Ventures Outdoors

A few (actually serveral) years back, on one of the many Elk hunts I've been on, we were camped up on the top of the divide on the Coyote, NM side of the Pecos Wilderness. A goofy bunch of wranglers (actually a bunch of off-season coyote trappers) had packed us in to the top of the divide and set us up a camp in good Elk country.

Two of my brothers, a good friend of mine, who knew not one damn thing about Elk hunting (or any other kind of hunting for that matter) were to be left unattended for a week. Going up, the "dude" started to step into the saddle, and instead of leaning over the opposite side of the horse, he leaned up over the ol' nags head. She tossed her head when he stepped up and she knocked him cold as a carp. His nose was bleeding, his eyes were full of tears, and he said some bad words as he finally staggered up off the ground. We caught the ol' girl and explained how us Okies usually get into the saddle. He didn't have to be told again. We had a wonderful week of hunting with fine weather and I and one brother took really fine 5 x 5 's -- nice Elk indeed. The fellow who was not really a hunter didn't see a thing....small wonder... since one morning when I was in a benevolent mood, I volunteered to take him out with me. We had been set up on a really nice valley about and hour before shooting light when I heard something threshing around in the scrub firs. I thought for sure it was a bull scraping off velvet or just fighting trees, and I sneaked up to check it out. IT WAS THIS DARN GOOF chopping off tree limbs with a hand ax from the tree I had left him under. I asked him what in the hell he was doing and he replied "just getting the limbs outta the way so I can see good". His nose was probably still hurting .... Needless to say I hauled butt down the valley a good mile with all due speed to give myself a chance to see a bull ... didn't see a thing that morning ... and I didn't take him out again. Anyway, back to my story. After the hunt was over, the cowboys showed up with the horses .. we had already struck the tent and packed up the camp and they started loading us up for the trip out to the world. My brother, thinking it was really cool, had chosen to ride a really pretty palomino stud horse back out. The packers had an old 'ginny' and another good pack horse to haul meat. (A ginny, for you gomers, is a female mule known as a "Mula" in NM.) She was good as gold and gentle as your Grandma and sure footed too. But the palomino was a tad high-spirited. They had tied off the ginny to a dead tree, the other pack horse and the palomino to the same tree, but only to a dead limb. All went well and the ginny was almost loaded with Elk meat when on of the packers threw a quarter of meat over her. He missed his mark and the meat hit the ground under the palomino and he got crazy. He broke off the dead limb he was tied to and hauled butt. The reins were still tied to the dead limb and it began to hit the ground and bounce up and hit him in the -- I don't know how to say it -- but the rear-most part of his underbelly ... read private parts. The palomino thought the meat had come to life and was about to eat him ... his response was to outrun the damn thing ... and man he could really run too. We were in a small park, about 100 yards around and this hoss was giving it hell to outrun the stick. My Brother's rifle (borrowed from his boss, wouldn't you know) was in the scabbard and he started sweating blood. He ran out into the opening and started waving his hat saying "Whoa Boy, Whoa Boy" but the palomino just poured on the coal. The damn hoss was hitting Mach 2 on the second pass around the clearing and my Bro was beginning to pray. There was mud flying up behind the wild horse and binoculars, sleeping baags and othesr things of value going every which way. Bro was trying to point out to the rest of us that the Weatherby in the scabbard belonged to his boss and his butt was grass if anything happened to it. The rest of us hit the ground laughing like total morons ... the palimino was giving it hell around the clearing -- slinging gear all over the place -- and the packers just stood there like they had never seen such a thing in all of their lives. The more the stick bounced up and hit the hoss the faster he ran and the more Bro was begging him to stop with that "Whoa Boy ... Good Horse and all that crap" none of which did anything to slow down the ol' hoss. The ol' hoss was leaning hard to the left on the turns with Bro trying to get in front of him on each pass. Our laughing like a bunch of hyenas didn't help anything either. The stinkin' Weatherby went sailing off into the mud (didn't hurt it any) and Bro ran the hundred in six flat to retreive it. The rest of us laughed even more .. the damn horse was slowing down to Mach 1 and the packers even started a slight giggle but they were stoned faced as a judge up til then. Finally the old horse was blown and stopped and packers went out and retreived him and finished loading us up. Bro was not amused at our enjoyment of his predicament at all and explained again that he really needed his job. We explained to him THAT IT WAS FUNNY AS HELL !!!

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