A blue grouse opener retrospective.
I'm missing the weekend opener for blue grouse.
I've probably missed it before, but when I did, I was almost certainly a college student. I haven't missed it, I think, since that time. So this will be the first time in 31 years.
I'm ashamed of that fact.
In the earliest photographs you can find of me, as a small boy, I'm wearing a cowboy hat. Not that this is unusual for somebody my age. We admired cowboys. I don't know if little boys still do, but in my generation they did.
But it was more than a passing thing with me, like being an astronaut (which I never had any desire to be) was with some others of my vintage. When I was first old enough to drive, and had something reliable enough to make it out of town and back, the two not being the same thing, you'd find me out in the sticks as much as possible. Fishing in the summer, or just wandering around, and hunting in the fall and winter. By my college years, I was about as feral as could be.
Jeremiah Johnson would have, in those years, met me and have asked "geez man, don't you ever go indoors?"
And that was the center of me. Not career aspirations or anything of the like. It may be a major defect in my character, but I was never concerned with high dollar careers or anything of the like. What I wanted to be was outdoors. Preferably hunting, if not that fishing, but if not that, anything else, outdoors.
Now, it would be dishonest to say that my interests were completely singular. Even as a very young person, I was extremely interested in history, something I inherited from my two parents. As I've noted here before, growing up in my household was like living in a graduate level history seminar, with the study of European history from the early Middle Ages through the Renaissance the specialty of my mother, and American history and post Enlightenment Europe the specialty of my father. The historical education was both welcome and vast. Other things that my parents knew very well, such as French on the part of my mother and mathematics on the part of my father, I took much less to, although oddly French, which didn't particularly take at the time, has snuck back in as I've aged. I guess I learned more than I thought I did.
And that may be the reason that in my early teens I saw myself in a military service career. Oddly, it wasn't so much the service, as the thought, really, of participating in history, and the knowledge, although it was fairly inaccurate, that servicemen worked outdoors.
By my late teens that desire was seriously waning, probably because by that time I had a better idea what military service actually entailed. And part of what it entailed was a communal life, which I, as a real introvert, wouldn't like.
And by that time the desire to be outdoors had gone from a strong to extreme. It's never left me.
Which is why I'm so bothered today.
Forty years ago when I was taking those first steps out into "career" I'd openly stated that I never wanted a job where I had to wear a tie (which were much more in daily use back then than now) and I'd never let anything, not job, not family, not anything, interfere with my going outdoors.
Well, 17-year-old self, you'd be pretty disappointed in me now.
I can say that safely as 58-year-old self definitely is.
Which probably seems silly.
I've worked really hard, and by external measurements I guess, really successfully, for the past 31 years. And for the nine years, or maybe eight years, prior to that I worked hard to get there, kind of.
That path was frankly a pretty meandering one. My initial goal was to be a game warden, which I've written about before. Then I switched to geology, not because I deeply loved it, but because I was okay at it, and it promised an outdoor life, albeit one that wasn't focused on the wild the way wildlife biology is. In retrospect, I should have done what I first started out to do.
Geology didn't work out due to a collapse in the oilfield and coal economy (sound familiar) and by that time law school had already been suggested to me, although I did reconsider game warden. Where I was at, career wise, at the time would have required me to go on for a Masters degree in geology and I knew that I really didn't want to do it. So I went to law school instead.
Now, that may not seem like the logical choice, but it actually was, at least somewhat. Law school had first been suggested to me by Casper College Professor Jon Brady, who taught history at Casper College but who held a JD. I don't know if he ever had practiced in the civilian world, but he had at least briefly practiced in the U.S. Navy as a JAG officer.
I didn't know but one lawyer, one of my father's friends, and I didn't know him all that well. I did know, however, a lot of doctors and dentists, and they were all outdoorsmen. In some odd way, I equated that with how things must be for lawyers.
And maybe for some it is.
I became a "trial lawyer". That something that actually didn't occur to me until very recently. The reason for that is that I've done almost exclusively, in litigation, the defense side of civil litigation, and somehow the plaintiffs' bar has appropriated the term "trial lawyer". I've done some plaintiff's work as well, but not anywhere near as much as defense work. That makes me, in English terms, a "barrister". However, I do a lot of other things, so not exclusively so. I could claim to be somewhat of a "solicitor" or "notary" in the language of other court systems, but barrister it would mostly be.
I note that as I don't know what the life of "transactional" lawyers is like, or that of criminal defense lawyers, or prosecutors, etc., is like. I only know what the life of trail lawyers is like.
And it's pretty hard and requires a lot of sacrifices.
Maybe a lot more than other legal lines of work. Trail lawyers give up their own time for a preset trial schedule, work long hours, and take the cause, whatever it is, above anything else. We like to compare ourselves with such fictional characters as Palidan, but in reality we're more like World War Two Japanese infantry. We're going there, going to suffer, going to fight in a clever fashion, and if need be, we're going to die in our trenches or in a massed Banzai charge.
It's an all absorbing career.
Indeed, for that reason, in part, I declined to go with one of my partners out for a beer in which he had invited a lawyer in a definitely different line of work that I'm wholly unfamiliar with but which I suspect isn't all absorbing. The invite was in order to see if the fellow might wish to join us merry band of barristers, maybe. But what am I going to say to that fellow? My partner was clear what he was going to say. He might make more money with us, rather than doing what he's doing. And he was likely hoping that I'd regale the fellow with war stories, as that fellow isn't a trial lawyer either. And every trial lawyer has a lot of war stories, myself included. The problem is, of course, that war stories come from war, and watching Saving Private Ryan might be real entertainment, but actually landing in Normandy in June 1944 likely wasn't.
And indeed he might make more money as a trial lawyer than doing what he's doing, and he might live every freakin' second of it. I have no idea, as I don't know him.
And he might, in a trial season, such as I am now in, work seven days a week, ten hours a day, with all that entails and implies.
Or, in other words, he might miss the opener of blue grouse season.
I know what 17-year-old Yeoman would think of that, and what he'd think of somebody who would do that.
I can't say he's wrong.
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