Quarry: Bull Elk, Buck & Doe Mule Deer
Rifle: .375 H&H Magnum

Day One: Mounted horse. Waited. Just like the Army. Received word from guide to, basically, "head 'em up and move 'em out." Roger. Motivated horse ("Greek") to move forward.

Conditions: Cold and icey.

Greek is in motion for 30 seconds, if even that.

Observation about riding horses: When mounted horseback, you should see only one view -- ears and ground. You should NOT see ears and sky. Ears and sky is, as we say in the Army, "bad."

Suddenly -- at zero-dark-thirty, mind you -- I saw ears and sky. I remember, before the pain set in, that, my, it certainly was cloudy that morning.

Processing information quickly, I determined that Greek didn't like me and was attempting to buck me off. Having grown up on a gazillion westerns, I determined that I would not be sent airborne by a mere horse, so I leaned forward and dug myself into the stirrups.

However...

... it turned out that, being icey as it was, Greek slipped on said ice (no fault of his, mind you) and the next thing I knew, he and I were laying on our left sides.

Now... Greek didn't get up. I was worried that he thought I was mad at him and was going to beat him or something. One, I don't generally beat horses (I like horses, frankly) and, two, I didn't hold Greek to blame. Hell, "I" slip on ice all the damn time, so I figure he's entitled, too. That was my immediate take on it.

Anyway... there we were (this is all happening in a matter of seconds), laying on our left sides. This didn't present an immediate problem, really, except for the fact that my left foot was still in the stirrup which was, um, pretty much under the full weight of Greek. (Greek was very much an adult, heavy horse, I assure you.)

With all due respect to those of you of the feminine persuasion, let me state for the record that I know for a fact, even without personal experience in such matters, that the pain I was experiencing as the result of my foot being crushed by a rather large horse FAR EXCEEDS anything a woman could POSSIBLY experience during natural, non-spinal-block childbirth. I say this in all seriousness.

Well... this whole situation didn't exactly do much to inspire the others to ascend the snowy/icey mountains of Montana -- IN THE DARK -- let me tell you.

Anyway... a couple of chaps, my guide included, came over, after I extricated my foot from underneath the horse, and asked if I was okay. Of course, having paid on this hunt since JUNE OF LAST YEAR, I said... "Yup, I'm fine." (Lie, lie, lie... but I thought, what would John Wayne do? Hell, he'd say "Yup, I'm fine.") So, I immediately checked Greek out for injuries, as did my guide, and he seemed fine. Good. I was relieved in that respect.

Well... onward and upward. Let me rewrite that, "onward and UPWARD."

Thar's a whole lotta "upward" in them thar Montana mountains. Shore ain't nuthin' like here in Illinois. Looooooooooooooooooooooord, howdy. Up, up, up.

So... after something of an eternity (about four hours, I think), in some rather interesting winds and with my saddle coming loose once (another interesting situation, especially since it happened RIGHT THERE on the side of a rather steep drop-off), we finally got to "the top."

Yup, right purty. God's country. Mountains. Snow-capped mountains. Just like in all them thar brochures. A-yup. Purty.

Well, my guide says something to the effect that he's going to take our horses and meet us at the pick-up point, after we hunted our way down the mountain.

Uh huh. Right.

My left foot is !@#$@!#@#$@!%!@#$#$# KILLING ME!!!

I CAN BARELY STAND AT THIS POINT!!!

However... still inspired by countless westerns and war movies with John Wayne, I was determined that I'd just suck it up and drive on, as it were.

Well, that kind of "I don't feel any pain" crap might be fine for John Wayne but, as much as I loved the guy, he's DEAD. The only "I don't feel any pain" crap that exists in the world today is in the Marine Corps and Hollyweird movies about macho cops or tough private eyes. Out where I was, in "MY" world at that time, MY GODDAMN FOOT WAS !#w$@!#$#$# KILLING ME!!!

So... I just figured I'd hobble down the mountain, hunting along the way.

This, essentially, turned into sliding down two thirds of the mountain on my butt. (I want to thank all of you who said "buy the wool bibs." Bless you.)

I'm quite serious about the sliding, butt, and mountain. I was completely unable to walk down the mountain. Further, it was quite a tall mountain, as mountains go. Maybe not your Sir Edmund Hillary type of "tall," but it was damn tall all the same, I promise you.

Sooooooooooooooooo... making my way down the mountain, finally, fourteen thousand hours later, I realized I could not hoof it back to the pick-up point. No fornicatin' way.

My radio, issued to me by my guide, didn't exactly work. One of those Motorola jobs, I could hear every other !!#$@#Q#$@#% conversation in the county, but "I" could not transmit!!! Additionally, simple "yelling" of little things, like, oh, "HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLP!!!" for about an hour didn't accomplish squat. My pleas just bounced off the mountains (real pretty echoes, actually) and got no response. Okay, fine. I've read about these things. Don't panic. People panic and they die. Okay, don't panic. Hmmmmmmmm, survival. It'll be damn cold tonight. Must stay warm. Hmmmmmm. Build a lean-to. Right.

So, with one functioning foot/leg, I hobbled all over the immediate AO looking for lean-to materials. Where I was at THAT moment in THAT particular part of the mountain... well, I'd have died from a lack of lean-to materials. That's about it.

I kept wishing I'd have packed my E-tool, I'd have just buried myself to stay warm... but OOOOOOOooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhh NOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooo, I didn't want to add anymore weight to my daypack, so I left the E-tool back at the hooch. Marvy. Thrillsville.

Well... if you're still with me up to now... I'll condense this somewhat by saying that some guy who'd gotten lost, got himself unlost ("unlost?") and, in the process, came past my location. He was completely exhausted, having covered half of Montana, and I was crippled. What a pair. Together, we made the pick-up point. (I'm leaving a LOT of pain and suffering and misfortune out of this part of the story, because you just wouldn't believe it anyway.)

So... now, I'm back on Greek, it's getting dark, and we have about four hours back to camp. My foot is killing me. My LEFT foot is killing me. Typically, you mount a horse from the LEFT side. Pain, pain, pain. I have no idea, at this point, if my foot is broken or sprained. I've had breaks and sprains, and there's not a whole Hell of a lot of difference in the pain factor nor in the mobility factor. I had done the smart "warmth" thing by layering that morning, first with my silk sock liner, then a thermal sock liner, then a thermal sock... then my 1200-gram Thinsulate leather boots from Bass-Pro... so my foot was pretty well wrapped up. I think this was a good thing. Still, it made mounting Greek rather difficult. He was a good horse, though, and seemed to be very understanding.

Well... an eternity later, after dark treks through treacherous terrain (did I mention it was DARK???), trusting Greek to know WTF he was going (say, do horses have night vision??? -- I don't think they do), we made it back to camp. I slithered down off Greek and gave him an incredibly grateful hug around his wonderful neck, and thanked him twenty-five gazillion times for bringing me home alive (did I mention the treacherous terrain IN THE DARK??????).

At this point, I'd like to make a few observations before I continue.

1. Horses are WAY BETTER than women. There ain't NO woman in the world (yes, I said "ain't" -- deal with it!) who would haul a crippled guy FOUR HOURS down off a mountain in freezing cold and howling winds, in treacherous terrain, IN THE DARK!!!

2. If I EVER had to make a choice between a woman and a horse... well, there'd be no "choice."

3. See #1 and #2.

4. Those horse soldiers of the old west? Ballsy guys. Lots of riding in all kinds of unGodly conditions. I REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeally have a whole new appreciation for those lads. On the other hand, they didn't live long, either. Ballsy, though, very ballsy. What a life the cavalry must have been. Good grief.

5. See #3.

The next day, Sunday, I took off from hunting anything. Yes, it was MY money, I'd paid to HUNT, but after pulling my boot and socks off, my foot was pretty colorful and I didn't know if it was broken. So, I stayed off it all day Sunday. It was my money, my foot, and my choice. I was praying, literally, for "just" a sprain.

Monday through Wednesday, I hunted with the others in my crew who all pretty much said "To Hell with the horses" for various reasons and decided to use 4WD vehicles to bounce around the state in search of mule deer.

(Note: Apparently, there was a herd of "migratory" elk and they weren't migratin' worth ca-ca. The whole week, out of all the hunters in camp, only five or six saw ANY elk, and only two guys got one while I was there. If I ever do elk again, I'll know to ask about if they're a "migratory herd." Oh well. Lessons learned. There were new crews coming in when I was getting ready to leave, and I'm SURE the damn "migratory herd" will be migrating during THEIR hunt.)

Another observation: Montana has a reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeal buck-to-doe management problem where mule deer are concerned. I saw herds, literally, HERDS of mule deer... and not ONE gol-durn buck. Hey, I'm easy, 1:10, 1:15, 1:20... 1:25... 1:30 even... but 60 to 70 "DOES" in one herd and not ONE GOSH-DANG BUCK??? NOT EVEN A SPIKE??? And it wasn't just me, the reports back at the dinner table at night, among all the other guys, were the same. Does, no bucks. At best, a "couple" of spikes were seen, a "couple" of forks were seen, and two guys did manage to take honest-to-goodness "buck" bucks... but that's out of COUNTLESS does over the course of a week.

As an aside, mule deer are just adorable as all get out! I just love those EARS!!!

Anyway, I had a doe tag, so I blasted a big one at 203 yards with one shot to the base of the neck and came home with a fair amount of meat.

I stopped at the Cabela's in Mitchell, SD, both ways, so it wasn't a total loss of a trip.

Final observations:

1. "In general," no shots are close in Montana. Forget zeroing at 200 yards. You'd better be zeroed and PRACTICED at 300 yards. (There were some guys there zeroing, rather TRYING to zero, at "100" yards. It was sad.)

2. If there's ice and a hill, don't wait for someone to say "Maybe we should walk the horses" -- like AFTER mine slipped -- just take the initiative and walk your horse.

3. If you have an entrenching tool, take it. If you take it, pack it. Daily.

4. Good skinning knives are worth their weight in GOLD!!!

5. People are real nice in Montana. I don't think it's just if you're a Montanan. I think just being "in" Montana makes you nice. Hell, even "I" was nicer in Montana. Now, I'm back home in Illinois, and I feel mean and nasty again.

All in all, on a 1-to-100 scale, I'd give the overall experience an 83. My guide was technically proficient in putting me in the right places and such, but it was his first season (he was 18 years old) guiding and his "care and concern" qualities needed a bit of maturing. The gals doing the cooking and serving were great. Top notch. Crackerjack. Can't say enough good about them. Wonderful human beings, always greeted everyone with a smile. Genuinely nice people. No migrating elk, nor even stationary elk, and a pathetic buck/doe mule deer ratio. The former is just a part of hunting, sometimes you win and sometimes you lose, no biggie. The buck/doe thing, though -- man, I don't know, Montana needs to do some serious herd management... at least where I was, around Livingston.

I got my foot zapped at a clinic in Livingston and it wasn't broken. The doctor was great; he and I both can't stand Senator Daschle. Swell guy. Told the nurse the quick way to fix my (foot) problem was just to amputate. I love the West.

So, that's it. I'd like to hunt elk again sometime, somewhere, if they're there and/or if they're moving... and I'd like to hunt mule deer if there are bucks around... "somewhere"... but next year I have two bear hunts booked, and I'm looking at Alaska for a brown bear the next year.

I missed my girls (dogs -- JoJo and Bugsy) terribly, and it's good to see them again.

Illinois is flat.

Russ

[ 11-23-2002, 14:14: Message edited by: Russell E. Taylor ]

Hey Russ, Looks like a very memorable hunt.

Almost felt like I was there with you since I grew up in horse country. Only have two questions(since you wrote the story so well).

You mentioned, "...with my saddle coming loose once...".

Q1: Why were you wearing a saddle?

Really hate to see folks blame horses for things the horses really aren't responsible for. (Like when they would carry me under a low limb or stand on my foot.)

Q2: Any chance your left foot actually got hurt "before" you stuck it under Greek as he slipped? (Had to be bad for Greek's ego.)

You are very good at telling stories. It sounds like you had a very "memorable" hunt. Something to tell you children and grand children. Even with "only" a doe, it would be hard to call an experience like that and unsuccessful hunt.

I love Montana. We're getting some powder here in Bozeman so I guess that means Bridger and skiing pretty soon.

You can get some close shots in Montana. Most shots I've seen have been within 150 yards and all 3 of the deer I have shot have been at 50 yards or closer. This last doe was 50 feet. We have some thick stuff here.

And yes, us Montanans are right friendly--esp if you're on your way out

Russ, My experience with mule deer would indicate that unless seriously rutting the old bucks aren't anywhere near herds of females.I watched an old boy here for most of the fall and shot him on opening morning. Scored 202 8 yr.old. All the time we watched him he was alone or with other bucks. Just an observation. Now they are in start of rut and the older bucks seem to allow young fellows to gather some does then run the little guys off and do their business.Mark