- Details
- Category: Elk
- Published: Tuesday, 20 December 2005 20:39
- Written by Merrill
2005 Book Cliffs Elk Hunt
Prequel
This story starts in January of 2005, when our little band of hunters (Doug, Jim, and myself) decided to apply individually for the Book Cliffs – Little Creek (Roadless Area) any-weapon elk hunt. Since Jim had recently started a new job and was unsure if he would be able to participate, he decided to just purchase a bonus point and not be in the drawing. Doug and I applied, and based on the results of the previous year, our odds of drawing one tag would be about 50%, and about 25% for drawing two tags.
The drawing results were to be published April 29, but several days prior to that date I had heard rumors that people were noticing that their credit cards had been billed for hunt drawings. So I was sitting at my home computer checking my credit card statement, when I noticed a $280 charge to the Utah DWR. Patty heard me scream, and came running to see what was wrong. After 20+ years I had finally drawn a Limited Entry Bull tag! I fired off an email to Doug who replied that he had done the same thing. We had beaten the odds, and we needed to start preparing!
Preparation
The next months were filled with musings through magazines looking at elk pictures and practicing the art of field scoring. This was amusing, as neither Doug nor I had ever passed up an opportunity to shoot a bull elk, even very small ones. Now we are looking at elk larger than we had ever shot, and saying that we would pass that one up and wait for a bigger one.
I created a questionnaire and sent it to the people who drew the same tag last year. 3 of them responded, saying they had all killed large elk, and they said to hold out for a big one and to be patient.
Doug and I backpacked into the area in late July via the Went Ridge Road and Salt Hollow. We hiked forever in the eastern areas of the unit, and saw hundreds of elk but no big ones. We videotaped several elk as close as 30 feet. We were excited. Doug and I then flew over the area in late August getting a better understanding of how the drainages worked. We decided we would try to camp near Little Creek, as that is where we had seen the most elk during our hike. One of Doug’s friends who had committed to help us suddenly had a different priority, and as such we would not be able to use his horses. I was getting very nervous, as this hunt would be next to impossible without equine help. When I asked Patty (my wife) if I could purchase horses, her response was “Sure, if I can buy a Jaguar”. So I bought two horses (Rio and Primadora) from my co-worker’s father-in-law. Rio is a 7 year old Arabian gelding, who had never been shoed and was very green. Primadora is a 19 year old Arabian mare who has had experience packing wild game. My co-worker (Scott) was also kind enough to let us borrow his horse trailer through the hunt. Matt (my son) is still asking Patty when she will go car shopping. We had the ferrier come and shoe the horses, and Rio created quite a rodeo. We ended up tranquilizing him to finish the job. This should have been a clue for me, but as they say, hindsight is 20-20.
My neighbor Rob and I made a horseback expedition into the area 2 weeks before the season on September 2nd and 3rd. We decided to try the Totem Pole Trail to get to Little Creek, but Rio didn’t like that steep of a climb. As such, we turned around and entered the area via the Went Ridge Road and Salt Hollow. Once we got to Bogart Canyon Rio started bucking, and after holding on for 8 seconds (there are no witnesses to disprove this!) I jumped off, and he ran. We caught him 20 minutes later. His cinch had loosened, causing his saddle to slide a little. We figured this was the cause of the bucking. We then rode to East Willow Creek and started towards Little Creek, and encountering difficult trails, I decided that I didn’t want to take our eventual hunting party of 5 horses and 3 green cowboys over that trail, and that we would instead plan on camping near the top of She Canyon. During the next evening and morning of scouting, I saw 3 nice bulls at long range, but while I was scouting Rob saw a behemoth bull walk 300 yards from camp. He told me that I would want to find that bull when the season started, as it fit my criteria of having heavy antlers with long tines and tips that drop way back. While there, I cached a tent, sleeping bag and pad, and a bow saw in our She Canyon Camp.
I purchased a pack saddle for Primadora, and we spent every free minute with the horses riding Rio and taking Primadora for long walks with the pack saddle and packs full of hay cubes. Sometimes one of my kids would climb on the pack saddle for additional weight. Maybe it was for fun.
Getting There (Day 1)
The season was to start on Saturday Sept. 17th, and our plan was to arrive at our She Canyon camp on Friday the 16th. Jim flew in on Thursday evening from Houston, and Doug was to come to my house on Thursday night, bringing 3 borrowed horses and tack. We planned to leave early Friday. But when Doug plugged in the horse trailer lights to his father’s pickup, a fuse in the truck blew because of a short in the trailer. He worked on this problem for hours with the trailer’s owner, but they never solved the problem. By the time Doug arrived at the house, it was early morning hours on Friday. We ended up getting a late start on Friday morning, but we were on our way! After fueling the vehicles interminably, and driving for more than 4 hours, we arrived at the trailhead. Primadora and Brenda Sue (borrowed mustang) were loaded down with packs and camp gear. I was riding Rio, Jim was riding Sage (borrowed mustang), and Doug was riding Stitches, a huge borrowed quarter horse. We had gone about 2 miles in over an hour, having stopped several times to adjust packs, tighten cinches, and catch horses as we lost their leads, etc. At this point, Doug was getting back on Stitches when he bolted. Doug was reigning back with all his might, but Stitches was too strong, and eventually tired of Doug yanking on his bit, so he made one mighty buck, and Doug was propelled at great velocity through the air, landing squarely on his head and right shoulder. Stitches and Brenda Sue kept running until they passed Jim (on Sage). Brenda Sue’s pack had slipped and was now under her belly. Jim was able to free Brenda Sue and catch Stitches. I asked Doug if he was all right, and he responded, “No, I broke my collar bone”. We had to leave Doug by the side of the trail as we herded the horses to a place to tie them up. We then put a sling (camouflage shirt) on Doug and put his coat on him. I asked if he would like to ride a horse back and he gave an emphatic NO. We left the food packs on the side of the road but got everything else loaded back up and walked the horses and Doug back to the trucks. We made the decision to take Doug to the Price hospital, and also take the three borrowed horses home. Doug, via cell phone, arranged a place to leave the horses in Price and called his brother Craig to come get him when he was done in Price. Upon arriving in Price, we took Doug to the Emergency Room, and seeing he was being cared for, took the horses to the boarding facility. We got lost finding the place, but the gentleman there was patient. He helped us unload the horses into a 20 acre field. As soon as the horses were unloaded, Craig called and asked us to not unload the horses as he would take them all the way back home. So Jim and I spent the next two hours until midnight chasing horses through a huge muddy field. Jim caught Sage, but we were unable to catch the other two. We finally released Sage and went back to the hospital just as Doug was being released, when Craig arrived with his wife. At this point we didn’t know if Doug would be able to turn in his elk tag and be eligible to draw it again next year. Doug decided to go home with Craig, and then would come back up to the mountain if he were able to do so. Jim and I were starving, having not eaten since breakfast, and all we could find was cold food at an all-night truck stop in Wellington. We then drove to the trailhead, arriving at 3:30 a.m. We slept like the dead.
Opening Day (Day 2)
We awoke well after light, and began going through all of our possessions, choosing the minimal amount of stuff to get us through the hunt. We packed Primadora down with our camping and hunting supplies. Rio only had on his saddle, as we had left the packs with food along the trail near where Doug had been hurt. We restarted our great adventure, and as we neared the food packs, we noticed fresh bear tracks along the trail. We discussed the likelihood that the bear had found and eaten our food, but shortly before the food packs, the bear abruptly left the trail. Our food was safe. We loaded it onto Rio and continued along the trail leading the horses. Shortly after leaving Indian land, we heard elk just off the trail and straight beneath us on a steep sidehill. We saw a few cows, but didn’t even try to bugle the bull into us. Shortly before getting to our camp, a DWR officer checked my tag and we talked for a while. He had just seen a couple of small bulls just above our camp.
We arrived at camp minutes later, and spent some time setting up our camp. We found the cached tent and sleeping bag. We allowed the horses to eat and drink, which involved on or the other of us holding Rio’s lead so he wouldn’t escape. The grass was thick by the creek and they could eat a lot of grass in a short amount of time. We decided that we wouldn’t make a fire during the hunt since the weather was warm. It also meant a lot less work sawing firewood. We ate and then napped until about 4:00 p.m.
The Hunt
About 4:30 p.m. we decided we needed to start hunting for elk. The moon was full at night, and the elk activity was diminished in the morning hours since they could feed all night. We figured this would be good for the evening hunt. We decided to hike up She Canyon to the top, then circle around along the east side of the ridge tops. Near the top of She Canyon, we ran into two guides (Darrel and Guy) and their client (Chet). These were great guys, and we would spend quite some time with them during the ensuing days. We talked at length, and then continued, traversing the ridges. We finally reached a point where we could look down what we called “the 2nd draw” and see camp in the bottom. While we were scoping out the area, I spotted a bull elk with many cows about a mile away, near the top of “the 1st draw”. We looked it over as carefully as possible for such a long distance, and decided it was big enough to try to pursue. It was 6:30 p.m. with just over an hour of shooting light left. I knew that there was a trail that went along the ridge to a point directly above the elk, and then another that dropped steeply to where the elk were. So we started hoofing it to these trails. Near the highest point on the trail, I saw a quarter sitting in the trail, heads up. I picked this up, showed it to Jim, and pointed out that it was a very lucky sign. We then dropped down the steep trail into the head of “the 1st draw”. As we came down the trail, we heard a bull bugle in the draw, above where we had seen the big bull. We didn’t think it was the big one. Then we heard a bigger sounding bugle downstream in the draw. As we broke into the open of the draw, we could see no elk. We were disappointed, and started walking down the draw through the sagebrush. We came to some beautiful wallows, and then heard a huge bugle just over the hogback ridge that separates “the 1st draw” from “the 2nd draw”. We ran up the hogback, and as we neared the top, heard another huge bugle. At the top, I could see some cow elk milling around the top of the quakies where we had been when we first saw the big bull. I sat down (still breathing hard), and scoped the cows. I then got out my rangefinder and saw that they were at about 300 yards. It was then that a big bull stepped out onto the skyline, looking directly at us. He had tall antlers, but you couldn’t tell how many points or how long they were. Jim was watching with his binoculars, and me with my rifle scope. He finally turned his head and we could see he was a very nice 6 point, with good 5’s and 6’s. I didn’t try to guess what he would score, but he seemed like a shooter. I put a shell in the chamber, but before I could get a bead on him he went over the ridge. I bugled once, and he came back to the skyline, but all we could see were antlers, no elk. He remained there as the cows filed over the skyline, then he too disappeared for good.
Jim and I sat there talking about what a neat place we were in, where you could see a big 6 point bull in the first evening of hunting. Since it was almost too late to shoot and there was no way to pursue this bull before total darkness, we decided to start back for camp, which was only a half mile down “the 2nd draw”, which was right in front of us.
As we walked through the sagebrush towards the trail in the bottom of the draw, I looked up the bottom of the draw and saw a bull elk standing there. He was in the bottom of the draw, facing to the left with trees immediately behind him. I said, “Jim, there’s a bull!” and sat down to scope him. I could tell he was big, but I could only see to his 4th point because of the trees behind him, but figured he must be a 5 point because of the mass of his antlers. I wasn’t about to shoot a 4 or 5 point bull on this hunt, so I wasn’t at all excited. Jim stated that there was something weird about his antlers. I guessed his distance to be about 150 yards, but when I used my rangefinder it showed him to be at 261 yards. We were talking quietly again about this incredible place, where we could pass up a bull like this, that was bigger (by far) than any elk I had ever shot before. I decided to practice my calling skills on him, and used my cow call. At the sound, the bull took a couple of steps forward. I immediately threw up my rifle to see him better through the scope, and saw that he had huge 5’s and 6’s, and that more importantly for me, his 6th points drooped significantly. This was my dream bull! I said to Jim “I’m going to shoot him!” Jim said “He’s not that wide, are you sure?” I replied with the question, “Wouldn’t you?” He replied that he would. I aimed and shot. I saw no indication that he was hit, so aimed again, and fired again. And again. My rifle was now empty, and the elk was still standing. I took off my backpack and started fumbling through it for more shells. After what seemed to be an eternity, I finally found them, and reloaded my rifle with 3 more shells. The elk had started to walk to the left. I fired again and for the first time could tell that he had been hit. He turned around, and started going back to the right, towards the trees. I fired again, and again. Jim was still watching through his binoculars, and saw the elk fall. I was frantically reloading again, but Jim assured me that he was down for good. By now my heart was beating really fast.
I hurried as fast as I could go, forgetting to pick up the empty brass, and got to the now dead bull. I was overcome at the beauty and the immensity of this beast. He was the first animal I had ever shot that was bigger up close than he had looked when I shot at him.
Night Shift
The elk had died in the muddy top of a wallow, surrounded by tall clean grass. We attempted to pull him out of the mud and into the grass, but we couldn’t budge him. We were able to roll him into a better position to work on quartering him. We decided to have Jim go back to camp and get ropes, game bags, a saw, more knives, and a lantern, while I used the remaining light of day (and flashlights) to start quartering him. We took a few pictures, and Jim departed. I had not got very far when he returned with the additional equipment, including the lantern which had a broken mantle and globe. This damage had happened when Brenda Sue’s packs had slipped and fallen when Stitches bucked Doug. We finally got the lantern working.
It had been very hot during the days, hot enough to make elk meat spoil, so we knew we had to finish the quartering quickly so the meat would have time to cool properly during the cool night. Once cooled, we could keep it in the shade or in garbage bags in the stream, to keep it sufficiently cool.
We worked feverishly, but it still took us until after 1:00 a.m. to finish skinning the elk to above the shoulders and getting the quarters and loins removed and cooling in the grass. We returned to camp and slept like the dead while the elk bugled all around us.
Meat to Town (Day 3)
We woke up after light (slept in) on Sunday morning, with Jim whining about the amount of snoring he had to endure. We ate breakfast of dehydrated eggs (they aren’t bad!), and then saddled the horses in preparation of having them haul the meat out. We led them to a point about 100 yards from the elk where we would tie them up while we put the elk quarters in game bags. As we were going to tie them up, we were going to switch the lead ropes on them so that Rio would have the longer one so we could tie it to a fairly light log that he could drag around to avoid getting caught up in the rope, but so we could still catch him. As we removed his lead rope, he escaped by simply walking away and we couldn’t hold on to him. All our attempts of catching him were futile, as he stayed just out of our reach. We decided to let him be free while we prepared the elk quarters for Prima. When we had the two hind quarters bagged, we took Prima over to the dead elk, and loaded the quarters into her pannier. While we did this, Rio came over and started sniffing the elk carcass, and he wasn’t impressed. At this point we decided that I would ride Rio and lead Prima with the two hind quarters, about 180 lbs. But, we couldn’t catch Rio.
So I started off leading Prima and Rio would stay a long ways behind us. Eventually, he ended up on the wrong side of a steep and deep embankment that he wouldn’t cross. Having 18 miles of trails and hours in the truck to get to town and back, I couldn’t spend the time to catch him and still hope to get back to camp before dark. So I just continued on, leaving Rio there. I closed both gates on the way out and told the few other people I saw that he was mine if they found him.
As I passed the DWR’s cabin, the officer checked my tag and asked how big the bull was. I told her, and she asked how long the 3’s (third point from the bottom) were. When I told her they were very small, she said that was a common genetic trait of the Book Cliffs elk.
Prima and I finished the trek out in about 3 hours. I watered her and tied her up while I made the 90-120 minute trip to Moab, which is the location of the closest meat locker. I found the locker/butcher and delivered the meat, then stopped at Burger King and then the grocery store to buy salt for the cape.
90+ minutes later and several phone calls later I was back at the trailhead, and we started back for camp. About a mile before we got to camp, I ran into a hunter who told me they had found and caught Rio, so we detoured to their camp. Rio was very nervous and gave me significant grief as I tried to saddle him. It was getting late, and I didn’t want to negotiate the trail in the dark, so I asked if I could leave Rio with them until morning. They agreed. We got back to camp right as it was getting dark. Jim had spent the entire day skinning the elk up to the head, carrying elk quarters and loins the half mile to the creek by camp. We ate, and slept like the dead again as the elk bugled noisily around us.
Meat to Town (Day 4)
We woke up after light Monday morning, and ate fitfully. Prima was saddled and we loaded her up with the front shoulders and the loins, about 160 lbs. Jim planned on caping the elk while I went to town. Caping is taking the skin off of the skull so it can be tanned and mounted. This is a big job, and requires intricate cutting. Neither of us had done this before.
I left, leading Prima. We got to the hunter’s camp where Rio was, where we saddled him up without incident. An older gentleman there raised Arabian horses, and asked if I would sell Rio. I said yes, but asked for $700. He offered $500 and I turned him down. This was a mistake.
I left riding Rio while Prima just followed, not even tied. We made it to the trailhead without incident. I watered them and tied them up tight and repeated the previous days’ activities, including the stop at Burger King, and driving back to the trailhead. The drive down the canyon takes about an hour without a horse trailer, and then it is about 45 minutes to Moab. It is at least a 4 hour trip from the trailhead to Moab and back if you do anything there, like go to the butcher or stop for lunch.
We started back for camp again with me riding Rio while Prima followed. Just upstream from the DWR cabin I saw a herd of elk on the hillside, about 250 yards from the trail. There was a nice bull, either a 5 or 6 point, but we didn’t even slow down. We trotted coming back to make good time, but it was still getting late as we approached camp. About a half mile from camp, with the light waning, I saw a mountain lion about 100 yards away on the other side of the creek. I was hoping that Rio wouldn’t notice it as I was sure he would spook. He didn’t notice the lion, and we continued uneventfully to camp. Jim wasn’t there, and I assumed he was still working on the elk. I watered and tied the horses.
It was almost dark, so I grabbed a flashlight and a coat and walked up to the elk to find Jim. He wasn’t there, so I figured he had gone upstream to talk to Darrel and Guy again. I walked the mile upstream to their camp, and sure enough, they were BSing around the fire. They had fed Jim really good food. When I got there they immediately cooked up grilled ham and cheese sandwiches. They even had fresh salad! The guides were jokingly making fun of their client, Chet, who had missed another large bull that day.
Jim had given up on the caping project for fear that he would make a mistake and ruin the cape. Since we are both novices, we asked the guides for help in explaining better how to do the caping. They spent a lot of time making sure that I understood, and then they lent us their tools to make the job a lot easier. We had a good time with them, and finally left for camp in the dark. We slept like the dead while the elk bugled all around us, leaving tracks within 100 yards of our tent.
Leaving Camp (Day 5)
We woke up early on Tuesday and spent about 90 minutes caping the elk. We also removed his antlers (~40 lbs) and Jim strapped them and the bow saw onto the pack frame. We loaded the cape (~85 lbs) onto one side of Prima’s pack. We placed camp stuff (tent, sleeping bags, etc.) into the other side, but it didn’t weigh as much, so we added rocks to make both sides about equal. We tied on a foam mattress on top of her packs.
We put Rio’s packs on him, which were loaded with the Rubbermaid bins that held the food. Since we had planned on 7+ days of food for 3 people, we had lots of good food, mostly dehydrated, left over. We also placed other things in those bins, like the lantern and stove. These packs were not particularly heavy, so I placed Rio’s stirrups and bridle in his packs.
We put all of our valuable stuff (Jim’s expensive binoculars, digital camera, GPS units, laser rangefinder, etc.) into Jim’s daypack, which quickly got heavy. Jim carried his daypack and my rifle while I carried the pack frame with the antlers. The horses didn’t like seeing the antlers, so we had Jim lead Rio in the front while Prima followed. I brought up the rear at a good distance back to keep from spooking the horses. We decided to leave via the Totem Pole Trail which went upstream from camp past the guides’ camp. They had convinced us this was a shorter and easier trail to get off the mountain. Jim returned their tools as we went past their camp. The trail out was very steep uphill, and Jim and I switched backpacks occasionally so we could take turns carrying the heavy antlers. We were getting worn out as we climbed and climbed and climbed. Jim finally put his daypack with the valuables onto Prima’s pack to lighten his load.
We agreed we would NEVER walk out on that trail again, as it was uphill and more uphill. We got within eyesight of the trailhead, which was about 1.5 miles away and way below us, when Rio bolted and escaped from Jim and went running down the trail towards the trailhead. Prima followed him. They were gone in a cloud of dust. I caught up with Jim and we continued horseless down the trail. We got to the main road (closed to motorized vehicles) but there were so many horse tracks there was no way to know where the horses had gone. We decided to have Jim continue to the trailhead where we hoped the horses would be, while I went the other way to look for them in case they went north into the unit, and if they had, hopefully some hunter would be coming down the road and could have stopped them. Jim got to the trailhead but there were no horses. I walked a ways past the gate by where Doug was thrown, but had seen no horses or hunters. I then turned around and went back towards the trailhead. I got to the Totem Pole Trail turnoff and climbed a small hill so I could have a vantage point. From this point I could see Prima on the mountain. I called her and she came running down the Totem Pole Trail to me. I noticed she had lost Jim’s daypack and the foam sleeping pad that were on top of her pack. We waited there and I whinnied several times hoping Rio would answer back, but no luck. I led Prima to the trailhead. We told the few people we saw at the trailhead that we had lost a horse and to please pass the word. We decided to split up, and while I looked for Rio during the remainder of the light of the day Jim would drive down the mountain to Thompson Springs to leave our information in case anybody found Rio. And the most ironic thing is that we had two bins full of leftover food on the missing horse, but nothing for us. So while in town Jim picked up a bunch of junk food from the only business in town; a convenience store. We ate dinner of chips, dip, and salsa.
Search for Rio (Day 6)
We woke at first light on Wednesday to blustery skies. We ate breakfast (pop tarts) cared for Prima, and then started putting away the tent. We could see the storm approaching as we worked and it started to drizzle. As we finished taking down the tent, it began to rain hard. We sought shelter in the truck as it poured. Seeing the storm approach and listening to the weather on the radio, we figured it would rain for a long time. We made the call to drive to Moab to get real food and to take the elk cape for cooling and the antlers for safety since they would be an easy item to steal while we were away searching. It rained hard all the way to town, making the road down the canyon an awful mess. We dropped off the cape and antlers with the butcher to keep in his freezer. The next stop was our obligatory stop at Burger King for lunch and then we stopped at the grocery store to buy real food and a cooler to keep it in. On the radio we heard that a hurricane (Rita) was approaching Houston, so Jim called his parents in Lake Jackson, who were making final plans to evacuate. The radio said the Houston airport was about to close so Jim couldn’t go home now even if he wanted to in order to protect his home. It also wasn’t clear if the airport would be reopened by the time Jim was scheduled to return home on Sunday. As we left Moab we were looking for a pawn shop to buy a used saddle, since ironically, the only riding saddle we had was still on Rio, along with the packs full of food. We were unsuccessful in finding a pawn shop, so we would be unable to ride Prima to look for Rio.
When we made it back to the trailhead the rain had stopped, but everything was still wet. We talked to everybody at the trailhead again and we went out to search for Rio. We were concerned that Rio would be caught up in the brush since he had a long lead rope dragging and a saddle with packs. As we walked up the Went Ridge Road, we encountered several groups of hunters, including Darrel, Guy, and Chet. Chet had finally managed to kill a bull; a beautiful 7 point. None of the hunters had seen Rio, but they would keep their eyes open and if they found him would let us know.
We went back up the Totem Pole trail to a point where Jim thought the horses might have left the trail as they ran down. We took Prima with us in hopes that she would whinny and that Rio would answer her. She whinnied plenty as we tied her up and left her, but we heard no answers. Jim started searching to the north, and I stayed higher on the mountain. Pretty quickly Jim found my foam sleeping pad that had been tied on top of Prima’s pack, so we knew we were on the right trail. A while later Jim found his backpack which was worth more monetarily than Rio and the saddle. Jim was a long ways below me, almost to the Went Ridge Road, so I backtracked and took Prima down the trail and up Went Ridge Road to continue searching up there. From where Jim found the backpack, it was an easy walk to the road, and we figured Rio likely found his way down to the road, and maybe crossed it and headed down towards West Willow Creek. But, we continued to concentrate on the east side of the road, with Jim taking Prima up the Oil Pad Road (again, no motorized vehicles) while I hiked up through the brush to meet them up on that road as it circled back on the other side of the mountain we were on. As I went up, not far from the backpack’s location, I found a couple other articles from the top of Rio’s packs. But still no conclusive evidence of the way he had gone. I met Jim on top of the mountain and we hurried back to the trailhead before dark. I was thoroughly discouraged, and suggested that we just drive home and hope that somebody found Rio, and maybe take an airplane and search from the air in the river bottoms where it is open, but Jim convinced me to spend one more day searching as we had initially planned. Again, as in the previous 5 nights, we slept like the dead.
Search for Rio (Day 7)
Again we awoke early. It had rained during the night and the world was soggy again. A little bit of fog was around. As we took Prima to water, we talked to a guide (Duane) and asked him to keep his eyes open for Rio. As it turns out, I had helped his Californian client the night before by using my truck to jump start his. Duane said that since the roads were so muddy he didn’t want to take his truck and trailer full of mules down the slippery clay roads, and that if we didn’t mind, he would ride one of his mules to help us look for Rio. After all, we were headed for West Willow Creek, which is on Ute Indian land where most people never get permission to go. So he saddled up and we were off. Duane headed for the headwaters and ended up searching there and also back up on the west side of the Totem Pole Trail before he had to leave. He left a note on our truck with his contact information. He was a real gentleman, like everybody else we met on the mountain.
Jim and I hiked many miles that morning, actually crossing West Willow Creek. Elk were bugling everywhere though we didn’t see any of them. We crossed back over West Willow and climbed the mountain, ending up at Salt Hollow, where we followed the Went Ridge Road back to the trailhead, where we ate a real lunch. We both had blisters and were dead tired after the many miles we had walked in the wet brush. I decided to make one last search, where I intended to hike from the Oil Pad Road down the trail that goes down Bogart Canyon, as far as the gates by the DWR cabin, then back up to Salt Hollow and back to the trailhead. But as I passed by where Jim had found his backpack, I had a feeling to go back up into that area. This is where Jim and I had both searched extensively. I scoured it again with no luck.
I was feeling terrible about poor Rio. I kept imagining him tied up in the oak brush, starving to death. This part is hard to write, but I finally humbled myself enough and knelt down and poured out my thoughts to God. I apologized profusely for being a poor steward of Rio, and asked God to help the poor horse be found, and if he was caught up in the woods, that a wild animal would find him and kill him somewhat mercifully. This prayer took quite some time, and when I finally stood up I was still teary-eyed. I then started going up towards the Oil Pad Road on the backside of the ridge where Jim and I had met the night before and where I had searched on Tuesday. I felt as if I were being led, as I always knew which way to turn when there were openings in more ways than one. I had not walked for more than three minutes, when standing right in front of me was Rio. He still had his packs on, and his lead rope was caught in the oak brush and I could see that he had done a lot of fighting with the brush as he had numerous small cuts on his legs. As I approached him slowly and talking quietly to him, he took off running, and this time his rope freed itself. He was heading back to the south towards the trailhead, but the brush was very thick and he sounded like a freight train. I pursued him as fast as I could run and I was able to see him in front of me the whole time, when he finally stopped, not 200 yards from where Jim found the backpack. I gently approached him again, and this time I was able to get close enough to grab his lead rope. I immediately dallied it around a stout pine tree, when Rio tried to run again. The dally held and Rio fought the halter on the low side of the tree, tearing up the ground. I then tied off the lead rope and cut off the knot at the end, then slowly approached him again. He was shaking, and I was talking soothingly, as I started undoing the top of his pack so I could take the bins out, when he started fighting again. This time his shoulder hit me and I went flying, landing on my face somewhat down the hill. He continued fighting on the downhill side of the tree for a couple of minutes until he was spent, and was laying on his side with one front leg under the very taut rope. I again approached him, and while sitting on him to hold him down, I cut off his saddle cinch and undid his belly strap for his saddle and the pack.
After this traumatic episode, I marked the spot with my orange hat high in a tree so we could come back later and find the saddle and packs. I then cut his lead rope off the tree, and he followed me dutifully through the forest to the Went Ridge Road, which we followed back to the trailhead. Rio drained the first rain puddle in the road as he was so thirsty. He had been lost for 52 hours. I kept thinking he was like the prodigal son, and I was so thankful that he was coming back although he had been a very naughty horse.
When we got back to the truck, we fed and watered him, then tied him off and prepared Prima with her pack saddle. Jim and I then walked back down the road to where we could see the hat and tied Prima to a tree. We walked in and got the saddle, packs, and scavenged the area since so much stuff had flown out of the packs while Rio and I had fought. Some of the seams on the pack had come undone, but it was still working, so we put the packs on Prima, and then put Rio’s saddle on top of her pack saddle. It was a funny looking load, but it worked. We walked back to the truck without incident. As it was getting late, we decided to spend the night again. We slept like the dead.
Heading Home (Day 8)
Friday we slept in until almost 7:00. We led the horses to the water trough, and then put notes on the trucks of those who we had talked to that we had found Rio and were heading home. Two hunters from Ogden were camped next to us and invited us over for breakfast, which we gladly accepted. They fed us sausage and eggs, which we really enjoyed. They were camping in their stock trailer (it had been shoveled out), and this hardly even seemed strange. They promised to pass the word along that we were leaving with all our animals.
We finished packing our stuff, loaded the horses, and were on our way. We stopped in Moab to pick up the frozen cape and antlers, and the butcher had also cut up a few pounds of steak for Jim to take home on the plane. Of course we had to stop at Burger King, and then we were truly on our way. We made it home from there without incident.
Epilogue
Jim’s house and his parents’ house both survived the hurricane well. As it turns out, the storm turned more northward and bypassed the Houston and Lake Jackson areas. Jim made it home on Sunday without problems, except that it was nearly impossible for him to find gas for his car in Houston.
The DWR allowed Doug to turn in his tag for a refund as though he had just not drawn a tag at all. Fortunately, his injury happened before the season started. If it would have happened after the season started they would not have refunded it. I’m writing this part of the story on Dec 16th, and Doug has been able to shoot a shotgun now for over a month. His collar bone still has an ugly knot on it, but it is healed.
Prima is still a little angel. Rio hasn’t been too good. He escaped while we were saddling him at a local trailhead in November and it took us several hours in the dark to find him. He is for sale, although we continue to work with him to turn him into a better horse. One guy came to look at him with the idea of buying him. Rio promptly bucked him off. I then got on Rio to school him some, when he bucked me off too. Since then, he has been improving, but that is the only way he could go.
We are excited about doing this hunt again! In spite of all the troubles, time has a habit of dulling the bad memories and accentuating the positive. Doug should be able to draw the same tag either next year or the next, and Jim and Patty should draw shortly thereafter.
I scored the elk and got a very unofficial score of 352 gross and 346 net.
My neighbor Jay is doing the taxidermy work for me. The finished product should be ready in March or April.
We are still laughing about what a difficult 3 hour hunt this turned out to be.
The End!