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STRONG SEXUAL ATTRACTION.
The words jumped out at me while I was poking around a local sporting-goods store, looking for a replacement for the cracked globe for my Coleman lantern.
The last time I needed a lantern globe, about 15 years ago, we were camped near Crestone before it became a geomantic convergence vortex of tachyon time-space continuum vectors. It was then merely a hamlet of about 200 people, where the tiny general store carried a complete line of Coleman parts: globes, generators, mantles, etc.
Alas, America has grown decadent since then. Search as I might through the lantern-parts section of any store, the only globes I find are straight-sided, designed for those idiot-proof propane-fueled lanterns.
My single-mantle lantern runs on white gasoline, and it is apparently obsolete, since I can't find parts for it now. My faith in the Coleman company is destroyed -- always before, I thought they cared about long-term customer relationships.
Future generations will grow up camping without the comforting hiss of the lantern, and kids will never know the thumb-pressure satisfaction of applying 40 strokes to pressurize the fuel tank. Traditional American values are under continuous assault, my friends, and not one candidate has pointed to the true culprit: propane.
Back to the Strong Sexual Attraction
I found
while looking for the lantern globe. It was a feature of
Buck Mule Deer Scent,
and thus of little probable
use to humans attempting to attract other humans. Other
perfumes included Genuine Elk Urine
and Human
Scent Remover.
The store owner explained that these chemical weapons were part of an arsenal deployed by bow hunters, who must get close to their prey.
That further diminished my respect for bow hunters. I esteemed them as gallant sportsmen until one day a decade ago, about this time of year, when Allen Best (now editor of the Vail Valley Times) and I attempted to climb 14,421-foot Mt. Massive.
It was a foggy day, but since the multiple summits of Massive loomed above the clouds as we drove in from Leadville, we figured we'd climb above the fog and enjoy a supernal view -- why else walk up a mountain?
Just below timberline, still in the fog, we heard something whiz by about a yard in front of us. Moments later, a fellow in camouflage stepped out of the woods, bearing bow and quiver.
Sorry, guys,
he muttered as he trotted off to
retrieve his wasted arrow.
We could see about 10 yards in the fog -- what the hell was he doing hunting when visibility was so poor that he couldn't tell the difference between people and an elk?
About a mile later, with no end to the fog in sight and thus little hope of a summit panorama, Allen and I turned back and headed for a cafe in Stringtown -- some days are destined for cerveza and chili verde.
I mentioned the Mt. Massive bow-hunter to writer Steve
Voynick, who lives near the peak. That happened to Lynda
and me, too,
he said, same thing. Walking along near
timberline on Massive, and an arrow goes by, real close.
Maybe the guy thinks he's the guardian of Mt.
Massive.
Could be. I tried to recall an aroma of buck-muley hormone or elk urine at my encounter, but came up blank. Steve couldn't remember if his incident was during archery season. So perhaps a myopic bow hunter is not at fault here.
But there still remains a problem. Once upon a time,
back when you could find globes for real lanterns, there
was a big-game season
that lasted about two
weeks.
Since the hunting lobby successfully agitates for open space, public access, Second Amendment rights and a lot of other important things, why not let them occupy the hinterlands for a couple of weeks? Staying in town for a fortnight seemed like a small price to pay for all the hard work that hunters do to keep Colorado fit to live in.
Now, though, the deer and elk hunting seasons stretch across months. Archery runs until Sept. 29, with muzzle-loading Sept. 14-22. Three regular rifle seasons: Oct. 12-16, Oct. 19-30, Nov. 2-10. Throw in antelope and black bear, along with a late season, and Colorado pretty much belongs to hunters from Aug. 31 to Dec. 14 -- 105 days, almost a third of the year.
In theory, of course, you can go for a walk in the
countryside during this time. After all, public lands are
managed for multiple use,
and the hunters have no
legal monopoly.
In practice, though, you'd have to be pondering your
departure. You know, I've been depressed lately, and I
think it's time to go. But I could save my heirs the cost
of the trip to Michigan and the final appointment with Dr.
Jack Kevorkian. All I have to do walk around Colorado's
back country any time in the fall.
One fortnight of hunting season is enough. Besides, how long can they stay in camp if they happen to break a lantern globe?
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