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I still can’t decide if Chase Boggs is an idiot or a hero. He wears blue jeans, a flannel t-shirt, cowboy boots and a ball cap 365 days a year. His voice reminds me of a deer stand along a cornfield, and he looks like a Levi-jeans commercial. He and Brett Farve share a similar southern charisma to their stride. Chase is a southern Missouri man that I met in my final semester at Missouri State University. He’s one of those people you meet in your life, and instantly it’s like you’ve known the kid since birth. We’re the definition of fast friends. We needed only about 23 seconds of conversation one Tuesday night in Springfield, before I knew I wanted him in my life. So, when he called me at 2:30 AM on a September morning to help him pack out an elk in southern Montana, I answered the bell. Two days prior, we had discussed a trailhead and a spot where he should go look for elk by himself. If I’m being honest, I thought I had a better chance scoring a date with Wonder Woman; than him shooting a bull elk with his bow solo, in a place he’d never been before. For the first time in my life, I was wrong. I’m the only person, ever, that is thankful for the rumble strips are on the centerline of highways. When I am behind the wheel, I tend to fixate on the furthest hill, along some grove of trees, miles away scanning for wildlife. After a grueling few hours, I park alongside another Missouri license plate. His grin has a dash of disbelief, but it’s a mostly relieved smirk for having help.

The hike doesn’t take long, and the first four miles barely brought a sweat to my forehead. Chase’s continued warnings of how difficult life was about to become failed to hit home. I “knew better” as we raced up the mountain toward the carcass. At the top of the mountain I sort of glance around and say something to the effect, “where is this thing?” Chase didn’t say much, instead he kind of pointed. I shit you not, he pointed down, off the edge of something I would not dare going over on my own. We descended 1,000 feet in 20 minutes to the very bottom of the drainage, to find the young bull pinned between two lodgepole pines. Once again, I took the lead. I said, “well I’ll just swing him down through the tree’s, so we can actually get to his body.” Chase once again kind of nodded at me, as if to say, “dude I’d like to see that.” I’d love to brag and say I picked up his front half to drag him the few yards necessary to break free of the tree’s, but that wouldn’t be how it happened. I guess you truly can’t understand how gigantic a full-grown bull elk is until you stand over one. A seven-hundred-pound animal sounds like a tremendous amount, but until it lays at your feet you truly have no reference point. After another few hours of skinning, deboning and loading the animal, we start the climb to the top. Every step is pure agony. To carry over 100 pounds five miles is a feat on its own, but to do it after hiking five miles and butchering an animal all afternoon is another chore. In that state, your mind must force each leg to move, just to continue gaining inches toward the truck. My parents used to say, “you can make anything fun if you want to.” Maybe that’s what kept the jokes pouring out and allowed the exhausted laughter to roar across the mountainside. We reached the top of the mountain just as the sun sank behind the furthest peak. The orange glow faded slowly into a melancholy purple, only to be illuminated by two lone headlamps. The temperature began to plummet, but that didn’t slow the sweat from gliding down my nose. We stopped for breaks often, trying to regain a little energy and munching Cliff bars whenever possible, but when we stopped my legs shook with exhaustion. As we inched closer to the truck, I refused to let Chase beat me there. In fact, to prove a point, I jogged the final 100 yards to the truck sarcastically gloating how I could have carried more.

Two hours later, it’s midnight, we’re horizontal in a hotel room scarfing down Domino’s pizza. Daniel Tosh is on Comedy Central telling jokes about how destitute this country’s future is. Maybe I am a hopeless romantic, but I’d like to think Daniel Tosh doesn’t have friends like Chase Boggs. The kid is fearless, strong, independent and loyal. He had been hunting his butt off for five days with a partner but chose to continue his quest alone when his buddy could no longer hunt with him. That is determination at its core, and it is passion for accomplishing something important to him. My mind sometimes wanders and carries my thoughts to a dark place of anxiety about my inability to fit into the lock step of what society expects from me. People like Chase, with real passion, illustrate how the unknown should never be feared. Instead, sprint into the fire with a chip on your shoulder and grit your teeth to prove a point.

Sometimes a guy has to recognize his gift. Writing is yours.

And Chase, congrats again on your elk. That was an awesome accomplishment.

These kinds of situations are what friends are for!

Tom

Thank you. As has been posted above, you truly have been blessed with a gift! I hope that you continue pursue it with the passion that you displayed in that story above and that it brings you happiness and success!

Hopefully Chase shared a good portion of that elk meat as well!

I remember Chase’s story. Congratulations again on a fantastic bowhunt! You have the drive and determination to get it done and I look forward to many great hunting stories to come!

Good luck boys!