WHAT ARE THE ODDS?
I’m old and frumpy, retired and a bit lazy. I’ve put on a lot of weight since I retired back in 05’. I’ve had bad knees since the 70’s, and the weight hasn’t done them any good. I’ve got a stack of excuses why I can’t do anything remotely physical. So, when I got a call from my friend Jeral a while back, and he asked; “What are you doing today?” my radar went up, and I did a quick review of my excuses. Now you’ve got to understand that this is the same guy that loaded me onto one of his mules and took me for a “little” ride up one of his favorite canyons, scouting elk a couple of years ago. I hadn’t been in a saddle in ten years. I wound up getting piled off the mule, with a cracked rib thrown into the bargain, and a long way to go to reach the outfit. I’m too old for that kind of nonsense.
I presented a few of my normal excuses, to which he is profoundly aware, and unsympathetic. “We need to get you out of that Lazy Boy, and get you doing something. Let’s go rabbit hunting”. With my excuses over ridden, I began collecting my cold weather gear. I needed some more bunny fur dubbing anyway. I hadn’t done any hunting in years, and hadn’t been rabbit hunting in at least 15 years. Most of the gear wouldn’t fit anymore, but I found a warm hat and some gaiters. I wasn’t stylish, but at least I’d be warm. I decided that I would take my .22 caliber revolver, and not lug around a rifle. Those rabbits would be a hundred yards away, and running, so I reasoned that I could scare them just as easily with the handgun.
Off we went, bouncing out through the sagebrush desert west of Idaho Falls. Jeral brought along his teenage daughter, Jessica, and Lloyd, and old friend. We spread out and commenced walking through the snow and sagebrush, with me crippling along as best I could. We made a large circular sweep, kicking up and scaring the rabbits ahead of us, at least a hundred yards away. Jessica managed to score a hit. That’s OK. “See, all I’ve got is this handgun.” Well, we were most of the way around the circuit, and nearing the truck, when this big Jack jumped up about twenty yards out, between Jessica and my self. He was highballing for where we’d already been. I leveled the revolver, just like I knew what I was doing, lead him a bit, and touched it off. I felt kinda bad. Poor rabbit. At least he didn’t suffer.
“I guess you guys won’t be messin’ with me any more will ya?” I hollered.
I survived that outing. I didn’t step in a hole, or fall off a ledge. I just came home limping a bit, and feeling like a murderer. Then I started thinking. What are the odds? There’s about twenty jillion acres of sagebrush desert out there. Why did we stop at that particular place? I hadn’t been rabbit hunting in fifteen years or so. Why today? Why did I take a hand gun that should have been inadequate for the job? Why did that big hunk of dubbing run into that tiny piece of lead at that precise moment? What are the odds?
I’ve thought about that quite a bit since then. Was it fate? Was it “just his time”, or was it the result of a series of natural events that ended up badly for Bugs?
What is it that determines the direction of our own lives? One more step, and I’d have been swept through the rapids and over the falls. Something just told me not to take that step. You’ve all had that sort of thing happen to one degree or another. I’ll leave it to you to ponder the question. Our lives are made up of a constant series of decisions and choices. Let’s try to choose the right fly.
Lewis Cramer lives in Idaho Falls, and when he is not sharing time with his beautiful wife he ties a few flies, makes things from elk horn, and keeps track of his four children and eleven grandchildren. His home water is the Henry’s Fork, South Fork and the Teton River.