Pack Horses
By Chris Dahl

I once read the horrific account of a man who, deep in the back country, was kicked in the face by a mule while trying to load an elk quarter. His partners made heroic efforts to get the man out of the mountains to medical help, where fortunately he recovered. Grimly, I nodded. Boy, was he lucky. He got his elk.

For the serious big-game hunter, horses and mules are like you-know-what - can’t live with them, can’t live without them. They carry us far into the elk woods and then carry our game out. But, also - like you-know-what - the misery endured for these simple services can drive a horseman to insanity; or in extreme cases, to llamas.

Let’s say you don’t have horses and can’t afford an outfitter. Not to worry! I have seen advertisements in many hunting magazines for rental horses. For about twice the price of actually buying a good horse, you can rent a horse and saddle for a hunting weekend, or even the entire season. Some of these outfits will even deliver a horse right to your house. I’m familiar with a true story about some luckless hunters who rented horses for an elk hunt in Utah. They should have been alarmed when the horses were introduced.

“This is Buckeye. An’ that sorrel is Buckshot. The bay gelding is Buckingham, and this here mare is Buckaroo.”

Space constraints require that I spare you the gruesome details, but know that this horse rental hunt began with injury to both man and beast and ended up in a forest fire.

One day, the hunters were actually successful in saddling the horses and riding into the mountains. They decided to get out and hunt for a while on foot, so they unsaddled the horses, tied them up, and went hunting. When they returned, they had a real rodeo trying to get the beasts saddled up again. In the fracas, a horse fell over onto its back between two logs and couldn’t get up.

One of the hunters, having seen way too many old Westerns, decided the horse was mortally wounded and needed to be shot. Another hunter, wrestling to get his own horse saddled, saw what was brewing in the man’s head.

“Don’t you dare shoot that horse,” he yelled. “Get him up and shoot him when we get back to camp. That’s what I’m going to do with mine.”

For many years I had to rely on a cranky and stubborn old jackass to get my meat out of the mountains: Me. Me and my packframe. After a few years of that, I actually bought horses and saddles of my own. I’ve even had a chance to use them. I had a late season cow elk tag that first year. Early one morning a couple days after Thanksgiving I hiked into the mountains and killed a cow about two miles from the road. I pondered my options. There wasn’t any snow to speak of so a sled wouldn’t work. It would take at least four trips with a backpack and my oId jackass pal. Everybody that I could think of to help was either at work or in school or lucky enough to avoid my calls. I grimaced as I walked off the hill. I had no choice. I had to go back for the horses.

I got home and hooked up the horse trailer and the lights were working. Not a good sign. Not good at all. The horses loaded up like a dream. In fact, after I lead the first mare into the trailer, the younger gelding jumped right in all by himself. I drove to the parking area and saddled them up. No problems so far; I was a nervous wreck. The ride in to the kill site came and went without event. The horses stood placidly while I quartered the cow. When I hefted the elk quarters into the saddle panniers, the horses stood like statues -  but I could sure feel the storm building. The walk off the hill went smoothly. Unloading the elk at the truck was a piece of cake. The ride back home was quiet and peaceful and five minutes later the horses were swishing their tails out in the pasture.

It was so depressing.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, October 30th, 2007 at 2:39 pm and is filed under General. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.