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Friday, February 09, 2007

Bugle Boy

My Dad is a sportsman - a fisher of fish and a bow hunter. My childhood summers were filled with trips on the Columbia River, camouflage and blue tick hounds, before they were deemed unethical and banned from bear hunting. (Yes, we were those crazy people. Even a small child can deduct that this seemed insane, purposefully provoking a bear with big teeth and scary claws. My Mom somehow missed all the fun, escaping to a PTC meeting before the advent of daycare.) I remember sitting in the back of the jeep, officiating a Barbie wedding, while my Dad was running around in the woods chasing wild beasts. Good times.

Then my Dad got into elk hunting. Once again, it wasn't enough to track the sucker down, you must tick them off; tease them into thinking you are a rival bull elk. And the best way to pose as a bull elk is to bugle like them. My Dad constructed an elk flute from a pvc pipe. He practiced his piper tune, perfecting the authentic sound. He even purchased a elk bugling cassette at some sportsman show. Nothing says successful slumber party like wapiti mating calls - played of course for our listening pleasure. Or the cringe factor. Did I mention he is a bit ornery too?
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My Dad doesn't hunt much these days; Lexi would be horrified. But they love to fish with Papa. (Somehow lake fish are exempt from her PETAesque pledge.) Or perhaps, like me, they just like hanging out with the guy.
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