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- Jan 28, 2003
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Last year during the second combined elk hunt in Colorado two days after we got shot at (Look for my other post "Have you ever wanted to kill another hunter.") My buddy Tim and I packed way back into the high country and Tim shot his 5X5 bull right at dark. I could have bagged a little ole rag horn as well but decided to let him go as I felt we were too far to be packing two bulls out.
In any case Tim made a beautiful 150 yard neck shot on the trotting bull and after a hearty back slapping and a firm hand shake and the obligatory pictures we started into the labor of quartering and loading the bull onto our horses. We use Saddle panniers that ride over the saddle and carry your load out which means you have to lead your critter out.
The pack out was in new snow about a foot deep over some pretty rough country and it took us about 2 hours in the dark to reach the trail head. My horse threw a shoe we had one minor wreck but all in all it went pretty darn well. After reaching the trail head it took an additional 2 and a half hours to get to the truck. By the time we got to camp it was about 01:00 in the morning.
Needless to say we unloaded fed watered and crashed out. About 07:30 the next morning there is a knock on the camper door. Here stands a man with his hat in his hand. It turns out that this guy and his buddy had shot an elk on the opposite ridge line, way back up in there. He gave me a long protracted story about being from Wisconsin and that he just couldn’t handle the altitude and he’d be glad to pay me if I’d ride back in there and pack out his bull. He told me that the elk was all quartered up and ready to pack, all I had to do was load it.
Being a bit of a softy I reluctantly agreed under the condition that he drive into town and get me some feed for my live stock and some fresh water for the camper. No problem he said. Oh and also I told him it would be later as I had to go into town and get my gilding shod.
It wasn’t until 15:00 when I got back to the trail head saddled up and started up the ridge to retrieve the hunters bull. After about an hour of steep rough riding I found the bull and much to my surprise there he lay, one whole, none quartered carcass. The second shock came when I went to looking for the tag and found a resident Co tag attached to the bull…
Now I’m thinking Ok what the hell is going on here. I should have saddled up and rode home. But I figured that I’m here I might as well get the job done. So I got out my pack saw and a skinning knife and quartered and caped out the bull loaded it in the now pitch black rocky mountain night. Thank god my horse is about as rock solid as any mountain horse that ever walked the hills. This was no situation for a jittery horse.
The pack out was a crumbled steep dark downhill run with several moments of shear terror as my big gilding lost his footing several times and came sliding down the trail on top of me. The trail head parking lot was a welcome sight.
As I approached the trail head the two hunters were in their suburban waiting for me. The first thing I noticed is that these boys had an entirely different demeanor about them. “ It had gone from please help me sir” to “what the hell took you so long”. As I was getting around to unloading the horse I asked the main guy “Who’s tag is on this bull?” None of your business was the curt reply. Now I’m thinking ok this ain’t good and I’m up a creek as I am now an accessory to poaching.
I played this guys bluff a bit and told him that if he didn’t want me to pack this friggin bull that was now quartered and so nicely packed, all the way back up that friggin hill , where I was then going to call the DOW, that he’d better come clean. The guy shuffled his feet a bit and told me a cock and bull story about how the tag was his cousins and how his cousin had actually shot the bull and that they were just hunting with him and that the cousin had gone back to Denver to take care of his family. I was too tired to argue with the guy so I let it rest. Unloaded his bull for him. But it was plainly obvious that these guys had shot this bull on somebody else’s tag.
But here is the kicker the guy actually had the balls to accuse me of trying to steal his tenderloins. Which I had packed in separate plastic bags to keep them safe from being lost in the dark. I handed him his loins, disgustedly spit a wad of tobacco on the ground loaded my horse in the trailer. In the meantime our Wisconsin “sportsmen” drove off with out another word. No thank you ,no screw off, nothing.
I wasted a whole afternoon of hunting, risked my live stock and myself and what did I get for it? A possible poaching conviction and the knowledge that I helped two of the most surly, ungrateful, crooked, Yankee bastard, SOB’s in the woods pack out their illegally shot elk.
So here is moral of the story if you ever see a gray Dodge 1 ton pick up parked in a camp with a giant muscled up red roan gilding and are thinking about asking for some help packing your elk out. The answer is most likely, from now on NO!!!! And now you know why.
Sincerely
Greg
In any case Tim made a beautiful 150 yard neck shot on the trotting bull and after a hearty back slapping and a firm hand shake and the obligatory pictures we started into the labor of quartering and loading the bull onto our horses. We use Saddle panniers that ride over the saddle and carry your load out which means you have to lead your critter out.
The pack out was in new snow about a foot deep over some pretty rough country and it took us about 2 hours in the dark to reach the trail head. My horse threw a shoe we had one minor wreck but all in all it went pretty darn well. After reaching the trail head it took an additional 2 and a half hours to get to the truck. By the time we got to camp it was about 01:00 in the morning.
Needless to say we unloaded fed watered and crashed out. About 07:30 the next morning there is a knock on the camper door. Here stands a man with his hat in his hand. It turns out that this guy and his buddy had shot an elk on the opposite ridge line, way back up in there. He gave me a long protracted story about being from Wisconsin and that he just couldn’t handle the altitude and he’d be glad to pay me if I’d ride back in there and pack out his bull. He told me that the elk was all quartered up and ready to pack, all I had to do was load it.
Being a bit of a softy I reluctantly agreed under the condition that he drive into town and get me some feed for my live stock and some fresh water for the camper. No problem he said. Oh and also I told him it would be later as I had to go into town and get my gilding shod.
It wasn’t until 15:00 when I got back to the trail head saddled up and started up the ridge to retrieve the hunters bull. After about an hour of steep rough riding I found the bull and much to my surprise there he lay, one whole, none quartered carcass. The second shock came when I went to looking for the tag and found a resident Co tag attached to the bull…
Now I’m thinking Ok what the hell is going on here. I should have saddled up and rode home. But I figured that I’m here I might as well get the job done. So I got out my pack saw and a skinning knife and quartered and caped out the bull loaded it in the now pitch black rocky mountain night. Thank god my horse is about as rock solid as any mountain horse that ever walked the hills. This was no situation for a jittery horse.
The pack out was a crumbled steep dark downhill run with several moments of shear terror as my big gilding lost his footing several times and came sliding down the trail on top of me. The trail head parking lot was a welcome sight.
As I approached the trail head the two hunters were in their suburban waiting for me. The first thing I noticed is that these boys had an entirely different demeanor about them. “ It had gone from please help me sir” to “what the hell took you so long”. As I was getting around to unloading the horse I asked the main guy “Who’s tag is on this bull?” None of your business was the curt reply. Now I’m thinking ok this ain’t good and I’m up a creek as I am now an accessory to poaching.
I played this guys bluff a bit and told him that if he didn’t want me to pack this friggin bull that was now quartered and so nicely packed, all the way back up that friggin hill , where I was then going to call the DOW, that he’d better come clean. The guy shuffled his feet a bit and told me a cock and bull story about how the tag was his cousins and how his cousin had actually shot the bull and that they were just hunting with him and that the cousin had gone back to Denver to take care of his family. I was too tired to argue with the guy so I let it rest. Unloaded his bull for him. But it was plainly obvious that these guys had shot this bull on somebody else’s tag.
But here is the kicker the guy actually had the balls to accuse me of trying to steal his tenderloins. Which I had packed in separate plastic bags to keep them safe from being lost in the dark. I handed him his loins, disgustedly spit a wad of tobacco on the ground loaded my horse in the trailer. In the meantime our Wisconsin “sportsmen” drove off with out another word. No thank you ,no screw off, nothing.
I wasted a whole afternoon of hunting, risked my live stock and myself and what did I get for it? A possible poaching conviction and the knowledge that I helped two of the most surly, ungrateful, crooked, Yankee bastard, SOB’s in the woods pack out their illegally shot elk.
So here is moral of the story if you ever see a gray Dodge 1 ton pick up parked in a camp with a giant muscled up red roan gilding and are thinking about asking for some help packing your elk out. The answer is most likely, from now on NO!!!! And now you know why.
Sincerely
Greg
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