This fall’s hunting season is just beginning in Moffat County, and it is triggering memories of seasons when I was growing up on the ranch. I wish that I had kept a diary so that I could pinpoint exact  dates that things happened, but where hunting season is concerned, I’m guessing that my mind started recording information at about eight years of age. So that was the target age of last week’s column.

It never ceases to amaze me as to how quickly the years pass and how everything changes along the way. Now I’m reflecting on hunting seasons in my late growing-up years when I was in high school and finally college and then married with children. Somewhere during those years Dad started “taking in” hunters, first packing them into the high (forest) country.

Gradually, Dad became an outfitter, though he still ranched full time. It wasn’t long until he had a partner in the business, and although they still packed hunters into the high country, they leased more hunting property at a lower elevation. They even had some lodging and hired some part-time help. Hunters came from several states.

Now I’m thinking about what stands out most in my mind about hunting seasons over all of the years. First of all, I equate hunting season to snowy, muddy, cold weather (for at least a part of each season). I can remember one year, in particular, when I was married and had children, and we visited the ranch. It was snowing heavily, and we were grateful to be in a warm house. We were eating supper when a couple of Dad’s hunters knocked on the door. It was dark, and one of the hunters in the group had not returned to camp. I don’t remember what Dad did to help, but eventually the hunter returned and all was well.

What I remember mostly about hunting seasons, however, has to do with trespassing. Most hunters are honest, and I don’t know if trespassing is a problem today, but it was years ago. Perhaps some hunters didn’t have a place to hunt or a way or means to hunt the high country or other public lands. Maybe it was “buck fever.” Whatever the reason, if nobody was looking some hunters shot into pastures where deer grazed with cattle.

The most blatant of these hunters, nicknamed “road runners,” were those who drove slowly up and down the county road in their pickup trucks in search of deer. If they saw one, they shot, no matter if it was illegal. Our cattle were right next to the road and we were concerned about their safety so we checked the property several times a day.

A game warden was in charge of each area. If there were trespassers, ranchers called the warden, sometimes with a license plate number. Trespassing charges resulted in fines and sometimes even the loss of privileges.

I remember one time that a pickup truck had its bed covered so that several hunters could not be seen in the back. If the hunters spotted a deer, they shot from under the cover. Another time I was in the barn at the corral, feeding my 4-H steers. The barn is right next to the county road. A pickup came by, the hunters spotted a deer on the other side of the road, and one of them started shooting. Dad was not far away, and he started yelling. He knew that if the deer ran into the corral and I stuck my head out of the barn…you can guess.

It was the only time I heard my dad swear.