Michael Galloway
An Echo Through the Trees
is the tale of Chase Krause, a college student who sets out on a hunting trip to secure his first ever trophy buck. At the same time, however, he is forced to grapple with a nearly non-existent relationship with his father.
Set against the backdrop of Minnesota’s picturesque north woods, An Echo Through The Trees is a sometimes harrowing, yet poignant adventure. It is also a story of triumph over circumstance. More importantly, it is a story of letting go.
Michael Galloway is an outdoor enthusiast whose interests include fishing, hunting, writing, and programming. He currently lives in Minnesota with his family. This is his first published novel.
Chase dove into the confusion of pines, aspens and poplars, temporarily regretting his ambition. Neal watched in concern for a minute and after confirming Chase was on his way safely, he moved on. Plodding on into the tangle of trees, Chase snapped more twigs, rendering a trail of dangling angles in the puffing wind.
The colors around him separated now as the sky turned a faded-denim blue. He stopped, losing track of the next ribbon which led to the tree stand. Perhaps the stand loomed closer than he thought. Scanning the treetops, he eyed the suspended platform of logs some ten feet ahead. Approaching the stand, he set his bag and rifle down, and withdrew a long rope from the bag. Tying the rope to the bag handle would provide easy access to his things that would remain on the ground due to the limited, cramped space of the stand.
Straddling two Jack pines, the stand consisted of ten, three-inch diameter knurled logs nailed side-by-side and suspended twelve feet in the air. A log ladder ran up between the trunks, but the dusting of snow on the stand and the ladder would impede progress especially when the snow became compacted and turned to ice.
Chase rested his rifle case next to the bag and withdrew four pieces of paper towel from his bag. Next, he dabbed the towels with a few drops of buck scent. After wrenching the cap back on tight, he pitched the bottle back into his bag. In the four compass directions some fifty feet from his stand he poked the towels onto stray branches, careful to be sure they were above his head. The smell was nasty, he thought to himself, but if it attracted bucks that was all that mattered.
Returning to the base of the stand, he hooked the looped end of the rope around his wrist and slipped on the shoulder strap of the rifle case. Scratching his head a moment, he marveled at the inefficiency of the stand's design. How am I supposed to fit up there, he wondered. All he could do was hope his treacherous climb would be rewarding.
Scaling the ladder, his foot slipped. He clutched the platform with steel fingers. One more slip could mean a nasty off-balance fall and nobody could help him. He sighed deep.
He climbed up three more steps, and then he hoisted his leg up. Although he contorted his body into a stable position, he felt like his whole morning dangled on the edge of a cliff. Once onto the platform of the stand, he had to straddle his feet around one tree trunk, with his back against the other. He let out a chuckle of relief, plotting out a better design in his mind that would certainly leave more room for maneuver. After all, one could only compact so many limbs in the equivalent space of a laundry basket. He was still grateful at the outpouring of effort and intent on Neal and Josh's part, however.
