If Only The Trees Could Talk

It’s been a long day.  It always starts at 4am with the loud blaring of an alarm clock and an eagerness to get into the woods and harvest my elk for the season.  I was hopeful for this season and with the blaring of bugles on the first morning my anticipation and excitement were at an all-time high.  But here it is, day 7 of our hunt.  The bugles have subsided and I have put on nearly 33 miles on my feet in search of these elusive mountain ghosts.  I’ve decided to stop wandering aimlessly around the woods, hoping to run into an elk, and decided to sit still next to a reservoir hoping that at some point, these elk must get thirsty.

As I sit here staring at the scenery I cannot help but feel a powerful sense of awe at what Mother Nature has provided.  Fall archery hunting in Colorado is my favorite time of the year, not just because I get to hunt elk, but because of the beauty the mountains of Colorado provide.  Watching aspen trees turn from green to golden yellow to fire red, combined with scrub oak, natural grasses and the pristine reflective glass surface of a lake, nothing compares to the Colorado mountains in the fall.  

Although I have seen them many times before, as I’m sure many hunters in western states have, one particular item caught my eye this year. As you survey the landscape of these mountains you cannot help but see the carvings in the aspen trees. In the unit we typically hunt, these arbor glyphs, as they are known, range from something along the lines of “Bobby Wuz Here” which clearly have been carved by more modern people to “Jose Serrano 7-30-72”, which peaked my interest more than the modern dated glyphs. Who is Jose? Or Anibal? Why did they carve “Peru” or draw a picture of an elk or a naked woman?

Over the years I’ve encountered several sheepherders on our hunts.  These individuals have all clearly been of Hispanic heritage, speak little to no English and usually are seen riding horses accompanied by 1 or 2 border collies.  I figured they were hired by a ranch just north of our unit to find lost sheep as they graze their way from the top of the mountain back to the ranch land in the summertime.  2 years ago, one of these sheepherders snuck up and scared the daylights out of me.  His only word was “Sheep?” while using his hands to point to his eyes.  I responded with “No, Have you seen elk?” while using my hands to make giant antlers. He pointed to the hillside in front of us and carried on the rest of his day.

This sheepherder was potentially a Basque or descendent of Basque, a small region of Spain in the western Pyrenees, near the French border. Known as Europe’s first family, the Basque language predates any other in Europe.  In 1849, many Basque traveled to the West in search of fortunes and many were employed by ranches as sheepherders, so much so that by the 1900’s Basque and Sheepherders were synonymous terms.  They were known to pass the time on the long lonely summer days alone by carving their names, political messages and even drawing pictures on the paper thin delicate bark of aspen trees.  They often wrote in their native language called Euskara or Eusk for short which can be combined with Spanish.  Aspen trees, under ideal conditions, live about 150 years but most will live between 70-100 years.  It is exceedingly rare to find markings from the late 1800’s or early 1900’s, however in our unit, I’ve seen markings as far back as the 1960’s.

Basque would often carve names and images of elk or sports figures.  It is not uncommon to see lewd and crude representations of woman, often naked, as rememberances of prostitutes they had encountered.  The Sheepherder life, clearly was a lonely one and to be honest, as I sat there staring at that glassy lake I could only imagine what it must be like to be out in the woods, by yourself for months at a time with no one else to talk to but your horse and/or your dogs.  In today’s hustle and bustle world this might sound like paradise for some, but humans are a gregarious species, not meant to be alone but amongst others.

This past season I took note of all the markings I could find, mostly on clearly defined trails and campsites.  It was clear that the Sheepherders had set foot in this territory before and they left their mark everywhere.  However, one such carving really caught me off guard.  As I’ve wandered through the woods, I’ve often thought to myself, “Am I the first human being to ever set foot on this piece of land?”  I’m sure many of us have had such thoughts, only to come across a crushed Coors Light can, Copenhagen lid or latrine site.  

Our camp is set 9 miles back off a main road, down the worst possible ATV trail CPW can muster.  From that site, we will often walk 2-3 miles further back.  One morning I decided that I wanted to walk through the dark timber in search of an elk I had seen a day before.  I pulled out my maps, plotted the best possible track there and began my march.

As I slowly crept along, being careful not to snap branches or kick logs, I couldn’t help but notice the beauty of this hidden piece of forest.  Clearly there were heavily trafficked paths and once we were under the canopy I found the walking surprisingly easy.  An hour or so into my stalk, my eyes gazed upon one of these arborglyphs.  It was not near a road or trail, or any other human trafficked area, I was in the dark timber, under the canopy where the elk should have been.  I felt like I was walking where no one in history had been.  Upon gazing at this tree I read the inscription “In God We Trust” with what I can only assume was a Sheepherder’s name below it.  Despite feeling like I was all alone in my quest to find elk, here before me was a piece of history to let me know that I was not the first, nor will I be the last to inhabit these woods.

I often yearn for a simpler time. I fantasize about what it must have been like “back then” and what I would have done.  For me, hunting is the closest I can get to that fantasy.  Free from civilization, free from emails and text messages, free from the bills I have to pay, free from politics and free from all other distractions in my life.

I have a soft spot for history, in fact I get romantic about it.  The messages these Sheepherders have left for those that come after them gives me a terrific sense of adventure and wonder.  Who were these men that left these carvings? What did they see when they stood here?  What were they thinking?  If only the trees could talk.