This elk hunt was taking place in the Canadian Rockies so I decided to name my bull elk something that started with a “C” for Canada. I chose the name Clayton and I could already imagine the family referring to Clayton when we sat around the dinner table. At least I hoped that I would be successful and that Clayton would be invited to dinner on many future occasions. But what happened next changed all that. Sitting around the table enjoying a home cooked meal with family and friends was part of my past, not my future. I would not be going home and Clayton would not even be a name known by my family.

As the sun began to set the elk herd did return to the secluded bedding place just like I hoped. The cows all followed the lead cow in single file like dairy cows headed for the barn to be milked. They were a beautiful site and I could have easily shot one of them but I was waiting for Clayton to come along. If my plan worked, the bull elk would soon follow them up the trail. One minute passed then two minutes and Clayton didn’t show. Maybe something had spooked him. I decided to give him more time. I knew that I could easily wait until just before dark and work my way down to were the cows were grouped together and possibly get a shot at one of them before they startled and fled all directions. Down deep inside I was mentally begging for Clayton to come into my view. All the preparation, all the planning was for this one minute . . . and it looked like Clayton was going to be a no-show.

Then above the rustling of the leaves I could hear a noise that I did not recognize at first. To my surprise it was a group of men talking in hushed tones as they walked along the tree line of the clearing. Eyeing them through my scope I could see that they all carried guns but the guns were not hunting rifles. They were automatic military combat style weapons. No wonder Clayton hadn’t shown. He was probably two miles away by now with all the noise this group was making even though they were speaking in muffled tones.

With all this noise my plans were collapsing around me. Clayton would not be coming this way. He would probably not come back all season unless it was to gather up his harem. And he would only do that if some of the cows had not conceived yet. It was certain that my bull elk Clayton would not be paying us a visit at the dinner table this season. There would be no stories of how I outsmarted the young bull. I never really understood this macho business anyway. Take a creature of the forest who can easily travel forty miles a day or stand perfectly still for an hour to evade detection and pit him against a rifle bullet that travels in excess of thirty-one hundred feet per second with a knock down force of a hundred pound sledge hammer and where is the macho in all that.

Suddenly everything was reversed; I felt like the one being hunted. Although these men didn’t know that I was even there, I felt the hair rise on the back of my neck as I realized that these men were of Middle Eastern descent. I was afraid. Lying by the fallen tree trunk under the cover of leaves I was so focused on what was taking place that I forgot to breathe. Suddenly my lungs were about to burst for lack of oxygen and I had to force myself to breathe steady and slow. This was no time to panic and reveal my hiding place.

What were these men doing out in the mountains of the Canadian Rockies? The small packs on their backs revealed that they were not prepared for long term camping but were most likely just moving through the area. I couldn’t understand a word they were saying although they were only fifty yards from me. With a sickening feeling it occurred to me that these men may be attempting to travel through the country undetected? If this were the case they would kill me on sight. I had to remain unseen and somehow get back to civilization and warn the authorities of what I had discovered. Hunting was no longer on my mind. In fact, hunting for that bull elk Clayton seemed like an event that occurred days ago instead of just moments in the past. Surviving to warn someone about what was going on was my only concern. I now wished that the barrel of my gun was not even poking out of the leaves of my hiding place. I wanted to be invisible, to disappear into the ground until danger passed.

The large sniper’s scope mounted on my rifle only added to the possibility that I would be spotted. My sons had chided me about having a sniper’s scope on my rifle. The scope was a present from a friend who thought I needed every advantage possible. Not wanting to move anymore than necessary I decided to leave my rifle in place although it was visible if someone looked directly at it. Through the powerful light-gathering sniper’s scope I slowly scanned the faces of the men. I was stabbed with fear and my mind didn’t want to believe what my eyes were seeing. I recognized one of the men in the middle of the group as Bin Laden, the most hunted terrorist in modern history. I recognized him from having seen him on TV. My heart raced. I brought his face into sharp focus just to make sure my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. Yes, this was the man I had grown to despise. Not because of anything he did to me personally but for his open declaration to destroy us as a nation. The government and news media judged him guilty and now I had the chance to eliminate him. I knew that killing him would mean forfeiting my own life. I continued to shift the view in my scope back and forth between his heart and his head. A battle was raging inside of me. I knew that if I did not act soon I might be discovered and any chance of eliminating the world of this terrorist would be gone. I thought of my family. I thought how insignificant my sacrifice would be compared to the alternative of letting him live and continue to wage war against my country.

As I lay there under the cover of leaves behind the fallen tree I wondered what had brought me here. Why was I here at this moment in time with a high powered rifle equipped with a sniper’s scope? In the chamber was a 140 grain Boat-Tail Special-Performance bullet. The safety was off and the most hunted fugitive in the world was unaware that he was in the crosshairs of my scope? I didn’t feel brave. I didn’t feel lucky. I only felt duty. I wished that someone who wanted to be a hero was here in my place. I wish that someone who had trained for years and years for this very moment was here to realize the fulfillment of his lifelong training. But it was me. I was the one lying behind this tree covered in leaves with a gun pointed at this fugitive.

I knew that whether I was successful in taking this terrorist’s life or not, I would not be heard from again. My family would never know what happened to me. I just went hunting one day and never came home. I just vanished. My situation reminded me of the story of my great great grandfather. One morning after breakfast he put on his hat and went out to plow the field. When he didn’t return at suppertime a family member was sent to find him. The old mule was standing in the middle of the field still harnessed to the plow. And my great great grandfather’s hat was lying on the ground nearby. That was all that was ever found of him. He was never seen or heard from again. He just vanished. After days pasted and he did not return, the family decided that their father and husband just grew weary of his responsibilities and walked away. Will my loved ones have similar thoughts about me when they never heard from me again? That thought pained my heart even more than the thought of dying.

Whether anyone ever knew what happed to me or not, if I took this terrorist’s life I understood that his legacy might live on for years with the world continuing to believe that he was alive. There would probably be news reports and sightings of him to make the public think that he was still leading his followers. But one American would know that blood no longer flowed through his veins. And this little Remington 270 bolt-action rifle would instantly become the most famous rifle in the world. But it would never be auctioned off to the highest bidder. It would be lost to history; left to rust away in a high mountain Canadian meadow next to me, buried in a hastily dug shallow grave to hide the evidence of what occurred this day.

I thought of my wallet inside my hip pocket and what personal information it might contain that could lead to retribution on my family. I desired to destroy all items of personal identification that I didn’t want found by these men. If I hid the whole wallet they would probably look for it. I scraped out a shallow area of dirt beneath the fallen tree and hid my identification information. I left a copy of a poem in my wallet I had written some years earlier. The poem was about love and I wanted these men who seemed so full of hate to know that I knew what love was. Even though I would be despised by them for what I was about to do, I now understood what it meant to give your life for what you believe.

I thought of the families who had lost loved ones during the 9-11 attack on the World Trade Center Towers. I reflected on other acts of violence around the world such as the attack on the USS Cole in Yemen and the attack on the Marine barracks in Beirut, Lebanon. I not only thought of the Americans who had lost their lives through these terrorist attacks but the tragedy and heartache on the other side of this battle as well. What about all the young men and women being recruited by these terrorist organizations who are teaching them to hate and to kill? What about the families of the suicide bombers? They were often unwilling participants to this tragedy as they lost loved ones also. Was this terrorist positioned in the crosshairs of my sniper’s scope the personification of evil hidden under the costume of human skin? Were all these questions and thoughts bombarding my mind merely my self-justification for taking a human life?

I was only seconds away from firing the shot that would take the life of a living breathing creature. Once the trigger was pulled the bullet could not be called back. The decision would be final but if I hesitated I might be spotted and the opportunity for a clean shot would vanish. I exhaled slowly to expel all the air from my lungs. With my body rock still and steady, I squeezed the trigger. My Remington 270 bolt-action rifle kicked and the bullet left the barrel and traveled toward its mark. By the time I heard the crack of the rifle he toppled over from the impact of the bullet. Instantly all heads turned toward the direction of my rifle fire. There was an explosion of noise from the sound of their automatic weapons and my world went dark.

Epilogue:

The beauty of a dream is that your mind doesn’t require the insertion of a lot of background information. A dream starts and a dream ends and you take it for what it is. Sometimes it is worth nothing more than a passing thought. And other times it lingers with you and won’t let go. In a dream and in awaking life, a personal sacrifice is sometimes required for a greater good. In this dream my personal sacrifice seemed small compared to the sacrifice I brought upon my loved ones . . . never knowing what happened to me. I just went hunting one day and never came home. I just vanished. But I was not the first member of my family to vanish. I wonder what story my great great grandfather will tell us some future day when the past collides with the present. I’m interested to know what happened that day more than a hundred years ago when he went to plow the field and never came home. He just vanished.