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3rd Tale, Part 1 thru 5 (end). The Misfits on a hunt

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3rd Tale, Part 1 thru 5 (end). The Misfits on a hunt

Postby saddlesore » 01 30, 2023 •  [Post 1]

I didn't find many pictures from this hunt. I think they got lost in the move.'

By 1969, I had moved out of town and bought a little place with a few acres in the south valley of Albuquerque. Enough to have a horse and grow some alfalfa. A close friend, Jim, had moved in the opposite direction to the foothills of Sandia Mountain on the east side of Albuquerque. We both ended up with horses and had done a few hunts together.
Two friends from work, Matt and Cecil, invited us to go along with them on an elk hunt in the Pecos Wilderness, along with Cecil’s uncle, Harry Tucker.
Harry was in his mid-eighties then, but a tough old cowboy that had been there and done that. He had just completed spending three months in the Pecos Wilderness searching for a downed airplane for the wife of the pilot. The thing about Harry was that he took all his stock with him on any trip.

Harry’s stock was a conglomeration of misfits that he had picked up over the years. His horse was a buckskin gelding that would work all day, but you had to fight to get the bit in his mouth and the first few moments of every morning he had more than a little bit of buck. It was up to Cecil and I to get that fresh out of him each day and Harry showed us how to throw him down to get the bit in. After that, Harry had no trouble with him all day long. Also he had a big uncut jack donkey for packing that was pretty mellow, but fell in love with every mare it met. Bringing up the middle of the string were two Shetland mules, both mollies ( females) that had been abused in their early life. Protocol for these two were to set some grain out and when they went for it, grab the end of the 25 foot rope, that they had on all the time, and hope you reached a tree to snub it on before they hit the end of it. Work the snub down close to a tree and blind fold them both. Put a pad and pack saddle on them and getting the cinch tight before they bucked it off, all the while kicking in all four directions. Once that was done, you packed them up, turned them loose and watch them buck and run about 50 yards off to watch you .Then they followed Harry’s buckskin anywhere, dragging that 25 foot rope.

Following all was a paint Shetland stud that was in love with the two mini mules. I think about all he carried was his own food.
Lastly there was Harry’s sorrel gelding that Cecil rode. Compared to the others, it was fairly decent, calm, well mannered horse.
Matt rode sorrel mare that was blind in one eye that he picked up, I think, for $100 at the slaughter house auction a week before we left. She was alright unless you approached her on her blind side. Then she was pretty handy with her back feet.
Jim was riding his daughters horse, a big bay gelding and I was riding my little quarter horse/arab cross gelding, Sugarfoot.
My previous elk hunts that involved packing critters was akin to Packing 101.With Harry though,it was in the PHD class. He taught me all about balance loads, how high the panniers should ride, how much to put on, and several rope packing hitches like the diamond, box, and basket hitches.

He packed the two mini mules using 50 caliber steel ammo cans that no matter what they did, they could not damage what they were packing. The big jack donkey carried a phenomenal amount of gear and food, but we still had to make two trips to get it all in, even though we carried all personal gear and bedrolls on our saddle horses. Back then we didn’t have all the wants that people carry now days. We limited it to needs, which wasn’t much.

Since Harry knew every nook and cranny of the Pecos and I had hunted it before, we left on the Thursday before the season began on Saturday. Arriving at Jack’s Creek Campground, we were a rag tag group. Cecil was pulling Harry’s big stock trailer that was rust held together with paint, I was hauling my horse in a stock rack on a 58 Ford 1/2T short bed I had bought from Matt. Jim was driving a 68 or 69 Dodge ¾ T with a stock rack. Matt hauled most of the gear in his new Ford truck. We didn’t know you needed a big diesel 4wd truck for a hunting rig. At least my wife had an old Ford Falcon station wagon to get her around while we were gone. The 56 Chevy had given it up a year or two earlier.

We unloaded the stock, got them saddled with minimal injuries from the two minis. Harry did the packing while I watched with a close eye. Previous trips I did not pay attention to all the small details of packing.

All set, Harry mounted up and told us to hang back while he led and to turn the four packer critters loose. He said they would follow him without leading.

Coming out of Jack’s Creek the first mile or so is all switch backs and a standard forest trail. Wide enough for stock, but you sure didn’t want to pass anyone. Eventually we broke out into meadows below Round Mountain. Hints of problems surfaced.

Seems Matt’s mare was in heat and the big Jack donkey, being loose, decided he needed to mount her, whether Matt was on her or not and the jack had a full pack on. After a lot of braying and Matt almost turned around in the saddle, beating the jack about the head with his fist, we got them separated and the jack snubbed to Cecil’s gelding’s saddle horn. During this melee the stud Shetland decided he needed to get into the act and was trying very hard to mount one of the mini mollies .They were having none of it and I finally had to rope the Shetland stud and dally off my saddle horn. Tiny mules are not easy to rope especially when they are dancing around their true love.

So with only the two minis trailing their 25foot rope, off we went headed to camp again. Harry looked like it was an everyday occurrence to him.

We made camp where I had camped before on a previous hunt. This was on the edge of a big meadow, backed up against the timber with a small stream flowing nearby. We over looked Pecos Baldy Lake down below us. With binoculars, we could look across the valley and up on the side of Pecos Baldy Mountain we could watch mountain goats on the rock faces. Truly amazing critters. Their kids born that spring could navigate the rocks as well as the adults.

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The tent was again one of the 6 man octagonal military squad tent except it had an artic liner in it that kept the heat in much better. Those tents were pretty popular back then. They could be bought for $50-$75 from army surplus stores. You would see more of them in elk camps than the nice wall tents of today. I am not sure, but I think Harry had a little fold up wood stove because I don’t remember being overly cold at night and in the mornings. We also had a 2 burner Coleman stove and single mantle lantern. Breakfast, we cooked on the stove, and usually suppers were cooked on the open fire.

With four guys, pitching the tent and setting up high lines for the horses didn’t take long. We let Harry attend to the mini mules, jack donkey and Shetland stud. The stud ran free. The two minis were tied with their 25 foot ropes and the jack was tied separately away from the mares on a long picket rope. We had brought a little bit of grain and the horses were left to graze with hobbles as long as we kept two of them tied hard and fast. I learned what happens when not doing that on a previous hunt and Harry sure enough saw to it that we did.

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With camp most setup we built up a fire pit and spent the remainder of the day listening to Harry’s old cowboy adventures. Born in the late 1800’s. He worked on some of the big cattle ranches in Texas in the early 1900’s when they were still working cattle horse back. It always stuck with me that he said he worked from the “can’t see in the morning to the can’t see at night. Sometimes with Sundays off”. Listening to him I thought I was born 50 years too late.

Around about dark after a few adult beverages, we drifted off to sleep. Probably more than a few. 5 guys in that smaller tent with a wide range of snorers did not keep me from a sound sleep.

Morning came early and Harry was the first awake telling us to get up and get a fire going so he could get his stiff bones moving. At his age, even after warming up, he still didn’t move fast, but we all admired him for sure. He was hard not to like.

Someone dug out the sack of potatoes and onions and we got to peeling, slicing, and cutting some strips of bacon off the slab and found the eggs .There was no pre-prepared meals then. Everything was cooked from scratch except for some canned goods. About the only dried food was homemade jerky. Matt was the cook of the bunch and he could sure turn out a skillet of home fries and onions fried with bacon grease and scrambled eggs.

Breakfast taken care of, Jim and I saddled up and took the jack donkey and Cecil’s horse back to the campground and truck for another load of food, supplies, and gear. We were probably back in camp by noon or one o’clock.

One of the big surprises was a box we packed in that was a full case of flight rations that SAC bomber crews were issued. Cecil’s brother was in the Air National Guard and procured them somehow. We didn’t ask how, but those guys sure ate well.

The rest of the day was spent checking out Trailriders Wall to the north and other various trails to get Matt, Cecil, and Jim familiar with the areas and see if there were any other camps in nearby. You can check out the area on Google Earth by searching for Trailriders Wall, New Mexico.

The next day, being Saturday was opening day of the hunt. I was using my Winchester Model 88 in.308, Matt had his Model 70 in.30-06, Cecil was shooting a bolt action .308, which I don’t remember the make, and Jim had his Winchester Model 70 in .270. Harry wasn’t hunting. He was more or less the wrangler who only wanted to be in the high country.

Misfits on a hunt, Part 2

The night before the hunt, we got together to figure out where everyone was going to hunt. Cecil and Harry were going to head for the north end of Trailriders Wall, then drop down to hunt the meadow at that end. Matt, Jim, and I would drop down at the south end of the wall and hunt the meadow that other hunters had killed a bull before I arrived on an earlier hunt. Matt would stay with me and Jim wanted to go back in the timber. Cecil and Matt had not done much elk hunting. Mostly deer, I don’t think they had ever killed an elk and I wanted to get Matt in the position to do so. From lessons learned, I impressed upon them that we had to get there first and be there before it got light. Harry gave his blessing on that. Which impressed them more than what I said, I think.

Alarm went off early Saturday morning at o’dark thirty. Actually Harry had already gave his opinion that someone needed to get up and start a fire. I had not slept all that well. The Shetland stud spent half the night whinnying his shrill thoughts of how good it was to have two mollies in heat and he was free to have his way with them. This turned out be a nightly occurrence and then he slept all day.

We all hustled about and three of us grained the horses, saddled them, threw Harry’s Buckskin down to get the bit in his mouth. By that time Matt had breakfast cooked. It didn’t take long for Cecil to get the fresh out of Harry’s buckskin. In short order we had the scabbards on, rifles slid on, day packs on, and mounted up.

Harry led off with the flash light and we all followed him in the dark until close to the Trailriders Wall where we split up. The tricky thing was, we had to ride down over the Wall in the dark. Most of the narrow trail was straight up on one side and straight down on the other. I led off with my good surefooted horse. Jim followed, and Matt brought up the rear with his one eyed horse. I cautioned them to ride with their downhill side boot out of the stirrup in case they had to jump. Matt made some comments, but he was too far back to hear. I should have listened better I guess.

We made the 800 foot drop without mishap and didn’t have far to go to tie up. It was still maybe 20-30 minutes to shooting light so we were in good shape. Jim snuck off to the east. Matt and I hugged the timber to a spot I knew and we settled down.

In less than ten minutes, we heard cows mewing and chirping, with an occasional bull grunting. No bugling just those short grunts .Talk about being pumped. I told Matt to get ready and shoot first. If another bull gave me a shot, I would take it.

Minute seemed like hours but as light filtered down over the ridge we could make out 8-10 cows, a couple of spike bulls, and two bulls that were legal. I was watching the elk and didn’t notice Matt lining up a shot. When his .06 cracked, I probably jumped three feet. What the heck???? The closest bull, about 150 yards, dropped where it stood. I tried to line up on the 2nd bull, but Matt was in front of me and the elk were milling around, confused as to where the noise came from. The bull kept getting behind a cow, so I had no shot. It didn’t take long for them to disappear into the timber that was only a few yards away. I put the safety back on and looked over at Matt. He was grinning from ear to ear and shaking so bad I thought his boots would come off. He told me later that he didn’t start shaking until after he saw the bull fall over. His first elk and addicted for life.

When we got to the bull, he must have walked around it a half a dozen times. He did have a camera and he took some photos, but I didn’t get any of them. Now these days, I wish I had taken more photos of all those early hunts.

I explained what we had to do and that it was just lot bigger than a deer, but no different. Parts were all the same.

While Matt sat there and thought whatever people think when they kill their first elk. I walked back to get the horses and what gear we would need to skin and quarter it. Jim could find us as we were not far away, and out in the open.

The two of us got the carcass moved around and got it gutted. There were enough smaller trees to run some ropes to so we could tie off the legs.

In those days, no one new about the no gut method. We skinned one side, stretching out the hide, rolled it over a bit and skinned the other side. We each carried a small hand axe in our saddle bags, and split the spline all the way to the neck using one axe as a hammer. We left the head on until later so we could get some leverage when we needed to turn it. Later days, I carried a miter box saw to cut the spline in half. I had tried a bow saw, but it was too big. Even as young as we were, and taking turns, it had us both huffing and puffing by the time the job was done. I think it took us about three hours by the time we had the spine split, halves divided at the 2nd rib, and everything in bags. Of course Jim showed up, too late to help, just as we were finished putting the liver in bag to take back to camp.

Cecil and Harry showed up directly after that. They said they heard the shot, were watching some elk themselves, but never got close enough to get a shot at one. After reliving the kill at least five times, everyone helped getting the quarters into the timber and hung, ready to be packed out the next day. Everyone was jubilant. We had one elk on the ground the first day.

The shortest way back to camp was up the trail that Jim, Matt, and I came down, so we all lined out and set off. However when we got to the base of the trail the Wall, Matt looked up and said there was no way, he was riding that one eyed horse back up that climb. I asked him how was it that it didn’t bother him coming down and he said it did a little bit, but he couldn’t see how bad it was in the dark. I told him don’t worry his horse could only see half as bad as it was. That didn’t help any.

It turned out, we had to reverse and ride to the north end of the Wall that Cecil and Harry came down. It was about an extra two miles to camp, but we made it back to camp about dusk if I recollect correctly. Tired but in good spirits. We took care of the stock, grained and watered them. Then hobbled all to graze except one. It got its turn on a picket rope. The Shetland stud was just waking up. Getting ready for another night of love I guess.

I had the fire going. Harry looked tired as he leaned against a log enjoying the heat. Potatoes and onions were sliced and Matt cooked a big dinner of liver, onions, and home fries. I had no lunch that day and ate way too much. Someone who has never experienced elk camp cannot begin to imagine how it was. We hit the bed rolls early. I drifted off to sleep listening to that jack donkey braying to the mare .That is why they call them Mountain Canaries.


Misfits on a hunt, Part 3


Sunday morning we were up and at them again. We had to get Matt’s bull packed back to camp. Temperatures were cool enough that meat spoilage was not a problem. Harry wanted to pack the meat out on his jack and two mini mules. Cecil and Jim were going to start on the opposite ends of Trailriders Wall and hunt back into the timber towards each other. We figured that small herd would still be in there. Matt, Harry and I would leave a little later to give them a chance to get in there and hunt some. They would use the east end of the Wall trail as Matt would not be along. We had to go the long way around as Matt was adamant about not going down that cliff.

Most of the reason was that one eye on his horse and the fact that Matt only had the horse two weeks or so and didn’t know her background coming out of kill pen. The side of a mountain was no place to find out about any quirks she might have had.

Before Cecil left, he saddled Harry’s buckskin, put the bridle on, and took the hump out of it’s back. The three of us made another pot of coffee and relaxed. After a while we saddled the jack, went thru the drill of putting the packs saddles on the minis, then tended to our horses. At least we didn’t have to do the sprint to get to a tree seeing as how the mules were already tied. Putting up with the Shetland stud while doing it was a whole other problem though.

It was well past sun up when we left for the 5-6 mile ride to Matt’s bull, and it turned out to be a fairly enjoyable ride, The Shetland must have had his fill of lovin as he followed along.

We loaded the two hind quarters and antlers on the jack. That wasn’t much of a problem since we had the canvas panniers to drop the meat into and lash it down. Harry cut the shoulders off the front quarters. Matt and I lifted each one up as Harry lashed them down to one mule. Then repeated it for the rib cage and loins on the other mule.

Cecil and Jim showed up after a bit and we all sat around to have lunch. Those SAC rations were a full meal.
Harry had done a great job of lashing the packs down and they rode all the way back to camp without a bit of shifting.

We hung the meat in the shade back in the timber behind camp. The enjoyed some down time laying in the sun napping. Sort of a stop and smell the roses time in elk camp.

The next two days, we left camp before day break and hunted the north slope of Pecos Baldy right at timber line and then rode 6-7 miles over towards Truchas Peak to hunt some bowls over there. We saw some elk, mostly cows, and twice saw bulls with no way to get to them.

Running round at 11,000 feet can sure tire you out. Thursday, everyone wanted to sleep in and take a day off. I decided to hunt the patch of timber behind camp that I had seen elk on a previous hunt.

I planned to ride my horse back down the trial towards Round Mountain and cut off to the left. There was a trail that headed across the saddle to the south end of Trailriders Wall. It eventually ended up at the base of the Wall we had ridden down the first day. I would tie my horse up about a half way across the saddle and planned to hunt uphill into the downward thermals. Ending up back at camp. Then I would use another horse to ride back down and pick up mine.

From where I entered the timber, there was gentle ridge all the way back to camp I could follow, seeing both sides.

I had progressed maybe a quarter mile when I started to hear cows talk. Just barely so they were not too close. Probably just easing along, feeding on their way back to a bedding area.

We had no cow calls back then. Even the plastic folded ones with rubber bands were still in the future. Our elk bugles were made from electrical conduit, but I had not heard a bull bugle in the last 4-5 days. Back then we were all pretty ignorant of any elk talk anyway.

I slowed down, taking three or four steps, then glassing with a fifteen dollar pair of Bushnell binoculars. Searching in the timber for four or five minutes. I was looking for that ear, tip of an antler, white rump, or even a horizontal brown line.

Looking back, it was probably only a half hour or so, but then it seemed like hours. I saw elk shapes drifting back and forth in front of me thru the trees. No more than 50 yards. Adrenaline was kicking in and I started that shiver one gets in the early days of elk hunting. I started to look for heads, not just bodies. Cows came into view, but only for a few seconds. Then I saw a horn. It grew into a spike bull. Not legal. I put the gun up and the cross hairs bounced from his neck to his butt I was shaking so badly. Two more cows were off to one side.

Beside one of them was a bull. It took a little bit to see if there was enough tines to be legal, as bulls had to have at least a fork so many inches long. I think it was six inches. The bull kept moving around the cows, and there were trees in the way, but he was definitely legal. I took a glance to the side a bit, in the direction they were moving, and saw a small break in the trees. I pushed the button safety off Model 88 and rested the rifle against a tree.

Cow, cow, bulls head, bulls shoulder. I put the crosshairs just behind the crease of the bulls shoulder and sent a hundred and eighty grain 30 caliber round nose bullet thru both lungs. The forest erupted with stampeding elk, with the bull amongst them. Crashing timber, limbs breaking, hooves thumping. Then dead quiet. I levered another round into chamber and leaned against a tree until I quit shaking.

I made my way over to where the bull was when I fired. No blood, but I was able to see his scuff marks in the ground and in twenty yards or so he had started to spray blood. Lots of it. He made his death run about another 50 yards or so and piled up. It was an easy tracking job.

Holy crap. Here I am with a 600 pound elk on the ground and by myself. Help is at least a half mile away.

Misfits on a hunt , Part 4

I cleared my rifle, took the clip out, and leaned it against a nearby tree. Still more than a little pumped up. My heart rate was probably about one fifty and my hands were still a little shakey. I sat down and tried to calm myself. That was about like drinking a pot of Harry’s cowboy coffee and then trying to go to sleep. Ain’t goin happen.

Taking my day pack off, I did an inventory of what I had. One hunting knife that my father had made out of a WWII bayonet, a good bit of rope, small sharpening stone, water, small first aid kit, hunting license, snacks, and a few odds and ends. I had to notch my tag and sign it. I realized my hand axe, game bags, and lunch is back at my horse.

That was it. I couldn’t leave the bull there un-gutted and unskinned while I went for help, so I figured it was as good a time as any to learn to do it myself.

It was relatively flat and I sure didn’t lack for trees to tie to. I worked the head around so the antlers dug into the ground and tied each leg off to trees. That doesn’t sound too tough, but I was about a hundred thirty pounds if I fell in a stream, and not quite five and a half feet tall. The elk outweighed me by five times. The last time I did this I had another guy helping,and he was a lot bigger.

Slitting the belly open was not hard. I had learned on my first hunt to skin the hide off the stomach about six inches on either side of the slit I was about to make. This gives you something to grab when you start to skin and you didn’t get all that gooey breeding slime between the front legs over all the meat.

I had to rearrange the ropes so I could roll the elk enough to remove enough of the paunch to be able to cut along the spine to free the top of stomach, kidneys and such. Then I carefully cut down along his pecker all the way to his tail. Finding the bladder, I held the tube tight while I cut it out and threw it as far as I could. The more I cut, the bloodier I got, but the easy part should come next. Roll out the guts everyone says. With the full stomach, the guts weighed more than I did. They did not roll. I ended up taking large pieces out. Moving the whole mess out of the way was the next chore and it didn’t go easy either.

I had to take a breather and figure out how to get the lungs and heart out and touched up my knife. My hunting knife was not going to cut thru the brisket. Yea, I had done deer, but these ribs were as big as beef ribs. The brisket was thicker yet. My only solution was to get in there, cut away the diaphragm, reach up as far as I could to cut the esophagus, and pull everything backwards. All the while hoping it was not my finger I was cutting loose. I was bloodier yet after that. That done, I cleaned out the channel in the pelvis, pulled the butt and everything else that was left and drained what blood I could.

I next set to skinning. I rolled the elk on one of it’s side using ropes and it’s head. Then I skinned the back leg, the front, and as far up it’s neck as I could get. All the while re-adjusting the ropes, pulling different directions to hold the legs up. I stretched out the skinned portion of the hide and rolled that side of the elk carcass back onto the stretched hide, keeping it clean .Then repeated the skinning on the other side. This all took about twice as long or more than if two guys were doing it. Later years, I got so I could do it all alone in about an hour using the no gut method and lot less blood.

Done at last. Tired, bloody, and thirsty. Oh for a nice cold beer!

I used a little bit of the water and the bandana I had around my neck, to clean up my hands and arms, but it didn’t help much. I needed a drink more than I needed clean. I dugout the few snacks I had, drank all the water and decided what to do next. I was still quite a ways from camp and my horse was closer. I figured if I walked back that would take over an hour and then I would have to walk back to the elk if everyone rode back to help.

I blocked open the rib cage as best I could and threw some green pine limbs over it to keep the camp robbers and magpies off.

I put on my pack, picked up my rifle, and headed towards my horse. That didn’t take long, but we had a discussion about the horse objecting to this bloody, stinking guy getting near, let alone mounting. I won and made it back to camp in short order. My horse, Sugarfoot, wasn’t too keen on already spending several hours alone and hurried back to camp to his buddies and to shed himself of the stink.

No one had to ask if I killed an elk. My bloody clothes pretty well covered that. Of course everyone wanted to know the story. I gave an abbreviated version as I gulped down some lunch and explained that I need help quartering and bagging the quarters. It was getting into mid afternoon and time was getting short before dark.
Jim and Matt saddled up while I loaded up some water. Cecil said him and Harry would cook supper when I brought back the liver. Off we went and were able to ride right up to the kill. By then, my tired was hanging out. We dug out the hand axes. Jim said step side and he commenced to split the spine. Jim was about six foot two inches and 220 pounds, with no fat to him. Matt spelled him a few times, but he did most of it. I cut the legs off at the knuckles with my knife, we cut the head off at the base of the skull, and cut the carcass it into quarters. Quarters were dropped into the game bags and hung on nearby trees. I put my tag on one quarter.

Back then you didn’t have to worry about other hunters stealing your game. There were not many around anyhow. Different times for sure.

I bagged the liver separately and we headed for camp. Made it back about dusk and the camp fire was a welcome sight. I wearily crawled off the saddle and handed Cecil the liver.

I unsaddled, watered, and hobbled my horse to let it roll and graze. He had to wait for the grain. If you feed them grain too soon when they are hot they can founder, plus get the idea if they hurry back to camp they get the grain. Not good if they get loose and you have to hike back to camp.

By the time we got cleaned up, I could smell the liver and onions. I was extra hungry, but a couple fingers of Jack Daniels was called for first.

After supper, I peeled my bloody blue jeans and shirt off and sunk them in the steam down from camp. I’d wash them out tomorrow. Long johns would have to wait.

Bed time came around fast for me. I drifted off listening to Harry telling more stories around the camp fire.

This elk hunting is something else. It is guaranteed to peg your fun meter.

Misfits on a hunt, Part 5

Thursday night, Harry told Cecil about some elk he always saw on the north side of Round Mountain while he was searching for that lost airplane during the summer. They could tie up their horses where I did Thursday morning where I did when I killed my elk.

Early Friday morning Cecil and Jim left before we did to hunt that area. We had decided that Harry, Matt, and I would pack Matt’s bull down to the truck and then come back and pack my bull out also. We would lock both up in Harry’s stock trailer. Since Round Mountain was on the way out, it did not make sense to pack my bull back up to camp and the only have to pack it back down. The temperatures were still holding. Well below freezing at night and below 50during the day, so meat spoilage was not a worry.

The only hitch was that I had to take care of Harry’s horse before we left. I was a little bit sore from all the tugging on ropes the day before while taking care of my elk. Bucking that horse out before Harry would ride it didn’t help.

After first light we got the minis and the jack saddled. The two small mules were getting use to us, so saddling and packing went a lot easier. Mules are funny about that. They don’t accept strangers quickly like a horse and these two were extra leery because of their past abuse. Since we packed Matt’s bull back to camp earlier, Matt and I were a lot more familiar with the job of packing the quarters. With Harry’s continued instructions we had Matt’s bull packed and lash down in short order.

We left camp about seven or so and it was a leisurely ride that didn’t take long .The Shetland stud was feeling pretty frisky and kept darting between the string. I guess in the five days or so, he had satisfied his lust with the two mini mollies and caught up on his sleep. Matt still had to keep his mare well separated from the jack, so he led off. About eleven o’clock, we were unloading elk quarters in Harry’s stock trailer. Harry stayed mounted on that buckskin as it was more than a little chore mounting and dismounting. Once in the saddle he could go all day though.

The round trip of picking up my elk, packing it out, and getting back to camp had us back in camp at almost full dark. Jim and Cecil had been back awhile and had a good fire going .The stock was unsaddled, brushed down, and watered when Jim sauntered over and asked us what took so long. I explained that we rode about 15 miles, plus loading and unloading. With little bit of a grin he said they sure could have used our help skinning and quartering his bull. That was a big surprise.

They had found the elk sure enough where Harry told them where, and played cat and mouse with a bull until about ten AM. Jim caught it sneaking thru a thick little grove of aspen and dropped it with his .270. Needless to say, we had liver and onions for supper again that night. Then toasted Jim four or five times for his bull with a little bit of Jack Daniels.

What a week, 3 bulls down, no other hunters, and Cecil still had one day to hunt. As a bonus, Jim’s bull was about a third of the way out.

Sitting around the fire that night reliving the week, Cecil decided that with three bulls, we didn’t need any more meat and we could split what we had instead of him hunting the next day. I think he was a little tired, I know I sure was. Matt had the biggest family, so we gave him one whole elk and split the other two between the four of us.

Saturday, we all slept in. Midmorning, Jim, Harry, and I went down the trail to pick up his bull and pack it out. I tried to convince Harry to stay in camp and that Jim and I could handle it, but he didn’t like anyone handling his mules except him. Except for the pack out and ride back in, it was a slow day. The sun was shining some and it sure felt good to stretch out and take nap. I even had time to wash out my shirt and pants that had been soaking in the creek.

Sunday, we sorted, packed our duffle, rolled our bed rolls up, dropped the tent and cleaned the camp site. It ended up we had a little too much to pack out and Harry asked me if I could ride the Shetland out bareback and pack my horse since I was the lightest. I was not looking forward to that, but Harry had done so much for us, I hated to turn him down. I remember thinking that I hope I could be still riding when I reached my mid eighties like him and here I am getting close to it and only have five years to go.

Off we went down the trail with my feet just about dragging on the ground, but it sure beat walking. We had no wrecks on the way out. The jack behaved himself. Once down, we loaded all the gear in Matt’s truck along with three elk and headed home with a 3 hour drive.

We were not set up to butcher yet, so Matt dropped the elk off at a processor Monday. I think it cost us less than $75 for each of the elk to have it cut and wrapped.

Harry never went to the high country again. He passed away a few years later of Alzheimer at a facility in Texas. I never hunted elk with Matt and Cecil again, but did get a few deer hunts in with Matt. Cecil got a spike bull the following year up in the Rio Las Vacas country near Cuba New Mexico. The following year, my son and I both drew cow elk tags. Cecil drew me a map and we filled both them near where he killed his spike.

This was all fifty plus years ago. I last saw Cecil sometime in the mid nineties when he helped me find a location to hunt for a cow elk muzzle loader tag which I was given after moving to Colorado. Matt and his wife are in a senior assisted living home near Durango, Colorado near two of his kids. We remain friends and stay in contact a few times each year.
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saddlesore
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Re: 3rd Tale, Part 1 & 2, The Misfits on a hunt

Postby Billy Goat » 02 01, 2023 •  [Post 2]

this eventually just needs to be different chapters in a longer book.

a much, longer book
"First teach a child to love God,
teach them second to love their family
and third, teach them to hunt and fish,
and by the time they reach their teens, no dope peddler under the sun will ever teach them anything".

-Cotton Cordell
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Re: 3rd Tale, Part 1 & 2, The Misfits on a hunt

Postby saddlesore » 02 01, 2023 •  [Post 3]

Billy Goat wrote:this eventually just needs to be different chapters in a longer book.

a much, longer book


I'm trying to do it in parts, labeled in Bold type so someone can scroll to each one..This one is probably 1/2 way thru.It takes me about ten times longer to type it than someone to read it. I am doing it on Windows 7 with a 2003 Word software then transfer it to a Windows 10 ,but directly on the forum . I don't have Word on my Windows 10 machine.
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saddlesore
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Re: 3rd Tale, Part 1 thru 5 (end). The Misfits on a hunt

Postby Jhg » 02 07, 2023 •  [Post 4]

Excellent! What a great trip. Bonus for me you used the .308, my favorite elk cartridge.
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Re: 3rd Tale, Part 1 thru 5 (end). The Misfits on a hunt

Postby Tigger » 02 08, 2023 •  [Post 5]

The details you remember amaze me. I struggle to remember what I had for breakfast!
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Re: 3rd Tale, Part 1 thru 5 (end). The Misfits on a hunt

Postby Swede » 02 08, 2023 •  [Post 6]

Hunting in the old days was different. It is hard to explain, but we valued things differently. I knew a five or six point from a spike, but I would have had no idea what a 350 bull was and would not have cared if I did. Sleeping an army surplus hex tent with a liner was what we did. We never had horses or packed in. Cooking was the same as your outfit did. We had a single mantle lantern and a bed roll on the ground. I actually had a hunting knife. It was a Western Boulder single blade knife that I still have but never use.
I know why you never had a picture of your bull or of the others for that matter. It was not important. I have many kills I have no picture of. Many times, it was because I had no camera. Dad had a camera so if I wanted a picture, I would have had dad take it, if he went on that hunt. I miss those days a lot and your stories take me back to those simpler times.
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