What Would David Hanson Do?

Eulogy for David Hanson: May 28, 2016

Greetings:

Thank you all for coming to Dad’s Party today. Too bad he couldn’t be here in person, but I’m sure he’s here in spirit.

Dad was a wonderful man, an excellent teacher, father, friend, and associate. Here are some things I learned from Dad over the years.

One: Be patient: Dad was one of the most patient men in the world. I don’t know how many times I lost my expensive dental retainer. But he always made sure I got another one.

Two: Live: He would ask his hunting buddies, “How many hunting seasons do you have left?” He wanted to live life to its fullest, taking in as many adventures as possible.

Three: Keep a level head: Dad was always one to think things through, think before he acted. One time he and one of his buddies got lost while hunting. His friend said, “Let’s run to the top of that hill and shine our lights as far as we can!” Dad said, “Well, we could do that, but our flashlights won’t shine that far, and besides, the top of the hill is covered with trees. Let’s just follow the creek down and I’m sure it’s a tributary to the larger creek by the campsite.”

Four: Be a light in the darkness. Dad loved his lanterns. This is a continuation of keeping a level head, and a metaphor for his life. When he and his buddy were trying to make it out, Dad spied a light through the trees. One of the guys at his camp had noticed it was getting late, and didn’t know what to do, so he put a lantern on top of his camper. Dad saw it and made his way back to camp. From then on, he loved lanterns. But that is how he lived his life. He was a light in the darkness, shining brightly. One of his friends commented, “I will never forget the genuine kindness that your Dad embodied. He was quiet and unassuming in his natural ability to extend himself to others.”

Five: Don’t be a wuss. Dad was macho, in his own way. You hardly heard him complain. Even towards the end, getting his lungs drained, sometimes the nurses numbed the wrong areas before they shoved a needle in his back. He didn’t say word one. When the nurses asked how he was doing, he would always say he was fine, even if he wasn’t. He named Erik and I the names he did partially because you couldn’t put a “Y” on the end. “Eriky” just doesn’t flow. A Y at the end of a male name was wussy.

Six: You can put a box around almost anything. In church, Dad didn’t pay attention to the sermons. He would bring graph paper and design boxes. He would stand when you were supposed to, sit, greet, be kind. But he wasn’t into it. I think that’s how he lived his life. He would categorize everything and find a box to put it in. He would build boxes for anything and everything, including lanterns.

Seven: Stay Organized. Like I said, Dad had a box for everything. It was all neatly labeled. When we would go camping, he made sure the campsite was as organized as possible. All food had a box or cooler. All equipment had a box or bag. A place for everything, and everything in its place. Of course, that also means that in the attic above the garage, there are file boxes of finance records going back to 1975. That’ll be fun to sort!

Eight: Community and Friends are important. Dad loved get-togethers and deck parties. It was important to him to keep friends and family close. He even looked at my friends as a second father, and treated them as such.

Nine: Practice. Dad practiced what he thought was important. He hired shooting coaches to get better at skeet. He practiced his speeches for his insurance sales. He wanted to make sure he was practiced and polished and performed at his best.

Ten: Do. Dad was a man of action. But that action took many forms. Planning first, of course, and then execute. He would also do for others, even at great cost to himself. My wife first met Dad when he offered to help her move. He’d never met her before – but he showed up, with a trailer, just because I asked if he had time to help move some furniture. He was just that kind of guy.

So, if you are ever going through life, and find yourself in a rough or unpredictable situation, you can always ask yourself, “What would David Hanson do? How can I be a light in the darkness?” Ask yourself, “How many seasons do I have left?” And don’t be a wuss.

Thank you.

"That Makes Three" 2014 December Elk Hunts

"That Makes Two" - Leif and Matt's Mid-December Elk 2014

 

Mid-December, on a mid-40-degree morning, Matt Cosley and I hunted the Snake River Ranch, and from the ‘convoy’ in the early morning, we were dropped off at a place called “Erik’s Draw” on their 50,000-acre ranch. The ‘guide’ told us to climb up a ridge and watch for the elk to pass through the area. As we climbed, we heard a baby elk ‘mew’ – cow-call, and we figured that the elk would be on the other side of the ridge. We walked down to a saddle and looked, but didn’t see any elk right away, as that was the exact moment that the sun came through the overcast and blinded us. I scanned with the binocs, and we walked further down the steep saddle to get a better angle at the bottom. Still not seeing elk at the bottom of the draw, I scanned the opposite hillside. There was a herd of elk, looking right at us. It was 8:00 AM.

Quickly Matt and I got down – Matt kneeled, and I laid down in prone, laying parallel to the hillside, and took a range with my Leica rangefinder. 363 yards. I adjusted my Huskemaw scope to 1-click past 350. I attached the bi-pod on my 7mm RUM and tried to find them in my scope. Because of the angle of my body (fighting the inclination to roll right down the hill), trying to steady the rifle, and then, facing east, having the sun shine right into the scope, I was a mess. Matt was kneeling and his leg was cramping at being at such an angle. He asked me twice, “Leif, where are you at? You ready? Talk to me…” and I’m trying to get an elk in my crosshairs, zoom in without losing the elk, losing them, zooming out, finding them, zooming in, and reaching over with my left hand to cover the front of my scope so the sun doesn’t glare. It seemed every time I would find the elk in my scope, the sun would shine right in and blind me.

Finally while I was screwing around trying to get everything set, Matt took a shot. I found the herd again in my scope. The elk were still looking in our direction. I found an elk (I didn’t care at this point how big or small it was – just that it didn’t have horns and I could put my crosshairs on it), and squeezed off a round.


The hillside and saddle from where I shot to where the elk lay

THWAK!

I heard the bullet impact, and Matt said, “she went down.” The herd started running off the other direction. As the shot was more than 300 yards, Matt wasn’t quite sure where to hold and probably fired over the cow he was shooting at. When he shot, the elk didn’t move, but when I dropped the elk, the herd turned and ran.

We made our way down the steep hill, to the bottom, and started climbing back up. Matt found my elk and called me over. We started quartering, and when it was all said and done, I was hauling out two backstraps, two tenderloins, and a rear leg, in my backpack, plus my rifle, and Matt was hauling out two front legs, plus backpack and rifle. Matt handed me the other rear leg, to try and make it all back in one trip, but it was too much weight for me. I dropped the leg and said I would simply come back for it.


Decent-sized cow elk

We headed up the draw to less-steep climb and made our way back to the truck.


This was an extremely heavy load. I dropped the rear let to come back and get it.


Matt struggling with both front quarters

After dropping the meat on the tailgate, we heard a shot, and a guy shouting. I asked Matt, “Where’s your rifle?” He grabbed it and we went down the road a bit where the guy on top of a ridge (about 700 yards away) was shouting and pointing. About 50 yards down the road, we looked up a ridgeline and spotted a gimpy elk making its way through the thickets. Matt and I kneeled. He asked, “How far do you think that is?” “I don’t know,” I responded. My rangefinder was back at the truck.

BANG!

The elk took a few steps and went down. Matt went back to the truck and got his pack, and rangefinder. He measured the distance. 290 yards. I looked at my phone – it was 11:30. I said, “you go get that elk killed, and I’ll go back and get the hindquarter that I left from the elk I shot.” I made my way back to the truck and Matt took off in the direction of the elk he shot.   When I approached the saddle on the way back, I heard a shot. I texted Matt, asking him if he shot the elk. He responded with, ‘yup. That makes two.’


Matt's nicely-sized cow elk

I retrieved the second quarter and drove down the road where Matt had dragged the elk (with the help of the guy who made it gimpy – but told Matt that since Matt dropped it, it was his elk.) I went and helped Matt quarter the elk (he already had the front leg and one backstrap off) and we hauled it back to the truck. By the time we got all the quarters to the truck and leaving, it was 2:30.

On the way out, the tailgate on Matt's truck popped open, splashing the contents all over the muddy road. We didn't realize the folly until we arrived at the main road heading out of the property, when I hopped out of the truck to close the gate. Back we went, looking for a lonesome cooler, and discovered its contents strewn over a muddy hill.



With Matt's meat wagon, I wasn't too worried about getting stuck, but slipping and sliding back up the hill on the way out made me question whether we would make it. But, thankfully, after it was all packed up and nominally wiped off, we drove home "heavy."

Noah's First Elk - That Makes Three.

Noah shot his first elk December 28, 2014, in the morning.

We drove up Friday in late December, between Christmas and New Years, and hunted the 3/301 area along the road to Indian Rock and Bald Mountain Basin. Prior to leaving the house, though, I had snow tires put on the truck. The guys at the shop found a stow-away in my undercarriage, though.



We stayed the night in Craig, and the next morning, on the way to the hunting area, we stopped to put chains on just outside the gate to the road up to the top of the fingers (Noah learned the important art of chaining a vehicle). We then drove through The Notch and up the hill following, which overlooks both sides of the basin, with the north side viewing the Godiva Rim.

Every time we stopped to get out and glass, we heard shots coming from the northwest – Simmsberry Draw, Suttles Basin, or the north side of Bert’s Folly. As we weren’t seeing anything on Notch Hill, the basin, or anywhere else, we decided to turn around and head north towards the shots.

As we drove west from the gate, towards 318, we spotted a herd of 20 huddled together on a hill to the north, about 400 yards away. I stopped the truck and Noah got out and took a knee. The herd ran down the hill and huddled up about 350 yards in front of us. None separated out for Noah to shoot. The herd then ran west and broke south, single file, running, out of range. Noah got back in the truck and we gave chase, as the road headed west, then takes a left to the south. Where it turns back to the west I stopped, and, the herd was running south. Noah took a shot, and one of the elk turned around, but then kept running with the group. Noah and I gave chase on foot, as they had stopped about 600 yards away. But as we approached, they took off again to the south.

We searched the tracks for any sign of blood, or a body, or anything that would indicate a solid hit. There was nothing. I imagine that Noah’s bullet may have grazed the top of the nose, or hit an ear, or something minor. Certainly not a lethal hit. As we were searching for blood, a body, or some indication of a wounded or dead elk, we saw some guys drive by my truck on ATVs. As we got back to the truck, we saw them, about a quarter-mile to the east, huddled behind their ATVs with their rifles resting on top. We drove towards them, and Noah saw that they were aiming at some elk. A large cow and two smaller elk. I stopped about 50 feet from the ATV-people and took a range on the elk. They were 456 yards away. I approached them and told them the distance. One of the guys, who told me later he had a 300 Weatherby Mag, took a shot. He hit the large cow in the lower leg. The elk then came closer, and I told Noah the range was 350 yards. He steadied his 30.06 on the back of my truck. I told him to aim about 3 inches above the back of the elk and he fired. The elk went down. The 300-Weatherby guy shot again and the big cow went down. A third guy drove his ATV closer, and shot the 3^rd cow, and it went down.

We drove the truck towards the elk, and the ATV guys also drove closer along the fence road. Then as we walked towards the elk, and all three elk had their heads up. Noah was the only one who brought his rifle. Noah took aim on the first cow and took out its neck. The second cow we approached, and as it was looking at us, we gave the rifle to the other guy and he shot it in the neck. For the third elk we walked up right on it and the third guy put a bullet in its brain.  I told them about the tobacco ceremony I perform with each animal I or anyone in my group kill, and invited them to participate. They all agreed, and we took tobacco and said a prayer of each of the elk (us in English, they in Spanish).  

The guys on their ATV also had a sled-attachment, so we loaded up the elk in the sled and they dropped off Noah’s elk at our truck. We thanked them for hauling out our elk, and proceeded to gut the elk. They hauled their elk up to their trucks and gutted them, with the agreement that they would come back and help us load our elk when we were done. They did just that. As we finished with the elk, they approached on the ATV and helped load it in the back. We covered it with a tarp, strapped it down, and headed home. We figured the elk would cool – it was 11 degrees outside and the temperature was dropping with the snow coming in.

We arrived home early enough so that we could quarter the elk in the garage. The next day we began to butcher and fill the freezer.