For
as long as I can remember there have been two things for certain in
this part of the country. Number one is that when it is 6:00 a.m. in
Florida it is 4:00 a.m. in Wyoming (time to roll out of the sack and
get horses saddled). Secondly, when you live at the foot of the Wind
River Mountains it is always very cold at 4 o'clock in the morning during
the fall hunting season.
This particular
morning appeared to be no different than any other opening day of rifle
season at the Star Lake Hunting camp. There had definitely been excitement
in the air the night before with a new group of hunters in camp. Most
of them had not even slept through the night in anticipation of an encounter
with the once in a lifetime 6 point bull elk. As I recall there was
not even a cloud in the sky that morning. To our disadvantage, the moon
was so bright that the stars could barely be seen which meant that the
elk would most likely be heading back to the timber before sun up.
I had
made plans with "my hunter" the night before to get out of
camp early so we could make it to park #11 by daylight (hunting guides
are always possessive over their hunters until they miss a shot). Charles
was a sport and when I wheeled old "Effie" in front of the
log stump he was ready to go. In Charles' defense he would not have
normally needed the stump to climb aboard his trusty mule but due to
a freak accident in the cook tent the night before he had three cracked
ribs. With a couple of ace bandages, and 3 or 4 Advil, we were off in
pursuit of what I assured Charles would be the time of his life.
As we
traveled along the edge of the lake I looked back often to check on
Charles to see how his ribs were feeling and he assured me all was well.
I have never had any cracked ribs myself, let alone while riding a mule,
but I have a notion he was just too tired or cold to feel any pain.
As we
approached the "deep crossing" I was well aware that shooting
light was near. I decided to take a different route across the creek
to avoid riding the trail into the long elbow shaped park that lay ahead.
I had seen elk here before and decided to cross to the other side in
an effort to stay up against the trees and to get a better view of the
meadow without exposing ourselves. With the help of the heal of my boots
old Smokey stepped right on across between the big granite boulders
and lunged up the bank on the other side. I guess I can't blame Effie
for not wanting to get her feet cold but what was about to happen next
had everything to do with wishing you were in Florida at 6 o'clock in
the morning instead of in the middle of Silver Creek at 4 a.m.
The
old girl must have not had it all together that morning because not
even her first step was a good one. With all of the commotion I glanced
back to see the start of what was going to be a very COLD wreck. I am
not sure if Charles ever had the desire to rodeo but ready or not here
it came. Effie was trying to get her balance from a misplaced hoof and
Charles was hanging on for dear life. Every time it looked like things
were under control the big eared molly would stumble some more. There
was not a flat spot to be found on any of the rocks and within seconds
what started off to be great elk hunt became a great big Splash!
Now
I told you that shooting light was very near but to "my very cold
hunter" things could not have been brighter. His eyes were as big
as the bottoms of Effie's feet and I could see those too. I jumped from
my horse not knowing exactly what to do since both of them lay motionless
between two big boulders. When I made it to the scene I was able to
position myself on top of a rock to help Charles ease his leg out from
under the mule and get to the bank. Just as I looked back to the scene
of the accident I noticed the head of the big-eared victim going under
the water. I raced back across the top of the rocks just in time to
grab a hold of the headstall. Now I am sure a great number of you have
seen the size of a mule's head, but I never imagined one weighing that
much. With the amount of adrenaline pumping through my blood I could
have probably put a Volkswagen bug on top of my shoulders, but it was
all I could do to keep Effie's enormous head from sinking to the bottom
of Silver Creek. I do not know what finally came over the girl, (I am
sure it had nothing to do with me bent over screaming in her ear), but
she finally floundered around enough to regain her footing. It didn't
take her long to find the bank and we were finally all safe but definitely
not sound.
To my
surprise, we were all still in one piece with just a few bumps and bruises
and at least three cracked ribs. Charles insisted that we tie up old
Effie and continue our morning hunt a-foot. Within a couple of hours
of walking I finally convinced Charles to stop
so we could build a fire and dry him out. He was quite a trooper and
a very forgiving man because when we made it back to Effie that night
he gave her a pat on the neck and climbed aboard with the help of a
little bit taller log stump.
I will
never know if there were elk in the meadow at the deep crossing that
morning, but this is just one of the memories that can only come from
life "off of the paved road".
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