Friend of mine used to hunt out of Mahogany Cow Camp by Morgan Butte. It was the cow elk season and it was always during Thanksgiving. One year they were there, they nearly got snowed-in.....The National Guard arrived in helicopters to rescue any stranded. Was in the 1980's, and could have been the same year.
I remember that year. One of the outfitters in the area also had an entire pack string of horses run off. They got started down into Hell's Canyon and I never heard if they found them. Probably not ... they were tailed and horribly spooked and they could have easily gone off a rim.
Meanwhile, umpteen rigs were stuck up there on the road between Hat Point and Warnock. Somebody ponied up the bucks to bring in a couple of big road graders, must have cost a fortune.
At that time, we were literally snowed in, but didn't know it. We just kept killing elk. When it came time to tackle Freezeout Saddle, some industrious crew had SHOVELED the top mile of horse trail ... can you imagine that? Heck, we just horsed up and over and dropped down into the Inmana drainage.
Speaking of Thanksgiving:
Our personal cow hunts were seemingly always over Thanksgiving, too.
I remember one warm year. Karen and I were riding straight down a trail and our horses were bunched up and sliding down what looked like a cement trough. It was raining, we were wet to the skin, regardless of ponchos, and the mud was sliding ahead of us down the trail.
Then, a decent lone cow stepped right out in the center of the trail. I led Karen off to the side, got her off her horse, held both horses and talked her quietly into the shot.
Karen knelt down, took a spot-weld on a small tree, and proceeded to whack the cow in the center of the face. BANG-FLOP.
And the cow started sliding down the trail, six-inches deep in sliding mud and blood and brains and all kindsa fun [bleep] goin' on. Anyway, the cow was flopping in the mud, brainless but flopping, and rolling over and over. Legs up and down and stuff.
And I'm thinking, "Holy CRAP, this is going to be a fuggin' MESS."
Anyway, the cow hit a turn in the mud trough, flipped off onto a small flat and came to a rest. We on-horsed and moseyed down there.
Karen's cow was on her back, nice and level and there was even a tiny stream there, one that eventually hit Eureka Creek. And it was running pretty clear. I took a rag and started washing off the cow as best I could. Given about fifteen minutes, she didn't look bad at all. Meanwhile, Karen got a fire started, so we'd have a bit of warmth.
Then, I washed, skinned her and got the hid pegged out nice and clean. And Karen held legs and basically stayed out of the way so she wouldn't get cut while I was slashing and slitting. Soon, we had her (the cow, not Karen
) gutted, quartered and hung the pieces in a really convenient tree.
It took us maybe an hour and a half, but the job was clean, pretty, hairless and quite proper. Hey, the old gal was in the tree and that's always a good thing.
Then, the sun broke through the clouds as we roasted Turkey Weenies over the fire and shared a few raw liver slices. Bloody and muddy and happier than anything, we kissed and said to each other, "Happy Thanksgiving My Love, Happy Thansgiving."
God Bless,
Steve
