As soon as the Packers built up a solid, safe lead over the Vikings, I took Pete the Boxer out for a last ramble around the place, to stroll down the road a bit, close the gate, make sure our little corner of the world was safe and secure for the night. It was that magic moment of last glow, a dark night held briefly at bay by a dying sun, and across the valley, high up on one of the mountains to the south I could see the lights of an ATV, first in one area and then another moving light several miles away in a separate area. Those lights, momentarily appearing, then vanishing almost like shooting stars or satellites, gave me great pleasure to see, because I used to be one of those lights a long time ago.
There are no houses on that mountain, nor even roads; just rough two-tracks used by occasional cowboys, Forest Service and BLM employees, and—in season—hunters.
I used to hunt that mountain many years ago. Much of it is private ranch land, but at the top, and over on the far side, are several parcels of landlocked public land, a section or two of BLM here, another section there, that sort of thing. If you have permission to pass through the private property, there is surprisingly good hunting on those various chunks of public land, and back in those long ago days my friend Dave had permission from one of the largest landowners to drive through.
My friend was a dentist, and the landowner was his patient, so perhaps Dave had threatened him with a root canal without painkiller, but for whatever reason, Dave had full run of the place, and he and I would ride up the precarious two-tracks in the pre-dawn dark, and then ride back down again in the same last faint glow of day.
There were—and still are, in spite of the mountain lions’ best efforts—many deer up there, but the remoteness and steepness of the terrain makes the hunter, or at least this hunter, very, very selective. The sheer amount of labor involved after the shot is enough to make you think about just how badly you really need or want that venison.
The first year Dave and I hunted up there, he shot a very nice buck on a broad ledge just below the top on the far side. It was mid-morning, in an ideal spot, only four or five hundred yards from where we had parked the ATVs several hours earlier, and an easy drive down to where the deer was. It was perfect. And so was Dave’s shot.
Unfortunately, if there is one thing you learn in half a century of hunting, it’s that nothing, man or beast, reacts predictably when shot. This buck was dead the instant the bullet hit it, but it jumped forward, stumbled, took two steps, and went down. Unfortunately, those two steps had taken it right to the edge of the slope, so when it went down, it went down and kept on going down and down and down completely out of sight, perhaps a thousand feet ultimately, while Dave and I stood there with our mouths open and our hearts sinking.
We were both young and tough, but no matter how tough you like to think you are, these mountains can be very humbling. When we finally got down to the buck, it was apparent there was no way we could possibly get him up that slope intact, minus a helicopter, so we did a complete butchering job right on the spot, loins, chops, hams, backstraps, everything, boning the meat out on the grass. I had the better pack, so I took all the meat, while Dave took the rack, and we started back up. The slope was so steep that every time I slipped, instead of putting my hand down to catch myself, I would simply reach straight out in front of my face.
I forget now how long it actually took us to get back up, but I know it was dark by the time we got off that mountain. And probably, somewhere down in the valley, a man walking his dog saw our lights and smiled to think someone was having a great adventure up there. Dave sold his practice to his son-in-law and moved north years ago, and I don’t have an ATV, nor do I have permission to pass through the private land there, but I remember that time fondly, and it made me smile the other evening to see the hunters up there, and to wish them well.