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When we moved our family to a rural mountain community in Colorado back in 2000, it wasn't long until I was able to return to my former hobby, hunting. We needed our children to be old enough to either partake in hunting or be able to be at home alone until we got off the mountain. In 2016 I drew an elk Tag. I don't remember how many days into our hunt we were, but I truly will never forget my very unnatural experience.

When hunting, it's an unwritten rule, you need to be in place at least an hour before sun rise. That being said, of course we weren't in place before sunrise, after all we are parents and the kids come first. When my husband and I arrived at what I now refer to as Indian Meadows, we were truly surprised to find the timber surrounding the meadow had been logged out, the previously beautiful mountain meadow now resembled a nuclear bomb site. The barren landscape left one feeling devastated, angry and very depressed. We hiked into the meadow past multiple pieces of large logging equipment. The acrid smell of Diesel fuel laid heavily upon the wet mountain air even without the monstrous machines running.

After hiking in about a half mile, I posted at a tree with a clear view of the meadow. A knee injury has left me permanently unable to hike the mountain sides like a true huntsman. It wasn't long before the wet air spread the moisture upon me, first in the form of rain which quickly changed to snow.

While my husband walked through the timbers above me attempting to drive any elk on the side of the mountain down toward me, I sat and watched the once beautiful tree circled meadow, all I could see and feel was ugliness, the ugliness of greed from the profit that the harvested timber would bring someone, the ugliness of the old equipment rusted from years of exposure to the harsh mountain elements, and the ugliness of the cold wet moisture permeating my bright fluorescent orange hunting attire. I knew I resembled a human orange popsicle, but I didn't really care, thankfully hunting isn't a high fashion sport!

After what seemed like a long amount of time, sitting with my back to the remaining pine and aspen trees that lined the north side of the meadow, I heard behind me a very promising commotion. Branches being snapped and the baritone thud of hooves hitting the ground, echoed down the hill side to where I was patiently waiting. This was it, my husband's drive of the mountainside above had worked, my elk tag would be filled and I could get out of the God forsaken frigid wet weather, a successfully completed hunt once again under my belt.

I positioned myself for a clear shot in the meadow once the elk above exited the cover of the dark timber. My rifle resting upon my shooting sticks readily awaiting my prey, which I CAN MOST DEFINITELY hear charging down the mountain side. I sat there anxiously awaiting for them to appear within my rifle sights, to where I can easily place the crosshairs of my scope on that exact spot vital organs lay beneath for a quick and painless as possible kill.

I waited, but nothing! I could still hear the deep thud of hooves upon the frozen ground. Where were they, where are the elk? Suddenly, BAM! Something hit me, I could feel the force of the hit, but nothing was around me. Nothing had run upon me, I saw nothing hit me, but I most definitely felt it. Yes, I definitely felt something hit me! As I looked forward, in front of me I saw something I had never witnessed before that day. I saw an Indian! No, not physically, but in a shimmering outlined form that I could literally see through. I was stunned and couldn't move. I sat there surely my mouth agape looking at and through this form, utterly confused, as he looked back at me. I could see the outline of the 2 feathers in his braided hair, the lance in his right hand which also bore a couple feathers, and his body and legs down to his knees, as he sat astride a horse that I also could only see the outline of to its midline. There were no colors to the outline. Nothing was exchanged, no words, no expressions, no nothing, he just simply faded away. I was left sitting at the bottom of that hillside not only wet from the now heavy wet falling snow but perplexed beyond what one's mind could possibly absorb.

I really did hear the breaking and snapping of branches and the roaring thud of running hooves that day, but NOTHING ever emerged from the trees, no elk or deer, and those noises stopped once whatever hit me had hit me. Colorado is a state rich in Native American history. Throughout the centuries many different tribes have called this beautiful state home, the Utes, Comanches, Cheyenne, Apache, Arapaho and many more. I have looked at images on the internet of various pictures of warriors from all these tribes, I know not what tribe he was from or when he lived, if he was riding through me off to battle or to hunt elk like me, all I know is that of what I saw and felt that day, I really did see and feel. I have only shared this story a few times until now, as I am afraid those who don't know me wouldn't believe me, I know I wouldn't if it hadn't happened to me.