GONE, FOR GOOD

WHEN AN ACCIDENT DISRUPTS A HUNT, THE AUTHOR GAINS A DEEPER APPRECIATION FOR THE RESTORATIVE POWER OF LOSING YOURSELF IN WILD PLACES

- T. Edward Nickens

THE TOM ARROWED DOWN THROUGH THE PIÑON PINES OF THE ALDO LEOPOLD WILDERNESS.

We were hunting public land—a national forest in New Mexico—and the bird’s challenging cries rang from the canyon walls. I could hear every gobble and step yet couldn’t get a visual on the bird. But Ted Koch could. He was 15 feet to my left, in a spare brush blind, hands on a traditional bow, and when I saw him drop his eyes to the ground, I knew the tom was closing in—and very close to dead.

Then, in an instant, everything that was right turned not-quite-right. The gobbler stepped into view and froze, head erect and eyes alarmed. I tried to stymie every possible movement—my eyes, my chest rising with each breath—and then the air came out of the turkey like a punched tire. Where once stood a full-blown strutting gobbler now appeared a slender reed of a bird, and a bird making himself smaller by the second. As he turned to run, I brought up the gun, but it was too late. The chance was lost.