Elk hunting Wrecks

[saddlesore]

This is going to take a while. One of my hunts in Colorado, probably in the 1995 time frame, I had teamed up with an ex fighter pilot (Fred) who had flown missions in Vietnam. We became close friend hunting together for over 25 years. We had similar interest, both rode mules, and I had worked on several weapons that he flew in Vietnam when I worked at Sandia Labs in Albuquerque. We both were addicted to elk hunting.

At the time I had my first mule, Whiskey, and a fox trotter mule, Jessie. Fred had his good mule, Flash, and two Arabian mules he raised, IRS and BS, both only green broke. We used Jessie, IR, and BS as pack mules.

Mostly I had hunted in the northern part of Colorado known as the Flat Tops. Fred had hunted in the West Elk Wilderness north of Gunnison, CO and a bit west. He had a pretty good deal going in the past, A friend's girlfriend lived in a gated community that was backed up to the National Forest and led into the Wilderness area. So he knew the area very well. They stayed there and had access to the area that was essentially close to everyone else. Unfortunately the gal threw them out before I came on the scene. This ties into the story a little later on.

The Wednesday before opening day of elk season, we loaded up two trucks and two stock trailers with mules, and all the gear we needed for a pack in hunt. Off we went, headed towards Little Pass Creek and the trail that led to the famous Castles. A unique rock structure known for its scenery. After crossing Little Pass Creek, we cut cross country bushwhacking our way to the country behind the gated community.

The trip in was uneventful and Fred guided us to a little meadow above Squirrel Creek where we had graze for the mules and water. We set about cutting poles for the wall tent and in a few hours had a comfortable camp. That night we went to sleep hearing elk bugling a ways up the canyon and mules munching as they grazed in the lush meadow grass. Life was good. We spent the next two days riding trails, checking if any other camps were in the area, and glassing for elk. Letting the mules learn the trails so they could better negotiate them in the dark mornings. It looked promising.

Opening day, we were up at 4 am, breakfast of eggs, hash browns and sausage. Fred had done some guiding and served as camp cook for the local outfitter in the past. (We ate good for sure). Saddling two mules and leaving camp by 5:30, we headed for a high country meadow where Fred said elk were probably out feeding. They certainly were and as dawn broke, we had ridden right in amongst them. The wind must have been right and a small bull lifted it head about twenty yards away. A cow gave a barked after she figured out the mules were not part of the herd and away they went crashing into the closest timber. So much for the stealthy hunters.

The next two days, we spent searching for the herd and had no luck except for a small bull I passed on after tracking it for a while only to find out it was barely legal.

I had switched off to ride my pack mule Jessie as I had worked Whiskey pretty hard and I figured he could use day off. When we came back to camp that afternoon, I found Whiskey standing on the highline that we put all the mules on during the night or while we were out away from camp. But something was not right. Whiskey had one leg drawn up under him and could not put any weight on it. It looked serious, the hunt had to end. I rode over to a cowboy's camp where they had been working cattle and talked them out of some Bute pain reliever.

Fred and I both agreed that I needed to get the mule back to the trailer and get it to a vet. After the Bute took effect, I started on 9 mile journey ponying Whiskey and riding Jessie. Riding back though the area we had bush whacked coming in was going to be too rugged for the injured mule, but Fred told me of a gate that led into the gated community that would cut off about two miles and I would be riding on a road instead of dense timber.

I found the gate into the community, and it worked out well until I came to the locked gate that controlled access from the main road. I sat there for about a half hour when a pickup truck came speeding towards the gate. It slid to a stop, two guys jumped out, and commenced to telling me in a loud voice that I was trespassing and the sherif was being called.

After I explained my predicament, they mellowed out a bit and even offered to drive me up to the trail head so I could get my trailer and pick up the mules. After doing so, I returned to the trail head, gave Whiskey water and hay, then left for the long ride back to camp on Jessie. It was a long day, but little did I know that things would get worse.

I did not sleep well that night, worrying about the first mule I ever owned mule that I had raised and trained from a colt, combined with what Fred had told me that a bear had been raiding camps a mile or so down the canyon and was working it's way towards us.

We broke camp the next morning and being short one mule Fred convinced me that I should ride his mule BS out and still pack Jessie because it would be less trouble. These two Arabian mules were only green broke and tended to get snorty at just about anything. Fred told be as how BS had not been ridden much, I should not have problems.

Every mule was saddled and we used a blue poly tarp to cover the load on Fred's mule IRS. Fred was to lead Jessie and IRS, but decided IRS would follow along (Big Mistake). I had tied few things on the saddle horn of BS. Sorrels, canteen, empty feed bags, and bag of snacks to eat on the way out.

Fred held BS while I mounted and I did a few circles around the meadow to see how BS handled. Nothing bad happened so I figured all would be OK . Fred mounted, got lined out with Jessie, and turned IRS loose. Little did I know that IRS went through some brush and pulled the blue poly tarp loose somewhat.

We headed off the flat towards the creek and an open meadow. IRS running loose, decided he needed to stop for a drink. I rode on thinking he would catch up. This is when things went western.

The two Arabian mules were buddy sour and did not like to be separated. About a hundred yards along BS, who I was riding, let out a bray calling for IRS that was still drinking. IRS, realizing he was left alone, his buddy was gone, turned and broke into gallop to catch up. BS, looking back and, seeing IRS closing fast with the blue trap flapping like Batman' s cape. BS decided something bad was attacking him, it is time to leave the country, and takes off. I am pulling on the reins and yelling whoa. BS figured if I didn't want to go along, I needed to get off. He buried his head between his knees and commenced to buck.

There is a reason, you don't see mules in bucking strings at rodeos. They don't buck honestly. They go up, twist and turn, sunfish, come down sideways, buck up and twist opposite and spin. They come down in a bone jarring landing. BS had learned this way before I did and he got better at it the longer time went on. Being a mule with that warm Arabian blood he was more athletic than most equines.

My sorrels went first, then the canteen. Off came my hat, never to be found, feed bags flew, gophers probably got all the snacks. I glanced down and saw big rocks in the meadow we were in and knew I would not survive if I landed on one. No worries though, as BS turned and headed for a beaver pond. We splashed through it, all the while a flashlight, I had on a lanyard around my neck, came bouncing up and smacking on my forehead with every jump.

None of that worked getting me off, so BS headed towards the timber. We bucked thru brush, clearing low hanging limbs with my head, getting poked and scratched up with anything close, tearing my jacket in shreds. Then we came upon a log about chest high to BS. He stopped, backed up a few steps and prepared to jump it. I took that fraction of a second to get off. Some call that an unplanned dismount. Probably more of a falling off.

I stood there a minute, maybe ten, gathering my wits. BS was standing, but shaking. Nostrils flared and eyes wide staring at me. Not looking happy. I wasn't very happy myself by then but adrenaline kept me lucid.

I led him back out to the meadow. While I was playing cowboy, IRS had gotten into the frolic and had bucked his load all over the meadow. Fred was sitting off to the side on Flash with Jessie hiding behind him as though looking like "What the heck was that all about". Fred smiled and said " that was heck of a good ride".

I took us couple of hours to gather everything and repack IRS. I had to decide to either walk back the 9 miles or mount BS again. I was too beat up and sore to walk, so I mounted up again and off we went. But not before I dallied BS's lead rope so tight around the horn that his head was tucked into his chest and could never get down between his knees. I felt like I was riding a case of dynamite. Bs probably thought he had an idiot on his back. IRS was prancing around like it had been really fun.

We made the ride out with no problems and headed for home. I took Whiskey to the vet and they determined he had a dislocated hip. Next was a trip to the University of Colardo Veterinary school in Fort Collins. The prognosis was not good and surgeon told me they could not fix it. I brought Whisky home and had vet euthanize him as he was in a great deal pain. I buried him here. It was harder than losing a good dog.

Fred and I made many more enjoyable elk hunting trips after that. Several years ago he had to stop riding due to health problems. I continued on a few years hunting solo until I had to stop also. There were many mules after Whiskey, but none as good as. My last mule, Woodrow. shown on my avatar now resides in Wichita Falls, Texas, semi retired ,with a lady that use to ride my mules in competition more than 40 years ago.

[Deanmac]

I Will for sure enjoy this post.

[>>>---WW---->]

Great tale Vince. I can relate to it for sure. Had a few wrecks myself in the past. LOL!

[Swede]

Great story Vince. Thanks for taking us along for the ride.

[six]

Great tale Vince! Some of the best times in my life were on horseback. Your story brought back some good and a couple not so good memories.

[Tigger]

Loved it! I so wish I, or someone, could have video taped it!