Since hunting consumes my thoughts, and more often than it should, my time, I figured I'd update with our latest hunting memoir. 

In March, while discussing what we were going to apply for in the way of big game tags, Moge wanted to put in for archery elk because the tag I had drawn two years prior was, to date, the most fun hunt we had been on. I argued that if she wanted to kill an elk, she should put in for rifle, but not caring if she got one, she put in for archery because the experience was more fun. Jordan always puts in for rifle because at whatever point she draws that coveted tag, she wants to bring one home. Turns out, they both drew and preparation of hanging trail cameras, scouting and hiking was on.

In August the girls headed down after Moge's elk. Coming within 60 yards of 5 bulls just wasn't close enough for a shot. When I got there we headed to the back country and found ourselves surrounded by screaming bulls. Though we manged to get up close and personal within 30 yards twice that day, they just wouldn't come out from behind the trees to give a clear shot. Still, we had 2 weeks left and it sounded like they were starting to rut so we figured we have more chances. 

As luck would have it, that was the only day they were rutting and we hunted hard for the rest of the hunt with no other opportunity presented. It's always disappointing when you come home empty handed, but we were able to enjoy some beautiful days on the mountain together and make some fun memories....well, except for that one day it snowed 6 inches....

In October, myself, Darren, and Jordan headed back for the chase with a rifle this time. We went looking opening morning for a bull we had seen on the archery hunt, but couldn't find hide nor hair. After a 3 hour drive across the mountain range to the other side of the boundary, we barely made it to the top lookout point over a canyon that often holds big elk, to see if we could see anything. A couple of yellow patches of fur in the distance and a canyon full of bugles after dusk told us where we would be hunting the next morning. 

We dropped into the canyon before sunrise listening to bugles and trying to pick out racks in the trees. We saw a hundred head meandering through the burnt trees on the opposite ridge, headed for a far canyon. As the day went on, we sat and glassed the ridge occasionally hearing a bugle or two. As the sun shifted and the glare went away, we could see elk emerging well into the afternoon, but nothing that she wanted to shoot. Too small.

The next morning found us in the same canyon chasing a bull that could scratch his rear end with his rack. Two quick glances at less than 100 yards was not enough of a chance to knock him down and we never saw him again, although we spent the next 3 days looking. Finally Uncle Trav showed up with the long gun and we figured we had it in the bag. That is, until we noticed that his scope mounts were busted and the long gun was useless. 

We dropped off the top when the elk started to bugle with hopes of seeing a bull that had spent the week in the very bottom of the canyon. He wouldn't whistle when he bugled, only grunted. He sounded huge, but never emerged to give us a look. As we watched elk move through the trees all around us, there was a herd with a nice 6X7 that was feeding straight across at 577 yards. I told Trav we had to get closer. She wouldn't take a shot that far out. As we moved towards the head of the canyon, he did the same and ended up coming right around in front of us. The problem was the trees he was now in gave us only short glimpses of him. At the same time, 'Sir Grunts Alot' was moving up the bottom straight below us towards the same area. He was less than 200 yards below us but the thick brush and trees kept him well hidden. As we put Jordan in place with the gun, the 6x7 came within 100 yards, but only for a few steps and then boom, out of sight. We waited as daylight was running out and after 10, then 15 minutes, I saw another rack in the trees. It was 'Sir Grunts Alot'! I had a perfect shot, but Jordan, only a couple of feet in front of me, could not see him. He had now pegged us and was staring intently as we waited for him to give her an opportunity. With only minutes left of legal shooting hours we decided to try an slide her into place where she could see him, but the movement spooked him and he was gone. 

By Saturday we had some helpers that came just in case she got one down, but they wouldn't be there long. Her and Trav and myself dropped into the next canyon to the North that morning where we had originally started the week before. There had been bulls on that same ridge all week and we were saving them just in case she couldn't find anything else. The bugles were lighting up the canyon as we dropped in to see what was there. When we finally found some cows, a nice 6 point cruised through the looking glass of the binoculars. After throwing the scope up to see if he was a shooter, it was clear he had only half an antler on one side because he had been fighting and busted it off. We glassed the ridge and found only smaller bulls. Jordan was feeling defeated, tired, and ready to shoot whatever. After not seeing anything decent, she decided we would take the broken 6 that we had watched bed down earlier. So we headed back to get a better look at him, but he was gone. By afternoon, she was stressed because once the day was over, it would again be just her an I there to pack out any elk she might shoot. She decided we would take the next biggest elk. He was a 5x5 and was with a spike. We could possibly get both of them since I had a spike tag in my pocket and we'd have help getting them out. You could tell her disappointment in having to lower her standards was getting the best of her. She wanted a trophy bull and we had worked our butts off all week and passed up many other bigger bulls.

Trav told us he would wait behind so we wouldn't make so much noise trying to get closer. We cut the distance from over 500 yards to 300 yards to his cows, but still could not find where he had bedded. As we worked our way down the ridge to try and locate the 5x5 across the canyon, she whispered as loud as she could 'MOM!'. There's a bull in the bottom right below us. I don't care if it's the 5, I'll just shoot him. As I put my binoculars on him to see if he was the 5x5, I immediately saw a better, bigger, heavier rack than most of the elk we had seen all week. I looked at her and said 'get down here and shoot him!'. In extremely steep terrain of rocks and brush, we tried to get her a solid dead rest on the bedded bull. I never told her how big he was because I didn't want the excitement to mess with her nerves and the shot, but I think she got the drift from the way I was acting. He was a good bull and I didn't want him to get away. With her first shot, he stood. She had hit him hard but he was still standing. She shot two more, but by then, the adrenaline had started to flow and both shots were a miss. He walked a couple of steps and stopped behind a tress. By then, Trav was on his way over. I told her to take her time and put another one in him. She calmed herself and put another in the front shoulder. He walked a few more steps and we were worried he might soon be out of site, but he was starting to sway and stagger. We knew he was done, but was still standing. These animals are so incredibly strong, two more bullets finally put him to the ground. She had her bull. When Trav got to us, he said, 'I was just coming to tell you where he was bedded'. When we told him she was shooting at a different bull he said 'Where is he, I want to see him!' When Trav found him in the binoculars, his face lit up 'Hole Sh!t!!, HE'S A SMOKER!!!'. Jordan still had no idea the caliber of bull she had just laid down but she was excited to hear Trav's announcement that he was a 'good one'. 

Just as our crew of men at the top were getting ready to head for home, she had knocked down a great bull. Cuyler, Bronson, and Brady all dove into the canyon to help get him packed out as Darren headed off the mountain to pick us all up on the highway at the bottom of the 6 mile canyon. It was an amazing couple of hunts, and we saw so many elk! Sometimes the success is in the trip, and sometimes it's in the cooler on ice. This year, we had some of both and some amazing memories to go along with it.

That Place

Growing up following my dad through the mountains provided a level of toughness that most kids are not exposed to. I'm pretty certain that, as a girl, he would have left me home because the mountains were no place for a woman, but because he and my mother divorced when I was 6, he had no choice but to drag me along with him. If he were going to go hunting while I was here visiting from California, I would be coming. At the time, I didn't much like having to 'toughen up', but these days I have a much better appreciation for what he taught me.

One of the most rugged places we traveled was to deer camp in the fall. Some years found 2 feet of snow on the ground while other years in late October seemed too mild for the high country. On occasion, you would get there with warm beautiful weather and wake up the next morning to 10 inches of snow blanketing everything from the collapsed tent you were sleeping in, to the saddles and horse blankets you had to dig out to use.

The winds in that country are like no other place I've ever traveled. It was common for the clouds to set down on you and be so thick that you couldn't see across camp let a lone a deer on the hillside. The weather would change from beautiful to brutal in the blink of an eye and your only chance of survival is being prepared in case it did. For the most part, Dad would watch weather reports and if it sounded too extreme, plans would change and we would avoid the high country, but sometimes, the forecast was wrong and we were blindsided by a storm front. Getting through the weather meant making sure you had plenty of firewood that was covered from getting wet and plenty of warm clothes because chances were high that what you were in was going to end up wet. Your only source of heat was the fire and it served to dry wet boots, clothing and sleeping bags when they would inevitably get wet. Frozen toes just seemed to be part of the package. I don't ever remember spending time in that country with warm feet no matter how many socks I put on.

Being there in those hellacious storms and conditions seemed miserable at the time and made me never want to go back the next time, but the reward was worth the sacrifice. The time spent with family that can no longer travel to that country because of age or other circumstances, I remember now as some of the best times of my life. It's funny how perspective changes with age. I have grown to appreciate that country at a higher level than most would understand. If there were nothing to go after, then the time would be almost wasted because there was plenty of places to hunt with milder conditions, but we all knew what was there. We'd all experienced the monsters that roamed that country and the thought of harvesting that caliber of animal was well worth the suffering it took to endure the trip.

Today that country is very different. There are strangers that roam and hunt there with no understanding care of the heritage those canyons hold. It was as though we used to be the only ones that hunted it. We all knew our part and worked together to accomplish the goal. We knew how the deer traveled and were in place when they came through. We worked together to push the deer to each other and were successful as a family. Now there are nomads that just pop up for the kill. They are there simply to boast photos on their media pages of a big rack. Don't get me wrong, I believe that if you are willing to go to the extreme to get to that country and endure the wrath it can dish out, then you deserve to reap the rewards as well, but it's still hard to watch the change of hands from my roots to strangers.

Still, there is something special about that country that I want my kids to know and experience. Getting prepared to take on a couple of days in the back country with them will be a challenge for this ol' lady, but it is a small price to pay for them to know and understand the family history that country holds. It's not just about the bucks, but more about everything we learned there. What it takes to get there, what it takes to stay there, and what it takes to be in shape to still have energy to hunt that country after the 4 mile pack trip in there. It's about pushing yourself to the extreme and still having the endurance and toughness to just be able to enjoy the rugged beauty that most people will never see. It's roaming the hunting grounds of your forefathers, knowing they're watching down over you with a smile.

This year, J drew a deer tag and we have made a plan to go back to the country her Grandpa and I hunted. She's never been there. We have started to train(if you will) by backpacking in and out of there so we are in shape for the season. We spent the night there a week or so ago. Though packing in was a challenge for two ladies not in the best of shape, we made our goals and spent a fun few hours on the mountain with Cooper. When the deer hunt rolls around, hopefully we'll be ready for the trek.

Get A Goin'

We lost Dad exactly two months ago. Such a bitter sweet time. Words can not express my sadness at his passing, but it was so hard watching his health and drive for life decline so rapidly. I was his 'little girl'...even at 50. Having him live next door to us for that last 25 years meant spending an exceptional amount of time with him, at least, more than most kids spend with their parents. We did yard work together, farmed together, fished and hunted together, picnicked together, and rode horses together. We made plans that just included one another without even thinking about it because we did whatever we did together. I grew up following him through the trails above town as we roamed the mountains above town and so much, if not all, of my life and everything I have and stand for, I owe to him and his love and example. So as a tribute to him, and because my blog has all of 5 followers, I am, for a time, going to use this platform to jot memories of him and I and the times we had over the years here on earth.

'Dear Dad'
I hiked one of the trails today that we used to hike and ride regularly. I often feel that the mountains give me peace and help me regroup from daily life. I just needed to take a minute and a stroll and listen to the birds and serenity of the high country, and nothing else. I had also been spending a lot of time at your house...missing you...and trying to put closure to your being gone, so I just needed a minute to get away from my thoughts.

Turns out, there is not a single inch of that trail that doesn't hold a memory with you. Though the house holds memories, I think the mountains hold more. Every rock, every curve in the trail, driving by the creek where I caught my first fish, and even the trees  reminded me of one time or another we had spent there together. I know you were there with me, hiking up ahead just like always, but it wasn't the same. As a child I remember trying to step exactly where you did because I wanted to follow in your footsteps. Every thought of past trips made me that much more sad. I know it's part of the mourning process, all this crying, but I can't seem to make it stop. There were no time for tears, ever, and I know you hated to see me cry. As hard as I tried, I couldn't help it. I hope it gets easier.
Seems it's a little tough to hike when you're sobbing, but I did it anyway. Each time the urge to breakdown took over, I could hear you saying, "Get a goin'".

How did I know you were there? Because I could feel you in my heart. I thought of things during this hike that I hadn't given a single thought to in over 40 years. Things that I had completely forgotten, like how you used to let me sit on your foot and bounce me when I was just a little squirt....when I was your snooklebugs....Where you ever came up with that nickname, I'll never know, but I'll bet it's a one of a kind, haha.

I thought about the two horses we had when I was first learning to ride. I hadn't thought about Pesty or Tubby since, gosh.... I can't remember when. I thought about the trips we made on that trail to deer camp, the horses packed down as we walked so they could carry our gear. I am in about the worst shape I've been in for a long time but somehow I made the high pond where we slept in the snow that night before the opener of the deer hunt. That was the coldest, longest night of my life and I was never so happy to see 4 am and the coffee pot brewing. I remembered the time we came of the top in a blizzard and when I saw that you and Darren had icicles on your hair, eyebrows and his mustache, I had to take the first opportunity to snap a picture. I knew I'd want to remember that moment. I also remembered you asking me with an irritated look, 'What are you doing' and when you saw the camera, you just shook your head and said, 'Get a goin!'. But I got the photo :)

That trip made me more scared than I had ever been in the mountains because there was a foot of new snow on top, the wind and snow was blowing fiercely, we were in the clouds and couldn't see 4 feet in front of us, and the pass had drifted over making 3 foot deep drifts on the trail we had to use to come down on. In good weather, that trail had killed several horses over the years because it's narrow, full of unstable rocks and steep cliffy terrain. I assumed you would lead the way as you always had, but instead, as we stopped on the pass to tighten saddles and secure the packs, you just looked at me and said 'Get a goin'. I said 'ME??' You just nodded towards the trail and arguing or telling you no was never an option, so I went. As we waded through the deep snow hoping that the path I picked was at least part of the trail, prayers were going through my head and tears were streaming down my face. But when we got to stable ground, even growling at me for taking a picture couldn't have made me sad. We had just survived one of the scariest moments of my life and I had led the way because you pushed me.

Everything we did together made me stronger, tougher, and made me appreciate everything in life just a little bit more. The hardest part is knowing we won't make anymore of those memories here together, but I think I'll use this blog to tell the stories of the ones we made while you were here.

Love Sher

Nothing To Write About?

You might think, by the fact that I have not written since 2012, that I just don't have anything to write about. However, looking back through some of my pictures, I probably have plenty of stories...and you know me and stories.

Still, I often start to write because I know there are some family out there that actually do read this and probably get a kick out of our not so normal life, or at least it gives them something to poke fun at, but then I get busy or distracted and life goes on, unwritten. I do, however, like to look back at the blog myself and the memories I have written, and sometimes I have forgotten the things that I wrote about, so it makes the memory brand new again!!.....unfortunately, I think that's a sign of old age. With that said, I really feel like I better start writing again so I have a diary of some sort...so I can remember later, what I did all my life.... and though it seems like you can find out quite a bit on social media, I prefer to limit what I share on FB.

So here I am again, with a hopefully realistic goal of at least a post a month with the most exciting points of our life. Life these days has taken some drastic turns for us. I feel extremely blessed in so many ways when I look at all that we have and are able to do. We all know that I am not the best church goer....ok, I am not a church goer at all, but that doesn't change my beliefs in what I know to be true and credit should be given where credit is due.

Our life now consists of a few basic things. Family, hunting, cabin, land, and of course, piggies.

The family is growing with the addition of  Cuyler's wife Lacey and little Avery. The whole Grandma thing is something that took me completely by surprise. I had no idea just how much fun that would be.

Papa helped land Avery's first fish....but Ave wasn't so impressed once it came out of the water.

Hunting....well we hunt when we can because that's the one thing that maintains my sanity. With 12 elk tags among the 7 of us (my dad included), we took 5 and figured that was more than enough. But I love to share and we were able to help fill several freezers for winter. I am a firm believer that the reason our freezer has never been empty is because we share what we have. And we sure do have lots of fun working at it.

The cabin...is no more. Our little cabin that we worked so hard on to make it our own little sanctuary in the woods was torn down in 2015 because the land that it sat on was sold (not to us). The good news is that we were able to purchase the lot next to it that had an old mobile home on it. Though it's not a spectacular cabin, it is a place for us to getaway for a minute and regroup and the best part is, WE OWN IT! Land and all! No one can take it away this time. One little acre of our own in God's country. We haven't spent much time there, it took a lot to get it livable, and it still saddens me that our other little cabin is gone and we have to start over, but we will build new memories with this one and share fun times together with family to come.

Land is something I have wanted always. When Darren and I first got married I asked him what he wanted out of life (establishing goals and all) and he said he wanted some place he could ride out his backyard on his horse and head for the hills. I think he forgot about it, but I never did.... so over the last few years I have looked for land that we could invest in for whatever reason you invest in land....because land is a good investment. Land in this valley seems to be extremely unreasonably priced and finding a large chunk is, well, just unrealistic unless you're a millionaire or land broker. But....I look, nonetheless.  Last spring I found 40 acres above town that was within our reach. It was in reach because it was landlocked and rolling hills with cedar trees and no water. But anyone who knows me knows that I am a determined woman if there is potential. So for whatever we would end up using this land for, we felt like there was potential. With an extreme overhaul on our house we were able to refinance and purchase it. Now the fencing begins, and as a bonus, with all the land around town and the canyons being blocked off, we now have a spot of our own for camping with family and friends without having to worry. Not to mention some killer views of the valley and the peak.

And, of course....piggies! Yes, we are now pig farmers! We have gotten into this pet piggy thing and I must admit, if you had asked me 2 years ago if I would have a pig in my house, my answer would have been 'not in a million years'. Now that we have (6) I have completely changed my tune. No they are not all in the house, but they sure are cute, and fun to watch and play with. We love our piggies!

Yes....there is a pig laying on my couch. 

Yes....there is a pig under the chair getting a belly rub from Jordan.

October....??? Wow....so I guess you could say that it's officially been a while since I've done any blogging. I'm sure the one follower that I may have had has, by now, given up hope....but...here I am again. You would think that in a six month span of time I would have done something worth blogging about...and I'm sure we have...but it may take me a moment or two to remember. Let see....Johnny is still looking for a new home....haven't had the heart to send him away yet, but I'm sure that day will come. Jordan has recovered completely from her ordeal that happened a short year ago with only the scar on her chest to remind her of how special every day is that we are given. Darren has been recovering from a total hip replacement that was done exactly a year after Jordan's stay at the Primary Children's Hilton. (I still find it hard to believe that anyone would need a total hip replacement at the ripe old age of 43....but he did). We spent a total of NO time at the cabin this winter, and didn't really have enough snow around home to snowmobile, but instead ventured to McCall, Idaho to hunt wolves and snowmobile, which actually turned into more of a ski vacation than a hunting one. We all learned to snowboard with the exception of Darren who was already broken and didn't want to make things worse before his surgery. We then went back to Idaho in April for a bear hunt. This time we did hunt, and came home with a bear. I could most definately do an in depth blog about that trip. We all had a spectacular time. Let see...what else has gone on in our day to day happenings....??? I bought a new car in the Fall that we have simply named 'cutecar', because it is probably the cutest car I've ever seen....at least within my affordability range. Derby season is about to begin, so I can blog about that in the near future. Cuyler has a car he's been working on for the past several weeks, and if he manages to get it finished by Saturday, will run it at the first derby of the season. If not, that blog will be later in the year. Darren has decided to go in to the hound dog business so for Valentines day, I bought him a hound dog. A cute one....Now...he has 3. So though my blog for today is limited, I should have more time in the near future to elaborate.

Free To Good Home.....No....I Don't Even Care If It's A Good Home...

Might as well settle in.....this is a 'Johnny' story. I was going to take some cute pictures of him all loaded down so you could see that he is now doing what he was meant for, but that didn't go so well for either of us, so I have no pictures.

Two years ago we purchased a mule for packing game and our hunting gear into the back country where we hunt deer. This was his only purpose. One trip each year to the high country where the big bucks hang. Last year we even gave him the hunt off because we didn't hunt the high country, so technically, you could say one trip every two years.

Given the bad wrap that he got from the last trip, I was optimistic that this time would be different. We would take it slow, work with him. He would be fine.......yup....it was different....

Last week my deer hunt opened on Wednesday, so on Tuesday afternoon, we were off. 'We' being, myself and a new horse I had not ever had out, my dad and his horse, and good ol' Johnny.

We had packed some gear part of way to camp earlier in the week and figured we would just pick it up on the way. Being that I had to work most of the day that we were leaving, our time was limited. We packed Johnny down with food and the bare necessities, the tent, and a couple of backpacks with clothing and I lead him up the trail while riding 'Bart', my new trusty steed. All was going fine until we had to load the stuff we'd brought in earlier on Bart. At that point, I had to figure out how to lead the horse and the mule up a narrow trail, because I could no longer ride my packed horse, and my dad couldn't lead a horse because his horse tends to kick whatever is too close to his rear end.

By the time everything was loaded, it was dark. We all know how much Johnny loves the dark. My dad suggested that I tie Johnny's rope to Bart's saddle horn so he would follow, but I was concerned that Bart's saddle might turn with the pressure, and since Bart was a new horse, we didn't know how well he would handle a turned saddle complete with loaded pack-bags. So...I suggested that if we head up the trail, Johnny should just follow because he doesn't like to be away from the horses.

After walking up the trail about 100 or so yards, it was clear that Johnny was not going follow willingly. So, I left dad with the two horses and walked back down to get Johnny. It wasn't until I got close that he decided to finally move....but instead of going to the horses, he headed back down the trail. As I tried to catch up to him, he went faster. I turned back towards my dad who is clear up the canyon and yelled "I'm going to be a while", and took off down through the brush as fast as my little feet (and knees, because I spent what seemed like a lot of time on them after falling down often)would carry me in hopes of heading him off before he got too far. I don't know how many of you have ever run through brush and timber, and dead fall and washed out canyons in the dark with a slightly useless flashlight....but I must say it's more of a challenge than you might think.

Well, I got to a point in the trail where I couldn't tell if he had passed or not, so I continued to go down, stopping to listen every so often for the sound of him, but he was no longer moving. Back up the trail I went, and wouldn't you know it, there he stood, right above where I had first hit the trail. He didn't even seem at all concerned that I had walked right passed him before without noticing him standing there.

As I got close to him, he of course turned to go back up the trail, so I thought...this works...I'll just follow your little butt back to the horses. The farther we walked, the more tired he became...but I was in much better shape than he, so he was forced to let me catch him. He was a bit stressed when I got the rope, but I talked to him and calmed him down. As I'm assessing the situation, I can see that the saddle and pack-bags are now riding sideways, so I thought it would be a good idea to try to turn them back in place before we went any further. Typically you can do this without having to unload everything because the saddle is loose enough to turn....in this case however, when I tried lifting, Johnny decided to give his best audition as a bucking bronc at a high stakes rodeo..... He went in the air and sideways down off the trail....kind of like he had springs under his feet. Up around me he came then down off the trail again, bucking and kicking. As he came around one side the pack-bags pushed me off the trail into the brush and I heard the 'swish' of his back feet fly by my head, and off he went down the trail again, but this time bucking his little heart out. Let's just say that his hooves that close to my head was really the turning point in my relationship with Johnny...I no longer cared if he came along or was lost for that matter...just wanted the gear in the pack-bags he was carrying. In fact....he's really probably pretty lucky that my gun was with Bart.

Here I stand on the trail, mule-less, gear-less and with my less than useful flashlight, trying to see if, in his bucking spree, he's going to drop off my gear that is now being blended and shaken, not stirred in the pack-bags. (In the back of my mind, I am remembering the great trip and fun times Darren had with him the last time we had him out)Finally, the pack-bags flew off, and he was still going. So......off I went down through the brush....again....to get in front of him. This time however, I could see his tracks on the trail and he was 'still' going...and from the depth of the tracks he left....still bucking.....

Off in the distance, I can hear my dad yelling for me from way up in the canyon and realize, he's probably wondering what the heck happened to us, so I didn't chase Johnny, I hiked up to my dad to tell him I had lost the mule. Funny.....he didn't even seem surprised...At that point, we decided to make camp where we had stopped on the trail, and settle the horses in for the night, then go and see what we could salvage in the pack-bags. This was also the point when I made a phone call to Darren telling him exactly what he could do with his walking suitcase. (G-rated, so I'm leaving out the details of my tyrant)I'm a firm believer in being careful not to say things you'll regret later, but I obviously had accumulated a large volume of anger during this adventure. (Fortunately for myself...and my marriage, I didn't have very good service, so most of my growling was not heard). Turns out, that Darren was feeling pretty much the same way I was after he found out what had happened.

We didn't go looking for the mule that night, I almost expected him to be standing near the horses in the morning, but he wasn't. We decided to ride back to the truck to look for Johnny. Along the trail we stumbled across scattered pieces and parts of the saddle, but Johnny was no where to be found. We went all the way home, but no Johnny.

At this point, I'm pretty disgusted with the fact that I am missing opening morning of my deer hunt because of a stupid mule, and I was pretty certain I would be happier now that he was gone. There was plenty of food and water in that canyon for him to survive on, "so long, good riddens", was kinda my attitude. So when I got home, I showered, regrouped, got Darren and his horse and we all headed back to the mountains. Low and behold, guess who's standing where we had parked the truck. 'Dangut!!' (that would be Grantsville slang)Now what am I going to do with him!! Well, we caught him,(which I might add, is much easier in the daylight) and drug his little happy butt back up to camp where we parked him under a tree for 2 days. He stood there ever so humbly.

We have yet again learned something about Johnny, he doesn't handle things well when his saddle turns, and he won't follow if you leave his favorite horse at home.

You know??? I am all about giving second chances, and even more if needed, but Johnny has used all his UP!! So if you know anyone who is looking for a mule that will pack if he is lead, but doesn't like flashlights, and is afraid of the dark....I CAN HOOK THEM UP!! Might even pay them to take him!!

Bart, on the other hand, (who Darren also picked out, and I was a little leery because he is 19), was an absolute dream. At 19, he travels like a 4 year old. Out-walks everything else we have, packs game, packs gear, just stops when the saddle turns and patiently waits for you to fix it, leads, follows, and was the best $300 investment I've made in a long time. Just goes to show, age doesn't slow some of us down when our heart is still in it.

It's FINALLY Here!!

After somewhat of a short summer, hunting season has finally rolled around. It's the only reason i'm glad to see summer go. We have some archery tags for elk, but this year, Darren had a bear tag that he drew as an alternate when someone surrendered their tag. Just so happens to be down by our cabin, so off we went.
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He works with a guy who has some dogs and some friends with dogs that have more friends with dogs and so on. The dogs were the key to this hunt. Without them....we would have again been wandering aimlessly through the woods...literally....because there would have been nothing to aim at.

These little dogs are amazing when it comes to finding and tracking bears, but so are the guys that they belong to. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so in shape until these guys started running the canyons with the dogs...unfortunately....we were not in as good of shape so the trick was to guess where the bears were going to go and get there first. Thank heavens that worked...wheewww!!

After four mornings of up at 3:30am and screeming up and down rocky rough roads that no one else travels, in my jeep...(no one else travels them because they are HORRIBLE)we finally got on a bear, and a good one at that.

This big old bear took those poor little dogs on the run of their life. They cut the track at 7:30 that morning and Darren put the finishing touches on the bear at about 4:00pm. It was a long day for all of us waiting, listening for shots, hoping that things would work out.

As it turned out, a couple of the dogs got hurt, but were fixable. The bears' head scored 18 1/2 inches which isn't big enough to make the record books at 20, but the average Utah bear is about 12", so he was a big bear for Utah. The guys that had the dogs were extremely excited with his size, but since we had never gotten a bear before, we had no idea what was big and what wasn't. I asked them to compare it in mule deer, they laughed and said that it was about a 36" buck. HOLY COW!! That's huge!! They figured he would weigh in at about 400 pounds....he was chubby.

Darren is stoked, so much so that he is having a full body mount done on him....so much for my bear rug. Guess we'll have to keep hunting bears