THE ONE-EYED BERKINS

With nary a false move and macho hearts pounding, the fellas rushed off to stalk a small bunch of mule deer. After starting a fire, the girls and I sat transfixed by the burst of color in brilliant contrast with the lofty firs and pines on the hills. How sad that it's beauty would soon be cut short by old man winter's wrath as we glassed it's plummeting demise. Young curl horns and goats were spotted frolicking upon a new skiff of snow on the peaks, and the one-eyed berkins waited for the cover of night to venture out. The men would be scraping the sky with the jeep near the place in a day or two, then off on foot along the ridges for serious tracking.

Summer eves gone, nippy breezes triggered a round of shivers while a sickle moon darkened our day early. After devouring chili and somores in front of cozy coals, we listened to the unraveling and riveting details of our son's afternoon hunt. The scene stirred up perpetual mind pictures of this family's glory days. Our autumn traditions were off and running.

The following morning brought annoyed youngsters on the distaff side begging a serious audience with the patriarch of our clan. They held hands and nervously hemmed and hawed in their quest for tongue-tied words. Cleverly though, they had waited until after the excitement of the first buck was harvested and hung for all to admire. Suddenly, bits and pieces of complaints spilled out beneath restrained giggles.

"Waking up to icy noses, that awful outhouse, pesky squirrels storing pinecones in sleeping bags, and you guys making disgusting poppers all night. Nobody, just nobody pitches a big 'ol ugly army tent and lives outdoors in the cold, Dad!" And lastly . . . "When do we get to see some berkins?"
Having tossed in a few new-fangled throw-away cameras may have been the most ingenious thing this matriarch ever did. Keeping disgruntled little minds busy as 'chief photographers' sent spiteful little grumbles off with the wind. Joyous waves of girlish squeals ricocheted off towering ramparts while jeeping into back country to retrieve their dad's white-robed billy goat. With the evening campfire, the guys perfected their elk calls, but alas, the biggest bull on the mountain would be left for next time. Instead, we anticipated winter's succulent venison and homemade jerky, another tradition in the making, but still no sign of the berkins.
The illusive berkins had been briefly seen everywhere, those round shiny eyes aglow as our vehicles approached out of the dark. It seemed so strange that we never saw the one-eyed creatures in the daylight hours, only at night, frozen stiff by our headlights. They were nocturnally abundant in the cities, along freeways, in the country, and now high in our Montana mountains ogling us warily from behind tall grass.
"We'll jeep into the woods tomorrow evening with flashlights," their brother promised. "Maybe we'll get lucky and see those creatures, but you must stand very still, for they're liable to run off if we skulk about the forest." "Something bad musta happened to their other eye," the littlest one surmised while pressing her nose against the jeep window. But sadly the one-eyed berkins escaped our prying and meddling that year.
After the customary family vote the following autumn, our herd pulled up next to Prickly Pear Creek in a new truck towing a snazzy new camper. The patriarch divulged he'd been thinking about family creature comforts for a long time, especially his. Within was stored healthier frames of small minds, the pups, all the comforts of home, and our customary Thanksgiving feast.
Until the day he succumbed on upper Pony Creek, the game warden never missed a meal with us, or his daily dose of pumpkin pie dolloped with real whipped cream. With the nagging question still utmost, our girls begged the keeper of the mountain to show them the cunning one-eyed berkin. Without thinking twice, or noting a big brother's chagrined frown, the warden fairly exploded with an uproarious rebound. "Oh you mean all those beer cans along the roadside that shine like eyes in your headlights?"