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Mean Animals I Have Known

Mean Animals I Have Known

By

Thom Cantrall

Once again see my life and Hollywood to be at odds. With all the movies I've ever seen where animals are really allowed to appear as themselves, their true personae and Disneyesque not some scenario where the animals portrayed as living in family groups with Papa Bear, Mama Bear and Baby Bear lives in harmony with their rabbit and squirrel neighbors, the mean ones, if depicted at all is conspicuously obvious. Who can not but realize immediately that he sees shere Kahn is absolutely up to no good and wish nothing but bad in the "man cub" in "The Jungle Book"?

Even when the actual animals playing the parts of animals, often with the help of plastic stand-ins, we can not allow the dignity of defining for ourselves the level of natural goodness embodied therein. "Jaws", for example not can make an appearance without blood introduced into a chilling rendition of some soul-tingling music feel. I know that one Great White Shark bears a strikingly close resemblance to any other Great White Shark much the same as one flies bears an exact resemblance to any other flies in the world. But, not withstanding, we need to be told that this creature is dangerous? Would not the simple form of a tall fin jutting out of the water tell us his intentions?

As someone who spent a large percentage of his life in the midst of God's creatures, I can attest that anyone so inclined without this warning as described above has ever preceded any close encounter of the malevolent kind to Mother Nature's son. Not once did I ever heard the Tum-Tum-Tum-Tum … Tum-Tum-Tum Tum-that engendered jaws when approaching any critter that you might like me ill!

In my single digit and double digit very early years I spent well over 75 percent of daylight and a large part of the not-so-daylight hours when not serving time in reputable institutions that the bane of my ilk … School … anywhere but under one roof.

Most of the time it is invested in exploring every square foot of my uncle's ranch and the surrounding environs. fence held no meaning for me this juncture and location other than a necessary inconvenience meant to keep livestock restricted in a predetermined area … more or less, considering the shape in which the majority of forests are kept fences.

Many of them are erected by of the Spanish General Mariano Vallejo owned Northern California comprehensive domain and saw little in the way of maintenance since that time. To say that most ay decrepit would have been liberal in the description … Actually, most are worse than that. As a result, it is pretty much open range in both cattle and sheep grazed the timber and brushlands as well as small boys, was, really, pint sized enforcement of Lewis and Clark, Kit Carson and Jedediah Smith. But, I digress …

This ranch is home to about four or five million Western rattlesnakes. In fact, it seems that these rattlesnakes are the only thing that grows in profusion on the ranch back risk. Now, maybe I exaggerated a bit, but suffice it to say that they are common and they grow large. I know that the official records say that this snake was no more five feet (1.52 m) long, but I could have shown some experts specimens exceeds that length too conservative. Perhaps the biggest I have ever seen personal is one of my cousin Shirley killed under clothesline just outside the back door of the house. This snake measured over six feet (2 m) long without its head. This snake had a girth of more than eight inches (19.3 cm) and look particularly menacing. For the most part, the only time we ever kill a rattlesnake is when it is in proximity to the house or can pose a danger to some of us. While I know that television tends to perform a rattlesnake coiled position, head poised to strike rattles and singing, I actually saw that in the wild so rare that I thought for many years we drove or, at least, natural snake. Yes, when provoked, our snake coil and assume the classic pose, but it is an extremely rare occurrence, for sure, when a snake let out of her singing buzz. Sa That is, he will be readily suggested to induce buzz. Usually, as soon as he was not prodded or poked, he just uncoiled and slithered about his rattlesnake business without so much as a "by your leave" or even a glance back. Although, he probably would have shaken his head and shrugged his shoulders, he had them, the loss of dignity of this treatment he received.

One notable exception to this general rule occurred one hot spring days when Tony, our trusty and worn saddle horses, and I returned from a morning's outing on the edge of wilderness, an area of immature trees Madrone about two inches (5 cm) in diameter and two feet (7 m) tall were killed in a very pretty just passed through the area. This will create a horrible land of ash-covered stems reminiscent of a black forest of bamboo. Only fools ever entered the forest … a second time. In the morning only question we made the trek for much the same reason people climb mountains … because they are there. It is a welcome foray and had served in the clear I think the schemes engendered during the past week by Mr. Wilson, my fifth grade teacher in her never-ending quest for dangling participles or split infinitives or something of the sort. The ride has worked wonders on my over-taxed nervous system, serving to remind me that if a verb like to dangle its gerund, it is by no means my fault!

I was smiling inwardly and outwardly drowsing in the late morning sun. Tony, for his part, is taking it all pretty much in stride and was almost as asleep as I was. The road we are on is no proper road, but a cat trail cut out of massive blade the venerable my tiyuhin's bulldozer TD-24 to search for large Coastal Redwood trees (Sequoia Sempervirons) that grow there. The cat laced up the mountain road, providing the foot-worn a pretty comfortable place to walk. They are, at least, brush free and coated with about six or so inches (9 cm) of loose, grain dust. The dusty trail in the morning newspaper in the mountains. In it you can read the trip to the local inhabitants … deer, lizards, snakes, rats, raccoons skunks and weasels … They all left their mark for passing on the alert reader.

On this particular day, however, "alert" is not a word would I use to describe myself Tony either. I was slumped in the saddle, almost asleep in the sun, the stone loosely wrapped around the pommel … My feet were dangling on either side of the horse, free of the stirrups. All in all, this is about as happy a morning as a child of my few years could have imagined until we rounded a curve and, directly under Tony's stomach instead of a big rattler let out a very strong and sharp buzz served immediately in the form of a happy life into a nightmare.

I immediately recognized the sound for what it is and, unfortunately, so is Tony. His immediate reaction, born of an innate, if previously unknown, fear of large rattlesnakes, is to launch himself straight vertical for a considerable distance. I'll leave the exact altitude reached one's imagination as, at that moment, I am much too busy for much of the research.

Words my father spoke only a week or so before, on the occasion of my coming back to the barn to Tony and being in the saddle but sound asleep, comes to mind … "Thomas (actually, he called me a Tommy … habit I could break him of his entire life!) one of these days something is going to spook him and he's going to throw the chicken is so high have time to build a nest in your back (actually, my father's tongue being as colorful as it is, "back" is not the exact word he used here) before you hit the ground! "That, along with several other predictions about the impact on my anatomy of some of my antics served to suggest to me that she did not have a fair future as a prophet he had chosen to pursue that end. To maturity, something might have gotten pretty long odds, at this time, against my life never long enough to reach, have come to the realization that, perhaps, "Natural Consequences" may have had more to do with his prognostications than did any sense of the supernatural or ethereal.

It amazes me even now, more than half a century later, clear how these thoughts came to mind while I was still in the ascent stage and diligently applying what I know of, added to what I was learning physics flight, even while contemplating the inevitable … Below I have started a frenzied horse and, below him, an angry, roaring rattlesnake. Even though I is gaining altitude at this moment of mind, I know that, ultimately, gravity being what it is, I am going to going to have to effect a landing. Although I was, at present, explored quite well, I was not at all sure that such incidents continue humanitarian is long, let alone persevere.

During the period seemed to hang suspended, I could feel myself losing velocity as I neared the climax of my short flight. Soon, I felt the rush of air as my reverse the direction of flight and my velocity once more began to increase in the rate, I had to learn many years later, 32 feet (11 m) per second for every moment of my descent. At this point, my attitude started to change from private investigation of non-powered flight at mundane … Where Hell (it's about being the strongest language at my command at this time) is that the snake?

I must say, as land became bigger and bigger my window of vision, much the same image of the Apollo astronauts have seen about a decade and a half later, the snake began to occupy more and more of my working mind. As these thoughts feel pushed aside in favor of important, I began to detect, in real around my consciousness, a loud, screeching apparently fearful fill the air with its essence. A small part of my conscious mind has been hijacked by the strange sound. About this time it dawned on me that, in three players in this drama no matter, there is only one capable of generating that kind of output. As to the science of criminology, when the impossible is eliminated, what is left is probably the truth. So it was that in this case, neither horse nor the snake was so tone, therefore, that only left me as the author of the sound … a fact that, while it did little to attenuate the volume, it will serve to remove one source of stress from my already tortured psyche.

Now, there was only one prime left thinking … where the hell is that snake? Soon, as the pilot told his Board of Inquiry following the crash of his fighter plane … "I ran out of altitude air speed, and ideas at the same time" … I found myself my measurement of the length of the deep dust of the road. As I lay prostrate, yet also wondering where the snake was, I could hear Tony making tracks as fast as he could down the mountain. He was apparently nothing more than purpose in putting as much distance as he could between himself and a snake … wherever he is … as possible in the shortest possible time. As I lay there sucking the dirt and leaves the needle near trees and shrubs in an effort to get air through my lungs once more, I began to take stock of my anatomy. none advantages of glass or other drug paraphernalia, did the analysis of everything that seemed to be pretty much like it did before the ordeal, all three seconds before.

The snake was not in evidence, having to leave during the debacle just described. Tony is gone, but I had no concern for him. Know He's way back to the barn better than I did and I have no doubt but that later I'd see him when i got the bottom of the mountain, standing at the gate, perhaps grumbling because he had not been fed yet.

I spent several minutes analyzing my situation, trying my extremities and, in general, wondering where in hell that the snake was. Finally, having decided that little more can be gained from my current position, I tentatively began to rise. It is not the easiest task I have ever performed but almost everything seems to work fairly well so, timidly at first but soon with more force and purpose, I moved down the road. I am sure that Tony is gone and that I was resigned to the long walk home shaky and achy feet.

About three curves down hill, situated on a side road skid is Tony, his heart was suspended, effective land-hitching her and allowing me to achieve the rocks, the mountain saddle and ride Triumph the ranch yard, head held high rather than having a sore-footed it the last two miles from the site of my encounter.

My more unkempt than normal status and instead I labored movement finally clued my parents that all is not peaches and cream pure in my world. The intense interrogation in which I was finally subjected served to get the story of the rattlesnake think all of Northern California outside of me … only to motivate paroxysms of joy to the whole family, parent, sibling, aunt and uncle and cousins, to my cost … probably means something made of snake. And, I never did figure out where he devoted way to … I'm just eternally grateful that he is still there when I arrived, returning from my aborted free-flight.

As is usual with a mean of animals, there was absolutely no warning before he sang out in particularly strong voice … er … tail in his case. In fact, it is precisely this proclivity in some individuals to remain silent until I was totally in their snares and am at peace with the world before launching their attacks to score them as particularly mean animals!

One of the last masters of this maneuver is possessed of forests in areas of the Pacific Northwest. He was a rather small birds, too small to account for the amount of fear he might author. He seldom is as big as a bantam hen, but his ability to raise his blood pressure to near fireworks victim levels is unparalleled in nature. A frequent scenario generally involves …

The morning was eventful. Elk has been around in good numbers and have given chance to shot a couple of occasions in smaller bull. It was early in the season though and I was holding out for something better, let my long living principle of "never turn down the first day what would you do in these last days." The vagaries of archery hunting for elk being what it is, no one is safe in the assumption that additional opportunities will eventuate to offer good shots. But, I was stable. I want a good bull if I could get one, and if one always takes a little one first, she will never have the opportunity to take a big one.

The sun is making brief appearances from time to time and it does not rain within two hours when I caught wind of elk nearby. It should be noted that large elk, though beautiful is not dangerous and they do not bathe. So, they smell like a barnyard. And, a large group of them smells like a big barnyard. That is what I am now catching … the fragrance of a group, properly called a gang, elk in the area very close. terrain is relatively flat and swampy. wood is sparse, but regular in its growth. The main growth is ubiquitous Salal Brush (Galtheria Shallon). Salal grows everywhere in this country, and is, in fact a major economic commodity in this area as it is harvested and used in floral arrangements in the city to the west. Entwined with this lush growth of Salal is the scourge of northwest loggers, Pacific Blackberry (Rubus Ursinus). With just enough of it here to serve as a major obstacle hazard, tying the hiker's legs secured to the ground as Her body continues its forward travel. The result is, often, a loud crash and a burst of profanity. The fact that this simple remedy is major food source for the Columbian Blacktail deer that live here are small at this moment to get it in the eyes of the tripee.

This morning, I was particularly wary of them. I have moved across the area timber separately most quiet, easing my way to where I see the elk I smell. On and on I moved, silent step after step. From a tree to the next until, finally, I was seeing elk moving through the timber. There are some animals present and I saw at least one set of antlers through the trees. I am inching ever so much closer. Already I had passed up a little bull and some cows, the larger bulls are now in full sight just ahead. Slowly I was closing the range in her … Fifty yards … forty yards … inch 25 yards (22.5 m) which my wooden recurve bow limited to me. Just as I was at that point I felt that I might consider a shot, I took one more step that is so often fatal. From the brush on my feet burst a little ball of fur in the form of a ruffed grouse. He means enough to beat me mercifully with his wings as he made his ascent and his escape! If I could have maintained my composure inside, I could have caught him in my hat as he passed by, but, alas, such is not. One can not imagine the amount of noise as a tiny creature can produce only by his wings in the air in the morning. Add to that the fact that he was actually multiply by factor of his wings actually physically beating me.

Of course, elk are long gone, no more desire to deal with the small trees cruel than I had, but they had a clearer field in which to maneuver than I made in my feet tied to the ground through the blackberry vines, My heart is now in the proximity of my Adams apple and still on the rise … the air around me still blue from the cheap managed to slip out while my mind is whether not the least attention to the problems of dealing with grouse killer!

On a scale of 1-10 on meanness, that grouse had rates of at least twelve or thirteen. I did manage to survive unrelenting attacks and even take more elk in the future, but that did not stay me from my latest sport … grouse skewering my bow and arrow when the opportunity presented itself!

Maybe one begins to think that it is only alive and aware that animals that are capable of inflicting pain and torture on the assumption that over or under prepared, please note that there are some species that carries enough bad pursuit continue their retribution even past the curtain that signals the end of extinction. One to mean it is a large type of deer that went beyond the If duty calls the creation of suffering.

It was a rainy morning opening day of elk season so many years ago. It was the first such period and my first foray into the jungle of large stumps, ancient wood, and the young re-growth timber in the western part of Washington's Olympic Peninsula.

The Navy, just a few months before, had seen fit to honor my first choice of duty station in my move from under the water I served aboard for the past five years. POMFPAC, Polaris Missile Facility, Pacific, was to be my home for the next, and last, two years of my service. This facility is located in what is now the submarine base in Bangor, WA, home to the Pacific Fleet Trident missile. Housing shortage in the area at the time of my arrival … "Most critical WW II because "the newspaper headlines announced the day of my arrival … I am forced to make a change to my original plan and make a military volley home at the Naval Depot Annex in Indian Island, near Port Townsend, about thirty miles (50 km) north of the base. It has proved a most fortuitous things like it landed me in the midst of the worst of the bad company … A band of hard core hunters elk.

From the time I met Greg and Adam in June to during which opened in November, we talked elk. Being the new boy on the block, I listened and listened … and listened some more. Many stories elk followed the path, elk have seen and the ruggedness of the country traversed. This is the last that I, in retrospect, does not listen to quite close enough.

Opening morning of elk season in 1968 found me on a ridge covered with timber reprod … that is, the young growth of approximately 6-8 years old. It is about fifteen feet (5 m) and high just an inch or two in girth. They can be quite thick, blanketing the earth with a Tall green carpet instead. I was sitting in a position where I can see across the canyon below the ridge opposite. Adam was to my right, up the ridge about a four-mile (400 m) away and near where the two ridges united. Greg has taken up his position by going to my left, down the ridge, went into a ditch and up onto the edge of the next ridge, giving him an excellent view of the lower end of the opposite ridge. What had caused us to assume alignment is our having spotted a gang of elk across the ridge, coming up out of the Mosquito Creek drainage. And, this gang is moving slowly and unconcernedly in our direction. A quick war council made this deployment in agreement with the point that when they reached the top of the ridge opposite, opportunity is that they will either turn to my right, until the ridge or turn to my left, down the ridge. If the former case came about, they run directly Adam. If the latter, they bottom out and turn directly to Greg's scene. I, being a rookie, was in the rocking chair and just hope to get a chance.

The plan worked exactly as designed. elk hit the crest the ridge and turned to my right, up. I can see them as they fed and moved through of young timber. Never long enough for a shot, but I can see it. Occasionally I could see antlers, usually poking above trees. I never could see the same antler and animal simultaneously until, finally, the end of the spur ridge to a small clear area, there he is. A young bull he was, for sure, but a good one for a rookie I slowly raised my brand new Remington .30 -. '06 I took careful aim judged the range a bit under three. hundred yards (270 m) and was snuggling in sling my rifle … the cross hairs of my scope is just fixing the place when A very loud shot rang out and all I could see the bull on the range is four elk legs flailing in the air! Adam, obviously, is in full no perfect position.

With the report of the rifle, the gang immediately back down the ridge, obviously planning their escape back down the ridge below and slipping it into the standing, old-growth timber invisible. Again, I can see it slipping through brushy timber that does not give me the opportunity for a shot. Again, I could see antlers above the brush, but then …. Directly across the canyon on the edge of the ridge about a hundred feet (30 m) below the ridge, the herd was brought to a trail open for a short distance. By this time, they are queued and moving at a slow trot. In particular point in question, each animal in turn had to jump a downed log and then in full view for about 3:57 length of the body at the time the animal lost behind the forest growth. It is like a shooting range. The good range, about two-100-25 yards (200 m) and about the level. The shot, as it has to be done no wasted time, can do.

I watched eagerly, my scope locked on each head as it appeared in the queue, waiting a turn to jump gallery. When a set of small antlers appeared in the lineup, I slipped the safety off and waited as the cattle and calves ahead of him clear the road. Soon, he has … his head held high as he jumped the barriers fallen without seeming effort and landed in open areas. He took one more step to catch shuffling her balance and I heard the report of my rifle. I do not recall ever feeling the recoil. shot was true as I watched the hair jump just behind his left front shoulder and he still stopped in its tracks. Because he was still on his feet, I worked with bolt and jacked a second round in the chamber. Again, the hair jumped right next to the first hit as the 100-65 One-grain Speer bullet found its mark. But, again, he will not fall. He never move. It was as if time were standing and still everybody in the world had gone except bull elk and me. No other elk having … I had no companions, no family, and no purpose except as concerned bull. Once again, I worked with bolt.

I knew I had two fatal shots at him and he was amazed at his ability to stay upright. That he will be shaken and badly injured, I know, but I was determined he did not suffer. Always, I have prided myself on the fact that I am no beast ever taken will need more than one shot at selling price. A Roosevelt Elk Bull can bring a lot more to lead a deer is a fact that I understood and intuitively is just now learning in real time. For my third shot, I took a little more time and found the bone which ran through his neck. I sure he is not moving with two rounds in his boiler room … I am now going to put one in his wheelhouse. I felt a bit excessive range effect of one in his brain, so choose the second-best location. Once again, I could see the hair on the neck like a heavy jump bullet impact created.

Slowly, After this shot, the bull's knees began to buckle. Like a punch-drunk fighter viewed in slow motion, he gently folded, one leg at a time and he eased to the ground, taking care, I am sure, not to bruise any of its delicious food. I watched as he crumpled like an empty potato chip bag until he is down to the steep sidehill. Then, as unfolding bag itself, a leg jerked spasmodically … The second kick caused him to roll down the hill a bit. Soon, Another kick and roll him even further down the ridge.

"Aha," I said to myself, "how wonderful! He'll be so much easier to dress out below the edge than he was in steep sidehill. I'd probably have to drag him down under anyway … "

Oh, how no a naive rookie could be? I totally failed to rely on the fact I had just harvested one of the true meaning elk in all of creation. All major types of usa trophy hunters knew intuitively elk did not live to raise the road as it will make the pack out much too easily. Even if one must be caught traversing the "no-Elks-ground" will do everything they possibly can to rectify their faux pas and immediately lights out for the very bottom of darkest, brushiest hole imaginable, there to die. So, in their passing, they can inflict the greatest possible stress hapless hunter with no experience enough to have taken his life! I once had a pastor of a local church swear to me that he took a nice bull above the street such a position that he has but to back his truck up to the bank on the side of the road and slide the whole animal, so getting him almost no effort. I was skeptical but not wanting to discredit the clergy when I realized he was also a fisherman! Now I am torn too trying to believe her most wild story. As he continued, it rolls itself up for me. Apparently he was forced to stop for some construction work on the roads he uses when the wood cutting crew lost control of a tree they are falling and it dropped right in the bed of his truck … I tell you, elk that is do anything to get even! I'm now quite sure that animal being in the top of the road is just a ploy to lure the unwary into a position in where his truck could be squashed like a bug June.

It is a trait common to all elk and subsequent harvests have led to me from the depths of "Ohmygawd Canyon" in the swamps so mean and doubt that the fauna is regressed some stage in the evolutionary scale (I mean, you have you ever seen a flying lizard "). These outings have served to teach me the truth. However, what did this young bull is over the size of ordinary parsimony. Upon reflection, I do not recall a single time when an elk just went quiet and stopped where he fell.

Sa this land of excess moisture, the rain creates many strange phenomena. More than two hundred inches (500 cm) of annual rainfall is causing land to be conformed to the water's needs. In this case, these pressure ridges, as we have now created a long ago, some long gone glacier thousand years ago is not made of solid rock, but the drift material such as sand and gravel. Under the canal, between the ridges, the excess water flow created a trench very much like that created by a backhoe when installing underground equipment. This trench was approximately eight feet (2.5 m) deep and three feet (1 m) in width. The sides are perfectly vertical and the water ran underneath. Ditch The look so insecure to me that, if it is a construction project, nobody has ever was allowed to it without shoring the walls.

As I hiked down the hill from my ambush point, I was being soaked by the gallons and gallons water that was suspended on needles of young spruce and hemlock trees I was bulling my way through to reach the place where I expected to find my large type deer. Looking back on that now, my worrying about water is very much like worrying about spilling a cup of water itself just before falling out of boats. It took me almost an hour to fight my way through the brush as thick as the hair of a shaggy dog's back to reach the bottom of that canal. I could immediately see the path to more open sidehill bulls had made her "kick it loose and let it roll" routine he used to expand its meanness the stellar size.

The thick brush I ended up negotiating a few feet from the very bottom of the canal, providing a clear area of approximately eight feet in width extending up and down the canal. I could not believe my good fortune in seeing it … Imagine, a place of clear ground on which to work! A £ 500 (225 kg) plus animal is difficult enough to move around in the dressing for any place or position. Doing it with the brush or on steep ground can be very difficult. I was almost ecstatic, and then, finding this boon. And, bliss lasted the full two minutes or so it took me to break through the last of the heavy cover and view the truth creeps out what this animal is doing as his last act of defiance. All that is seen where I would have to be this animal that is the mark of his last fight as he managed to lift himself to that body under the drainage trench. Sa no small amount of anxiety, I slowly inched forward, peering expectantly at that hole even while dreading the confirmation of what I new is true.

What I was a sight greeted indescribable. lying at the bottom of the hole I could see a foreleg, or perhaps two hind legs and one eye. He puts in such a position juxtaposed I'm convinced there are forces other than random chance at work here. I sincerely doubt that he became so deeply misaligned by only chance. In addition, he is now acting as a real nice dam in the stream running under the trench and was quickly creating a rather nice lake its upstream side.

It is at least six feet (2 m) from the lips of the animal trench and filled it with another short distance to his body. The wall is perfectly vertical for as far as I could see in either direction, affording me no easy access or exit anywhere within sight. I found a convenient stump left over from the logging of this area and sat down to contemplate my situation.

As I pondered the improbability of it, shot rang out from Greg's direction. Vaguely, I recalled another from that area a bit earlier. More than likely, this last shot done what the new one has begun … deliberate, Adam being busy with his own bull from earlier and, now, its Greg, I was completely on my own. I am sure that I could expect no help so what was up to me.

The rain is falling, not to drop any longer, but the vast sheets of water. Looking down the draw, I can see wave after wave of water driven before the wind. In places, where the air is swept up the ridge, the water is Batu up the ridge, the vanguard of the air. It actually it rains up! I have never, before or since, seen this exact phenomenon, but there it is this cold, windy and wet days of November.

I Finally, after much soul-searching, removed my outer clothing, coat, vest, raingear, etc. and piled them the stump that was served as my seat and, keeping only my Reverend Buck Knife, my small hand ax and bone saw from my belt sheath, I jumped from the wreckage the trench on his stomach.

I have never seen such a sight I do not have an elk lying in a ditch;. I had a pile, a lump though, the elk lying under flowing. Looking up, it appeared that I was being buried in the groin of Mother Earth itself. With a sigh, I pushed all thoughts aside and bent to the task at hand.

My first few attempts at moving animals only resulted in falling the lips and waves of water as I unblocked, momentarily, the river stopped confined to the body underneath. I stopped a moment and reassessed my situation. I look at the situation in minute detail and, believe me, had no small part of it that is comforting. Finally, I thought I had a handle on what needed to do to solve this mass of elk and fix it in line with the flow of the trench. This, at least, would afford me the opportunity of dressing out the animals and, possibly, rendering it in pieces of a manageable size as it may, ultimately, be removed from the hole. My years of untangling backlashes from my fishing reels stand me in good stead in getting work accomplished.

By pulling on one foreleg until I got it free after scrambling Despite the lump of elk and the growing pool of ice water on the up side, there hind legs in a release from his trap, I was able to effect some progress. Back across the body again to find other foreleg only to find antlers buried in the bank, holding the head firmly in place … directly above the misfolded dagdag I was trying to release. On and on, back and forth for the better part of an hour I worked to get the critter means an orientation that would allow me to begin the arduous task of butchering. By the time I managed to get £ 500 of the dead elk arranged as he wanted, I was drenched to the skin, covered in mud and sludge and ruing the day I ever heard of elk. It should be noted that point now, although I may have described it with words that make one think it is a happy, joyful occasion … is not it! However, in terms of what is yet to come, it might as well interlude taken as high, easily life.

At last I wrestled him in a position where I can start the sauce. I once vented the animal, I began to cause problems the closeness of the vertical wall. I could not roll the animal to allow easy extraction of offal, so I had to remove it by hand, the aft end, by piece by piece. By now, Icy Lake, formed by Elk Dam, has been drained enough that I can move the offal from the water.

When, finally, I determined said to be as clean as I could make him into my current place and stuff, I began the task of reducing him to carriable size. I thought six would be appropriate. To this end, I removed her head and antlers and placed them in a safe place. I then removed both front shoulders. This, while not near as easy as it was open ground, is not overly difficult. The Hindu quarters, however, is a completely different thing. Usually, there are animals on his back, it's a relatively simple matter to make a cut in the joint, allowing the weight of the rear quarter itself to pull it way from the corpse. By simply extending the cut of the quarter falls away, as soon as it is completely severed, hip joint being a ball and socket joint that easily popped loose.

Such is life in a perfect world. My world, at present, is far from enough, let alone perfect. I could not effect the cuts as I normally because of the wall held his legs nearly vertical, not allowing gravity to aid in the process. Add to this the fact that the severity is, by the time This, and setting one can see the situation is deteriorating rapidly. It was pure gut-busting, mule-hauling work to get the hind quarters separate from the dead animals and the time it was finished, I was almost in as bad shape as is elk.

The last step in my butchering process is to split the body transversely, across the body just above the sixth rib yielding a relatively flat slab of meat primes in the prime elk. In it contains the tenderloin and choice steaks. The other half contains some fine steaks as well … T-bone and rib steaks as well as chuck steaks are here with a lot of big fine elk. It also includes the ribs and brisket as well as the neck.

By the time I had completed the butchering, I was exhausted. While deciding on my next move, I sank down to rest, using a hind quarter of the elk of my seat … a load of round steak that supports a round butt … and began to think how I was going to get out of this predicament. Obviously, I could not get the way I came in, gravity being what it is, so that left only two options … pit up or down the pit. Once my heart rate returned to a near normal rate, I arose and, shouldering one forequarter, began my trek down to the bottom of the trench, praying for a place where the sides are low enough to allow me to get out of the hole.

It seemed like hours had passed and mile walk in front of the lip of the trench began to take dip to beat me. Slowly and carefully I crept along, having my load weight in each step all the while issuing prayers for reducing the depth to continue. Finally, finally, my head above the ground level and I waited no longer, front quarter but raised my shoulders and the ground outside the trench. It really felt like I'd covered at least a mile, but it is, as I learned by pacing the distance on my return trip, only about five hundred feet (350 m). Four more trips I made with meat from bulls and I had just left chest cavity. I was out of gas and out of ideas on how to move big, big bull down my rapidly deteriorating route when I heard my name is called.

While grinning so widely that I threatened to break my face, I hollered back. When asked a second call if needed I can help, I screamed for rope and my packboard, a couple of items I have neglected to bring with me when I dove into this hell-hole. I guess I was more interested in keeping them safe and dry in my truck than I was actually using either. That was a mistake I never repeated in all the years I have hunted large elk. From that day forward, I never left my truck without a length of rope wrapped around me.

I put the question of what do about that last bit of meat on hold until I had help here with me. Meantime, I recuperated. I know the job is far from complete as, though if both Adam and Greg came in, it would still mean two trips each to back up that mountain by furry forest with more than 100 pounds (45 kg) big elk strapped to packframes.

In a few minutes, I heard the chatter of people snapped like a brush and sometimes a curse reverberate out, signaling a foot caught up in a root or a vine or such. It suddenly dawned on me that this is the noise of more than two people. In fact, when the brush end parted, Greg and Adam did not just pop out, so I made three good friends from the town. I do not believe that they are actually there, having told us not to expect them until late as commitments will cost them jobs opening day of the season. There are now six of us. Bob, Leon and Larry found our truck parked and heard the shooting I had figured we had the animal down and could use some help. This being before the present time when the world is not overrun with thief, we will remove the keys from a car when we parked as it may need to be moved to allow access to others. Thus, the three got packboards out and such gear as they felt like we needed and began to find us. I was deep in my long rut when they called out to first, so I do not hear them. Greg and Adam, however, did. In fact, they are within a stone's throw of Adam and he led them on to Greg.

I can not express the joy I felt upon seeing their mugs every day, and told them as much! This is the work of but a few moments to tie a rope to the last big piece of the carcass and pull it out of the hole. even if they are determined by a more efficient route. Basically, it followed the big trail The elk had used in coming down the ridge so long ago and led us directly to the junction of ridges and our truck. I broached possibility that I might get a ride back out to one or the other, but the fact that I soon realized that the only way it's going to happen is if I am willing to go the same way that elk are going … six pieces are made of many cool my enthusiasm with what I was thinking really viable an idea just moments before … An hour later, after much discussion of sense to anyone who would venture into that hole, we are all truck enjoying a cold drink and a hot meal of Chef Boyardee na whipped up a Coleman stove. Although it is just simple fare, quickly heated and served directly from the pan, it is probably One of the finer, most welcome repasts I have ever known.

Adam's elk was already in his truck and Greg's been waiting on the edge a small trace logging, ready to load. I had fired my first shot at 8:05 that morning and the sun, behind the thinning clouds, sliding from the western sky as I sat on the tailgate of my truck, recounting the story of the mean elk that ever lived …

About the Author

Thom is 65 years old and retired, forcibly, from regular work. He is helping his family start up a new concern manufacturing an idea of his from a couple of years back. He designed a target stand for archery 3D targets and has spent a great deal of time in this endeavor.

Thom was educated at Sonoma Valley High School in Sonoma, CA. After high school, the US Navy occupied the next nine years of his life, from 1961 to 1970 where he served as a Polaris Missile Technician on board the FBM Submarine USS James Madison SSB(N) 627. After leaving the Navy, Thom finished his formal education at Peninsula College in Port Angeles, WA and the University of Washington in Seattle.

Since leaving school, Thom as owned and operated several businesses, from a logging company to two accounting firms and an engineering firm.

Presently Thom lives alone in Kennewick, WA where he follows his love of writing, archery and his adopted family there.

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