The Gila's not the New Mexico I expect; a New Mexico of desert and cactus. What I find instead is lush vegetation, wild flowers and knee-high grass. The hills are blanketed in fresh grass and majestic stands of ponderosa pines. It's been a wet summer. The five-year drought that has plagued the region seems to have ended. Still, it's difficult to avoid the notion that the steep mountains and deep canyons might prove too much for my aging legs, but I am ready to give it my best.

When many people around the country think of New Mexico they think of desert and cactuses. The same holds true for the author who was surprised to find a land full of vegetaion, flowers and grasses.

That will be later. First we'll meet our host, outfitter Ken Swaim, and his partner, Jack Diamond, together operating Beaverhead Outfitters near Winston, New Mexico. Ken and Jack make us feel right at home, us being Ben Maki of Mossy Oak Apparel, Dennis Presley, an actual Elvis' cousin from Mississippi, and Brent White, a veterinarian from Louisiana.

We sit down to get to know each other, and hear Ken's words of advice. One witticism quickly puts things into perspective; "What you need to do is make an elk and an arrow come together at the same time and place." Simple enough, but all of us are a little apprehensive about our physical conditioning. I've dropped a few pounds and am feeling good, but you really never know for certain until you begin.

We will soon fall into a routine, dressing lightly each morning in lightweight scent-containment clothing, stashing raingear against unpredictable thundershowers. Water is most important, keeping hydration pouches filled in order to remain hydrated in the dry climate. Ken has also insisted each of us have stalking slippers to quiet our steps across crunchy western New Mexico terrain.

The first morning proves indicative, starting by climbing, moving out across juniper, oak and ponderosa ridges and saddles. In time we'll stop to call. That first morning it's still and quiet as Ken makes the first cow calls towards a meadow well below. The bugle that follows fills us with enthusiasm, a single bull responding to Ken's calls. We don't get a look at that bull, as he retreats with his cows into swallowing timber. This scenario repeats itself the first few days, making contact, Ben and I fanning ahead to ambush passing bulls. During the first two days this tactic provides high hopes and a few close encounters.

One of the early highlights occurs on the first day, Ken, Ben and I listening to Ken as we drive to evening tree stand sites. Ken's saying something about a big bull he's seen occasionally while scouting, when suddenly he points and says, "Just like that one there!"

To our left is the biggest bull I've ever laid eyes on. He's leaving a water-hole, a few steps behind a lone cow. At 45 yards the bull's deep "whale tails" seem to reach his rump. He turns to regard us, showing his extremely wide spread. He casually ambles after the cow.

Ben and I need no prodding, deciding the best thing to do is hot-foot it in an attempt to get ahead of the cow, evening light fading quickly. I could bore you with details, but in short the bull grew silent and disappeared. Needless to say, we will invest a good bit of effort on this monster, managing to locate him several times, but each morning his bugle recedes deeper into thick cover as a hot sun climbs higher.