Ram

By Rodney St Clair Ballenden

When Loren Packard stalks her first Bighorn ram she feels the primitive forces of the hunter stirring in her. She craves the rush of power. The challenge of meeting an adversary eye to eye, each magnificent in their own way, and yet each holding the darker side of deceit inherent in all conquests of superiority of the one over the other.
The fact that Loren is a novice makes the challenge even greater. She hires a professional guide to train her and works hard to meet his demanding levels of proficiency. All the while hiding her agenda from her husband and two children. However, her son, Lance grows suspicious. Always the interrogator and despite his tender twelve years of age, not the one for allowing sleeping dogs to lie.
When the principal of her children’s primary school calls a meeting to discuss the insidious drug problem creeping into their midst and the related separation of parent to child, Loren rises to the occasion. She draws a parallel to the horrors of terrorism, the bully, and the growing threat of drug peddling at school, to the skills learned as a hunter and the challenges facing a child growing up in the modern world. Her opinion stuns Larry, her husband, and with Lance nipping away at her defences, Loren tells them of her mission to hunt all four Bighorn rams in their own environments.
The money to pay for this mission becomes Larry’s overriding concern and he vows to stop his wife. He knows that the money she needs for her hunt can only be taken from their family policies and, since his income has slowed, he feels compelled to intervene. Loren disregards the pleas of her husband and family in favour of the glitz and the glamour of the Bighorn hunting fraternity. She buys into the security of a professional Outfitting company, Extreme Hunt Adventures, and as she drifts from the truth of an inner calling, so the forces stacked against her mount up. Where once she had vowed to fight for those she called ‘mine’ even if that be not so truthful, she now stares defeat in the eye. Her mission seems doomed. Her well laid plans flounder against the brick wall of Wildlife administration details and the cruellest card of them all; fate. Her only option to admit defeat and crawl back home.
Only then does her Red Indian friend, Stand Open, reveal his true worth. A worth which Loren had cast aside, but which now offers her a hand to go into those mountains and fetch her ram.
And she does. She conquers the terrain and the elements. She meets the challenges of the hunt and brings out her trophy. But at what cost? And can she bare the consequences of her victory?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rodney St Clair Ballenden
• Release date: Jun 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370039517

Rodney St Clair Ballenden

Rodney St Clair Ballenden was born in Nairobi, Kenya, in 1947. In lieu of an academic career he traveled extensively through Europe, the United Sates of America and Greece. He married Colleen and returned to South Africa to farm, but the call of the wild drew him into a hermit existence placing him in extreme situations exposed to danger and the vagaries of storm and wind. From his observations on man and his relationship with the wilderness he began to write, and his books are available on the SmashWord platform as well as at Amazon. Rodney now lives in Greece.

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RAM

by

Rodney St Clair Ballenden

This is the final edition of Ram Copyright © 2020 after an extensive re-write and edit, and replaces all previous editions.

Copyright © cover by PJ 2018

Copyright © text & story by Rodney St Clair Ballenden.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without permission from the copyright owner. This book is a work of fiction and licensed for your personal enjoyment. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

Acknowledgement

In the beginning beast and man came together. All things were joined as one, each kind with enough space to leave the other in peace. In the Colosseum of Rome beast and man were forced to fight, and in that enclosed space more often than not the beast won. During the Age of Ice beast and man sheltered in the same cave and beast ate man, and would have gobbled him to extinction had not man discovered fire. So the legend goes. In the end beast ran out of territory first and so man created parks. Now, man has to harvest beast in order to control the numbers. But man cannot control man. Today man comes inherently dishonest and greedy. He will ravage the innocent until there be none to ravage. He will occupy every inch of space until he too is forced to flee, abandoning his broken hearth to settle in some distant galaxy only to denude whatever richness he finds there all over again.

I acknowledge those who hunt, as per the rituals of an ancient craft, pitting their wit against the equal of their prey. I acknowledge those who go out on foot and, even if only for the final hundred yards, face the beast eye to eye. I say thank you to those who sacrifice that others may live, and to those who share their love of the beauty of this life, that our world not be lost in the dwindling reserves available to all.

dedicated

to those given in sacrifice, be they man or beast

Beginning Of The Story

I ran the forecourt at the local shop as a petrol jockey helping out over the busy holiday period, and in so doing overheard many fascinating stories told by the customers. One of my clients pulled in and barked out his order. Fill her up. Check that back tyre. I’m going for a leak. He was dressed in camouflage. So too his jeep. He wore his peaked cap back to front, the sign of a grasshopper man; foreward and only ever foreward. I filled the tank, careful not to spill down the side.

On his return he whispered in my ear, Have you heard of the American Bighorn? Without waiting for my reply he sat on the running board and continued, The ultimate challenge is to shoot all four, he told me. That’s what I want to do. Some take a lifetime. Not me. One a year, and he laughed. If I can afford it, he said. Costs a fortune, my friend, and he roared away without giving me a tip, but having dropped an incredible jewel in my lap. So, from that chance encounter the story Ram emerged, unfolding at a gallop, wanting to be told.

BOOK 1: THE STALK

Loren walked upright, stark against the skyline, bored of pretending to merge into the landscape. The path clear yet she stumbled. The treeline below a matter of yards away and, should some wild animal attack, a sharp sprint would carry her to safety. She thought of leaping for the lowest branch to hide at the top of the very first tree. Not even her smell would give her away. She had scuffed her shoes and socks with fresh Elk dung before setting out. Only Stand Open would find her.

He bunny hopped ahead, his knees touching his chin. He could do that because he was a Navajo and had stalked game since he could crawl. Loren skipped the crawling phase of growing up. At two and a half years of age she stood, clutching her rattle, and stumbled over to the settee where she fell. By the age of three she no longer fell and the rattle had given way to a baton. Stand Open only stood upright in his fourth year. Until then he had stalked mice, birds and horned lizards in the same terrain in which he now hopped. He never looked back to see how Loren coped. This outing was her idea. She had asked him to show her where the big horn lived, so he stalked on, ignoring her pain, careless of whether she wanted to catch up or not.

I’m not ready for this, Loren snapped, more to herself but deliberately loud for Stand Open to hear.

Shhh! He frowned, his finger to his lips.

He motioned for her to get down, his hand waving urgently. He was not a feisty character to go off pop as a man of greater importance, expecting Loren to respect him. He was a Dine Indian, true to his ancestors, and had learnt the ways of the nature guide on the Navajo Plateau through good times and bad to become a gentle spirit of the wilderness. He need not look back. She would find him in her own way.

Loren bent over, resting her hands on her knees, and hobbled closer. Stand Open tapped his ankles, meaning for her to crouch as he did, and stabbed the way ahead with his two fingers, as a snake would flick it's tongue at a wounded rat.

When Stand Open moved forward again Loren sat, her legs splayed. She watched him, fascinated by his agility and the ease with which he glided along the path. Then, he dipped into a ravine and Loren followed not to be left behind. He had warned her the rams would be in that ravine, grazing on the last patch of sedge before winter. It was now mid-July and the rutting season only due in four months. The rams may not feel the urge to mate just yet, their clocks programmed to fatten up first before heading into the place of the snow and the blizzards and possible death.

Stand Open crawled to the lip of the ravine. He peered over and crawled forward again. Then he stood. He showed himself against the skyline. True to his name he stood open, his arms by his side. His spirit name offering an insight into his strengths and the lessons he still had to learn, no matter his age or what he had signed off as having understood.

And not a single Bighorn grazed in the ravine below.

What now? Loren sniggered. She stepped in front of Stand Open to peer into the ravine. They’ve gone, huh! Your father said you were good at this, and she mocked him, arrogant in her victory.

We will have to move, he admitted, staring in dismay at the empty patch of sage, the grass thick and fresh.

Loren aimed her camera into the ravine and zoomed in to sweep the broad expanse of the dry river bed. She saw nothing. She pointed the camera at her feet and saw her flimsy shoes, scuffed and dirty, and wriggled her toes to amuse herself.

Now I stink, she hissed. For nothing. She leaned against Stand Open and rubbed her shoe against his leg. I sure can’t go home like this. You can tell them…make it up…the conference hall was full of dung.

I missed the signs, Stand Open admitted, his voice muffled, struggling to accept the defeat.

One day wasted, Loren snapped. I’ve only got three, remember. If I miss another the family will call out the National Guard. She brushed passed him. I’m starved. Let’s get a beer.

Stand Open followed Loren to the truck explaining to her that they must go back to Farmington and search for the Bighorn higher in the mountains around Del Muerto.

We can make it by sunset and walk out early tomorrow, he said. It’ll be tight, he warned Loren. Those mountains…the colour purple should warn you, so I can’t promise…anything, and if we have to go into the Canyon… and Stand Open left the hazards of such a place as the Canyon unspoken. Del Muerto says it all, he muttered.

And I’m not the fittest, Loren admitted. I find it really tough on these paths. I can race through a routine at the Fitness Centre, but here my ankles twist and turn. They feel totally useless.

After only one day, Stand Open noted.

I’m just not ready. Loren showed her frustration whining to Stand Open. What if we don’t find them? I can’t come again. Larry would never swallow Las Vegas twice in one moth, he was even suspicious about this trip, and she laughed.

Her laugh was not a fun laugh, but scornful, knowing she fooled no one, least of all Stand Open. The fact that he had miscalculated the whereabouts of the Bighorn was an honest mistake, something feasible that turned out wrong. Loren’s decision to go on a photo shoot was one of deceit. She had told her family she would be away for two nights attending a conference of Health & Fitness associates, and already the first day was lost and the next hardly guaranteed.

You find this ram, she warned Stand Open. Take me to him and no more mistakes. End of story.

Stand Open drove out of Outlet Nek, crossing the dry river bed to re-join the Old Lake Road, and headed towards the Arizona New Mexico border. There, he turned onto Sawmill Road, and travelled through the Navajo settlement around Pine High school and back to Gallup. Once on the highway Stand Open hit the accelerator, the distance to Farmington more than an hour, but if he could make it in less, he could win back some of the time lost, and more importantly, win back Loren’s trust.

He flipped open the glove compartment and handed Loren a chunk of dried meat. Sorry, no beer, he said. You know, it’s bad for me to carry alcohol, I mean, the people think...

Loren shrugged. Screw them, she said. You’re with me, and since I’m the only one here, you’re okay.

She tore the dried meat into strips with her teeth and handed Stand Open a strip. She watched him chew, the weathered lines of a thousand nights under the stars and another thousand in the wind and rain, cracked with every bite into a pattern of delicate squares, like mud in a dry river bed. His eyes, two dark holes below his bushy eyebrows, pierced the distance ahead. The smile he always carried, drooping to one side, his lips slightly parted, hid an inner shyness of having to speak to someone. When he did, he spoke softly, not to intimidate or dominate another person, no matter their standing, whether they be blessed or depraved.

I want to learn the way you hunt, Loren began.

Are you a hunter? Stand Open replied.

I am a woman.

That does not qualify you as a hunter, he said. In our tribe we have such women, and they are brave woman. Their stories tell of powerful deeds in battle and on the hunt.

Then, I can be one of them. Loren spat the gristle of her meat out the window. I just don’t know how to get there?

You drive, Stand Open laughed.

Don’t be funny.

After a pause Stand Open added, You’re right. No one laughs at my jokes. I should stick to serious stories and keep the jokes for myself."

And you are not to teach me, Loren warned Stand Open. I will teach myself. You just show me.

It is all about the killing, Stand Open began. The question the ram askes; are you a natural born killer? Like a brave Navajo?

Do you know what I want to experience? Lore interrupted, and sat sideways to face him. I want to experience the fear of a challenge greater than myself. A really big challenge, and yet, when I meet it, I will know…I will just know, it cannot beat me.

Ram is noble, Stand Open began, side stepping Loren’s desire. Ram is magnificent. Man not so, because man has lost his compassion. He is no longer in touch with nature, and as such he cannot be magnificent. Stand Open stopped the truck and looked at Loren. Now, the woman may drive, he said. Your foot on the pedal will overcome the fear of the distance still to go, and the harder you press the slower you go.

Watch me, and Loren kicked her door open.

Stand Open and Loren crossed over at the back of the truck, and he waited for Loren to climb in behind the wheel. Then, he turned into the sunset and peed. He stared across the countryside, seeing the ram in his mind’s eye, drawing it closer, to secure the shot Loren had hired him to secure, and not waste another day. Of all things, not another day.

ABOVE DEL MUERTO

In Farmington, Loren swung into the first petrol station and filled up, paying with a card, buying a Coke and a packet of sweets from the store. Stand Open drove out of town a sweet under his tongue.

I prefer the salt, he muttered, and spat out the sweet.

Wait for the sugar to kick in, Loren said, and as they turned onto route 64 headed for Kirtland, Loren handed Stand Open a Coke. This’ll do the trick, she said.

You’ll never get to be a hunter, he said. This junk makes you chase rats…you think they are giants.

See, the sugar’s already made you cranky, Loren mocked him.

What did you mean by, I am a woman? Stand Open asked. You said you wanted to learn how to hunt, and that you are a woman?

A person of power. Loren emphasised her point, repeating, I am a person of power. She paused for Stand Open to absorb her meaning, then continued, saying, All woman are powerful, not that they see themselves as powerful. In fact, women generally accept themselves as inadequate. I do not hide behind a man. As a woman I know how far to let a man go with me. No further. If he tries to dominate me I’ll kill him. Not in blood. I kill with my superior mind. You see, Stand Open, I am not weak. A situation can push me to the limit, and I will find another yard of strength to go beyond that limit. But, the question you asked was, are you a hunter, and the answer is, no. I am a woman, and a woman such as me, can become a hunter. I am not born to hunt. I can kill, not murder. I kill as a consequence of a fair fight. Betray me and, yes, I will kill you. You may walk and you may talk, but I have sucked you of the very essence of what it means to be a man. You live as a shadow, while I walk free, assured in the power given to me as a woman.

Stand Open concentrated on the road, his jaw working, his mind in overdrive, realigning Loren’s words into his order of reference without unravelling the meaning.

I can say this to you, Loren began again. Because I am not afraid of you. You are different…you belong elsewhere…and I…I want, and Loren searched for the words. I want something from you she said.

Stand Open nodded his reply.

They fell silent, each conscious of having arrived at a point, a good point, deserving of the journey they had begun.

Once on the Navajo Reserve the road deteriorated to a track, no more than a footpath. The rocks loose and slippery as the slopes grew steeper and steeper. The truck lurching towards the verge and threatening to topple over into the gorge below. Loren’s bravado evaporated in the reality of knowing she could never tame this place. No one could. Not even Stand Open nor all of his tribe. They had been here for centuries and still the place remained untamed. Their only hope of survival was to assimilate. Go into it. Make peace and allow it to govern the right of passage. All his life Stand Open had been guided in that process. He belonged in the presence of the gods, of both heaven and earth, and everything in between. He was closer to the forces of nature than she, and even spoke to the dead. That’s what he claimed, and Loren believed him. He had told her, he heard their voices in the wind, because they still roamed these slopes.

So he would lead or guide, as he preferred to say.

Loren aspired to belong, and vowed to follow as best she could.

They bumped through Kirtland, and again through Waterflow, all the way to Shiprock. There, they turned down towards Little Water, keeping the mountain range on their right hand side, and the wind on their left. At Sheep Springs, Stand Open stopped, and walked out onto the rocky plateau. He stood, gazing up into the mountains, and raised his arms, palms flat.

He turned in a circle, his eyes closed, smelling the air.

I’d use a drone, Loren shouted at him. Hey Wizard! Did you hear me? Who says they’re in the mountains. They could be just over this ridge, and she pointed across the plateau. As Stand Open slid in behind the wheel, Loren continued. How’s that for a cool name? Hey Wizard? I’m bored of this Stand Open stuff. What’s your real name? She asked. Something proper, you know, we live in modern times.

They are in those mountains, he said, speaking with authority as he sidestepped Loren’s provocative questioning. I can see without looking.

And now you look without seeing, Loren continued to mock him. Life would be so boring if everything was safe. What do you say Wizard? Is this what you call the Plateau?" Loren asked changing the subject.

We go now to Crystal, he said, avoiding the question.

She a clairvoyant of yours? This Crystal lady?

I am Stand Open. The elders gave me that name…the proper one, he replied. I go by no other.

And, my name? Loren asked. The proper one for me?

That is not for me to say. He ignored Loren to concentrate on the road unwinding ahead, and follow the inner path he felt towards the great ram of the Bighorns.

As Stand Open picked his way along the service track leading to Crystal, he looked out the window towards the place the Navajo call, Del Muerto, and explained to Loren that they must approach from this side, and not go around to Canyon de Chelly. He admitted to Loren that he had taken a chance at finding her ram in the Outlet Nek ravine, and that was a big mistake. Now, he saw the rams in the mountains above Del Muerto, and his plan was to come up the gorge from Wheatfields Lake and surprise them from behind. Not only will the wind be in his favour but the terrain as well.

We go through Little White Cone and turn into the river bed, he said. This truck can make it to the foothills, then we must walk.

Oh good, just what I need. Another walk, Loren sighed.

She sat low in the passenger seat not bothering to search the terrain, enjoying the last of her comfort until the next round of rock climbing, slipping, sliding, and pretending to the fun of it all.

And from the foothills you will carry me to the top, she quipped.

No. You walk alone.

Splendid. No magic for me, huh, Wizard. Slow poison, and an agonising death. I shall call myself, No Good Snake.

Stand Open laughed. I will be there….right behind you, he said.

Once through Little White Cone the service road dipped down into the dry river bed, and