Heralding the advent of day, a brightening eastern sky woke me, but later than usual during this first-week, elk-only season. Scrambling from the cocoon of my cozy sleeping bag, I hastily cooked a bowl of oatmeal and slurped down a cup of hot coffee, eager to begin the day's hunt. As I set out, my rifle slung over a shoulder, the cold morning air bit at my ears until I pulled my blaze-orange stocking cap low on my head.

A half-hour of huffing and puffing, and I reached my post, at the edge of as aspen grove. A sedge marsh spread away to the south to the bottom of a hillside and a narrow glade ran down between me and a higher rocky ridge to the west. I liked this spot for its open view and for the possibility that a feeding herd in the morning might just amble up through the glade without hearing or seeing or smelling me.

When my family moved to Durango three years ago, I decided to get serious about elk hunting. That meant getting familiar with a new place, an exciting locale in the Southwest within easy reach of mountainous forests and remote valleys. Elk are emblematic of wild places and the San Juan Mountains represent some of the wildest in the contiguous states.

In fact, the San Juan and Rio Grande National Forests hold the largest wilderness in Colorado. Because of its designation as part of the National Wilderness Preservation System, The Weminuche Wilderness, with elevations ranging from 8,000 to 14,000 feet, is permanently protected from the kinds of activities that are inimical to wildlife such as elk. The series of rugged peaks and incised valleys provide superb summer habitat and unparalleled hunting opportunities. The Weminuche takes in all or part of five game management units.

For those of us born after 1949, Colorado wisely requires successful completion of a hunter education course, in order to obtain a valid certificate; my last such instruction was as an eighth grader in Minnesota, which my father insisted I have before he let me shoulder a lightweight Steven double-barrel 20 gauge on pheasant hunts with him. So a refresher course was certainly a welcome reminder of safety precautions. Our local field office of the Division of Wildlife (970-247-0855) can provide a schedule of courses in our area.

With a valid hunter education card, you can obtain a license in one of three ways: apply to draw a tag; buy an over-the-counter antlered tag; or, obtain leftover tag. While the process seems somewhat complicated, the best means is by application, which takes a little foresight because the deadline is April 1. If you missed it, you can still purchase an antler-only tag, or await the announcement by the Division of Wildlife of the day the agency will offer on a first-come, first-served basis the leftover licenses. Of course, this latter option is the least desirable because you stand in line with everybody else who didn't apply early.

Two other pre-season rites are well to observe. Exploring your game management unit is helpful. Several weeks before my third-season tag that first year, I drove to determine its perimeter and to probe its interior. As a newcomer, this scouting was essential for me. Once I found enticing spots, I hiked them to check for signs. During an August outing in my unit, I glassed a cow and her calf. They're here, I thought, filled with excitement.

The other must is to sight in your rifle. The Durango Gun Club (970-247-3922) makes this convenient the week before each season at its shooting range on La Posta Road. It's a critical task, not only to become familiar with your weapon, but also to instill confidence that your gun and scope are on the mark. While on my hunt, knowing that my gun was accurate helped me calmly squeeze the trigger - despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins once I had my shot lined up.

My first hunting season three years ago, I successfully brought down an elk. My family enjoyed a freezer full of elk roasts, steaks and burgers throughout our first Durango winter.

But now let me take you back to the spot at the edge of those aspens that I reached well after the sun was up. I rustled through my daypack to extricate my seat pad, which in my packing haste was caught up in my rain jacket, so I noisily emptied all my daypack's contents.

Just after I sat down, I heard three eerie bellows in quick succession, each ending with a high ear-piercing note, and all emanating deep from the gut - a true call of the wild. This bugling bull was out of sight, but had to be just down the narrow aspen glade. I froze. What to do? He clearly knew where I was. So I waited, hoping he would show himself, and sure enough, he did.

I glimpsed a regal bull with a massive rack on the hillside opposite the sedge meadow from me. Before I could even get by glasses on him - or raise my rifle to sight him in my scope - he was gone in the shadows between two tall spruce trees, a magnificent animal with dark fur rimmed by a blond rump and shoulders. His bugling called to his harem to change course and follow him, to steer clear of me. I couldn't help but wonder, had I been more silent, would this, too, been a successful hunt?

Sometimes the one that eludes us is the one from which we learn the most. And sometimes it's not just about the kill. Next time, I'll take my sweet time getting to my spot and practice more stealth in setting up.

And there will be a next time. My either-sex tag for that same unit arrived in late June.

(Mike Matz is a Durango resident and hunter.)

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