Overall, I think I’m an optimist.

    I think my kids will all graduate from high school, go to college, raise great families and play important roles in their careers and communities. I think the good guys will eventually triumph in any conflict. And I always think that if I’m going hunting or fishing, I’m going to find some success. If I were a pessimist, I’m sure I would spend most Saturdays sleeping in. But if there’s a good outdoor opportunity, I’m usually up and out the door before daylight.

    I think my dad was an optimist, too. Maybe that’s where I get it from. If we were fishing on Palisades, he would talk about catching a 10-pound lake trout. If we were hunting it, he was daydreaming about a big bull or buck. Every time we went out to spend an evening up a remote mountain canyon to watch a bait sight, he was excited because we might get a bear. He knew the possibility was always there and all we had to do was get out and be at the right place at the right time.

    It’s always easy to be optimistic when all the conditions are right. Good weather, good location, good health and good equipment always improve the odds. It’s much easier to identify a true optimist when things are less than perfect, though. Rather than focus on those times or events, it’s still easy for one to say, “Wahoo, the glass is still half full… I bet it tastes great!”

    I’m convinced that being an optimist pays off. And here’s where my story begins:

    My dad loved to elk hunt. His dream was always to get a six-point bull, but any legal elk is a great elk when it’s time to fill the freezer. One time dad was suffering through a bad case of flu when his buddy Terry showed up to take him elk hunting. Despite a fever, body aches, chills and nausea, dad loaded up his .300 Win Mag into the old green Dodge Powerwagon and off they went.

    One of the great things about living in Alpine, Wyoming in the mid ‘80s was that hunting commenced at the city limit sign. Within ten minutes, the old Dodge was crawling along a dirt road as Terry intently watched for elk. Dad’s focus was just trying not to throw up in Terry’s truck.

    While most elk during hunting season are only found in the roughest, most remote country known to mankind, occasionally a road hunt pays off. As soon as Terry spotted the herd, he was out of the truck and racing through the trees. Dad was in no condition to race anywhere so he managed to stagger out of the truck and get some fresh air.

    As he was leaning against the hood of the truck, some movement caught his attention. A single elk was sneaking through the dense forest and was barely visible… a fleeting glimpse of the neck or flank or shoulder as it passed through a small, unobstructed window in the forest.

    Dad quickly retrieved his rifle from the cab of the truck, chambered a round and watched for a piece of antler. He soon spotted a long spike extending out from behind an ear. Once Dad knew it was a bull, he waited for a clear shot and then was left to listen to the echo of the rifle report resonate up the canyons.

    Within a few minutes, Terry was running back to see if things were alright. Dad was back to leaning against the hood and indicated he had shot a spike bull but was too ill to go retrieve it by himself.

    It didn’t take long to locate the bull, but it wasn’t the bull Dad expected to find. The long spike behind the ear was only the brow tine and was followed by five more long tines on a dark, heavy beam. Against the odds, Dad had finally got his six-point bull.

    Life doesn’t always turn out that good. But, sometimes it does, especially if you keep at it.

    And that’s why I’m an optimist.