February 2, 2024
The alarm went off at 4AM. I popped out of bed, brushed my teeth, and made an espresso. This morning, I planned to do a one hour writing session before heading to the trails for a four-mile walk.
When I arrived at the lake, the sky was still pitch black. Bundled in warm clothes and armed with my new Petzl headlamp, I made my way to the trailhead. I texted my wife and sent her a picture of my lighted path so she would not be worried about me. It was still an hour before twilight, but my 1100 lumen headlamp lighted the path like the headlights of a car.
While walking in the dark, I turned toward the lake to see a beaver dive underwater, splashing its paddle-shaped tail against the surface. While there are beavers at this lake, it’s uncommon to spot them in the open. This trail sported several large trees near the water that bear the wear and tear of the beaver’s sharp teeth. Some scrapings were fresh, while old ones scarred several of the nearby trees. The sun wasn’t even up and it was already a good day.
I noticed the faint light of first twilight at about 6:18 AM. It was just enough light for me to notice there was a band of perfectly glassed water on the lake’s west bank. The surrounding water’s surface, however, was covered in small ripples that shimmered under the moon’s light. As I rounded the bend that led to a large wooden bridge, I heard the sounds of waterfowl awaking. A pair of mallards quacked before taking flight, skimming the water at high speed until they became airborne. In the distance, a flock of geese sounded, their honks echoing, bouncing off the water and surrounding trees. A shadowy blue heron flew by the bridge, stopping to perch high in a tree, readying itself for breakfast.
As the sun slowed toward the horizon, the sky transformed from monotone to color, with sharp hues of indigo and magenta. A soft orange glow emerged, reminding me of the color of a Creamsicle. Empty patches in the clouded sky formed streaks of light, creating long slivers of silver across the lake. Fifteen minutes later, the entire show was over as Lake Wilson returned to its normal beauty, the scene everyone would see throughout the day. But its daytime attire was no match for its twilight performance, a special show reserved for those who ventured out into nature before the sun awoke.
On the bridge, I ran into an acquaintance and his dog, someone who also frequents the area on early mornings. One of his unique habits is taking his dog out to the lake and taking a daily picture as a keepsake. If you’re a dog owner, then this will make more sense. As we chatted quietly on the bridge, a large beaver swam right by us, making its way toward the rising sun, its wake cutting the water like a zipper. The man took a few pictures of the beaver while I caught some video and sent it to my wife. She loves seeing these little animals at the lake, and I was sorry she missed this sighting.
It was Friday, but work was very busy as I prepped for an important presentation I had to give the following Monday. In my last meeting of the day, after we had completed our agenda, two workers and I fell into conversation about our past work in law enforcement. It was interesting to learn how similar our experiences were after leaving the field. One worker was a police officer in California and the other a sheriff’s deputy in Colorado. I previously worked on a fugitive apprehension unit in Texas. Now, we had all retired from that line of work.
I was asked if my old unit posted a Hemingway quote in our office, which we did not. But the quote is worth mentioning. Hemingway wrote, “There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter.” We talked about the quote and how our experience had ruined hunting deer and other wildlife. We all supported hunting but also relayed how it did not give us any special feeling. I constantly see videos on the internet of hunters making a kill and being filled with excitement and emotion from the thrill of the hunt.
I remember the excitement of tracking down fugitives and, like a hunter, planning on how to control or blend in with the environment, so we could successfully apprehend another human being while getting no one injured or killed. For all that it is, nothing quite prepares you for prolonged exposure to what we dubbed “hyper-violent environments”. Encountering resistance was normal. Car chases, foot chases, physical confrontations; dealing with threats that weren’t just someone’s words, but the possibility, and probability, of real and imminent danger. I loved my job in that team. Our unit brought in thousands of fugitives who were sexual or violent predators. I worked alongside every local, state, and federal agency you can think of. And while running and gunning taught me more about myself and human beings than any other thing I’ve done, I’m also happy that part of my life is over. We all were.
Standing in a deer stand, or sitting in a blind, to hunt a deer does not excite me. It cannot stand up to the thrill of tracking down another human being and facing them, two people who have harshly conflicting goals that make people act feral. We all supported hunting, however, we understood the importance of facing oneself in challenging circumstances in a way that required one to be strong and bend at the same time. For many people, hunting wildlife is the closest they will ever come to seeing this side of themselves. To us, however, feeling excitement after killing a deer seemed like a dishonest exaggeration of what it means to face conflict in nature; in oneself. Now, each of us in our fifties, we felt grateful for our experiences but recognized that we had more to do in life. As we mature, priorities change, not because we are through with wildness in life, but because we have learned enough to accept what is meaningless and what is important. It was a meaningful conversation; three humans bonding over shared experiences.
During my meeting, the dogs started barking. I muted my mic and peeked out the window, glimpsing car tires in front of my house. I asked my teammates to hold on, and I headed to the front door. It was probably a neighbor looking for their package; I thought to myself. The dogs were barking loudly as I opened the door. My brain just froze, unsuccessfully processing what my eyes were seeing. My wife, who I thought I would not see for a month, was standing outside her SUV smiling at me, looking pretty as ever. She had made the trip home for the weekend, wanting to surprise me. It did. I don’t even know how I finished my meeting, but when I did, my best friend and I just held each other.
There are no words to describe the silent conversation that goes on between two people so closely attached. Tightly embraced, we didn’t say a word, and we didn’t have to. A thousand thoughts and feelings flashed through my head and heart. This woman who I love so deeply, who loves me the same, was no longer an imaginary friend in my mind during her absence. This person was real flesh and blood; heart and soul. It was undeniably the absolute best moment in my life.