Plateaus of Destiny - Softcover

Gould, Mike

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1893740005 ISBN 13: 9781893740006

Publisher: Clinetop Pr, 1999

In this wonderful collection of short stories, Mike Gould takes us from the high montane of Colorado to the canyons of Idaho. It is a book by a master storyteller, someone who still practices the fading art of spinning a yarn by the campfire. Mike writes about a good mountain horse, lightning storms, dogs on point, coveys of blue grouse, an old favorite rifle, and gives a tongue-in-cheek account of how to poach a buck. He also tells us of wondrous things, spiritual things, times of deep despair and the grand majesty of nature. This is a wonderful book that will inspire you and lift your soul.

"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.

About the Author:

The phone rang one evening in Mike Gould's farmhouse in Idaho. A lady that Mike had never met was on the line. "Are you the Dog Whisperer?" she asked. "I have a problem with my dog. Can you talk to him?" That's what happens when you become known as perhaps the finest dog trainer in the world today, one who can bond with a dog, form a team with a dog, understand a dog and inspire it to great feats. In fact, he even has teamed up with wild coyotes for 45 minutes at a time, influencing them to do his bidding.

It all started when, as a boy growing up in the mountains of western Colorado, one day Mike Gould walked out of his father's elk hunting camp with a dog and a shotgun instead of a deer rifle. His life was never to be the same. Since that fateful day, Mike has trained over 3,500 dogs of all breeds, has guided over 2,800 bird hunts, and has become known worldwide for his thoughtful and innovative training methods. As well, he is a leading authority on the development of shooting venues and game habitat.

Mike has been featured some 15 times in the Gun Dogs column of Field & Stream; he has also been profiled in Retriever Journal, Pointing Dog Journal, The Denver Post and Outdoor Life. He has been featured on 9News in Denver, Doug Miller's Outdoors in Utah, The Babe Winkelman cable TV show and The Outdoor Life Network. He has demonstrated training techniques for the public at O'Laughlin, Toro, and Safari Club International sports shows, and he has given seminars to hundreds of owners of both hunting dogs and household pets. His Grand River breeding program is famous for producing intelligent, athletic, devoted and talented Labrador retrievers and English pointers.

More than that, however, Mike is a keen observer of life. His thoughts about dogs, the outdoors, habitat, people and places are sure to delight anyone who enjoys the outdoors. Born in 1949, Mike lives in Kamiah, Idaho, with his four children.

From "Grouse Omen": ...I dip half-a-pot of spring water and drop a handful of coffee into my fire-blackened coffeepot. I twist it carefully as I set it in the coals so it won't tip or spill when I stir my fire.

Today will be my last here on the rim. This evening I will be moving up to my camp at the head of Coyote Park. The camp is settled just inside the timber at 10,640 feet. I favor that campsite for several reasons; I can drop into Grizzly Creek, Crane Park, Deep Creek, or Dead Horse Mountain no matter what kind of weather moves in. Even if I get caught in an early snowstorm, I can still get out by simply going downhill.

I am particularly fond of the violent thunderstorms that frequently skip across the ridge where I camp. Many lightning-struck Englemann spruce are strung from just below my camp on up north for several miles. Those huge old trees are twisted and charred by the events of their undoing. Some of them seem to have grimaced as they crashed to the ground and are frowning still where they lay. By walking slowly through these woods and studying the story left behind, one can understand why I have called them "Many Faces."

I have witnessed some astonishing feats of lightning and thunder while standing under my tarp. I like to stretch it tight between four lodgepole pines so it will turn the rain and keep most of my stuff dry. Many days my dogs and I have held fast and peered out while sizzling strikes singled out unlucky victims. The lightning awakens every sense within my spirit, and the immediate thunderclap is so deafening, I sometimes fear the sky is tearing apart.

I recall stories I've heard about self-made men. I hear how they achieved fame and success on their way to the top by their own determination and perseverance. I hear how they have reached their crowning glory as a result of their individual effort.

I wonder if he has ever seen true power, this self-made man. I wonder if he has been the benefactor of grace or redemption. His humility may be hopelessly buried, his heart may not be able to speak. I wonder if he's ever seen lightning strike a tree.

My thoughts are suddenly interrupted by my fire as he hisses his disapproval of the coffee boiling into the coals. I quickly reach into the steam and snag the bail with a hook made of my cupped hand. I grin as I set the pot on a flat rock next to the fire. Tooter Shanklin taught me how to make that hook over thirty years ago.

For many years Tooter hunted mule deer with my dad over on Cottonwood Pass. His easy Southern manner made him a favorite around camp. I turn to look. I can just make out the aspen-covered mesas of Cottonwood Pass even though it is at least thirty miles from where I am standing. Between us is the sheer grandeur of the Glenwood Canyon and the hazy, swirling mist that is rising off the whitewater of the Colorado River.

I squint into the morning and slowly skim my eyes along the mesa until I settle on familiar landmarks. I know where the trail comes off the top and lowers itself into a dense patch of quakies at the edge of Spring Park. "That was Dad's camp," I say out loud.

It was not only my dad's hunting camp, it was where Tooter showed me how to make the hook I had just used to rescue my coffee out of the fire. It is easy to close my eyes and visualize some of the great bucks that were hung to cool in those quakies while we laughed around another fire of another time.

I look at the ground and continue to reminisce. It is also in that camp that my dad told me he was dying. I saw him standing behind one of the tents by himself one morning. I don't know if he knew I was walking toward him and I don't know if he wanted me to see him as he rubbed the inside of his right arm. He was trying to relieve the symptoms of his heart disease. He had placed a nitroglycerine pill under his tongue and was rubbing his arm in an effort to work out of the chest pain that continued to plague him. I had seen him go through the same procedure on many occasions and offered to rub his arm for him. I enjoyed doing it; it made me feel like I was helping somehow.

"This'll be my last trip," he said almost casually.

"What do you mean, Dad?" I wasn't sure if I wanted to hear what he had to say.

"I won't be able to make it to any more hunting camps, Kid. I think it's the end of the line for me."

"Aw, heck, Dad, you'll be all right. It's just awful cold out here this mornin'. Let's head over by the fire." I was swallowing hard on a lump that wouldn't budge. He looked away for a while, then looked back to me. "I don't want to go over there until the pain stops. I don't want everybody worried about me up here."

A month and a half later my dad died as he lay in our arms at home. Thirty-two years later I've still got the lump, and I've still got Tooter's hook...

"About this title" may belong to another edition of this title.