After we watched for a minute to be sure he was anchored we radioed my uncle Kent who was about a mile down the ridge opposite us looking into the Okie Pocket, a notorious hellhole where he and I once killed two big old bulls minutes apart. He replied that he was on the way and would meet us there as soon as he could. We decided to circle the bowl the bull was on the other side of from us to keep from making the near vertical climb down and then back up. We were hoping to find a good route to bring the quarters out that way to avoid the inevitable knee shaking descent and lung busting climb that would accompany every load if we went straight across.

Ended up that the slope the bull was on was just plain steep any way you go at it and the way we attempted was covered in head high oak brush and a grease slick carpet of frozen oak leaves, enter plan B. As we arrived at the bull Kent was just getting there and we all scrambled down to him together. He was hung upside down with his antlers tangled in the brush and his hind end hanging off a ledge and as we dislodged him he skidded down another ten or fifteen feet before hanging up again. Eureka! With the three of us pushing and pulling we managed to get him another 100 yards or so down towards the bottom and onto a little flat about 10’X20’. There was a sturdy juniper nearby to hang the quarters so we decided that was far enough.

Out came the knives and Dad held legs while Kent and I started schucking the hide off one side. Not being our first time at this I’d guess we had him broke down and hanging in 45 minutes or so. After removing the quarters, backstraps, and assorted loose meat I used a small folding saw to cut two ribs off where I could reach in and retrieve the heart then cut through the diaphragm and took the liver as well. About this time one of the New Mexico boys popped up across the ridge and waved. He wasn’t hunting this year but had gotten the message and brought 4 frame packs to help with the hauling.

After a quick lunch on the little bench of crackers, canned elk from last year, a thick slice of some amazing cranberry bread a wonderful little lady in NM always sends up with her sons, and the best can of Coke a man ever drank, we loaded up the packs and eased down the slope toward the bottom. By this time another New Mexican has showed up and he volunteered to carry the rifles along with a giant 6X shed he’d found on the hike to us. When we made the bottom we took a short breather before heading up the steep rocky slope in single file like a pack of donkeys.

Now as a short aside I’ll tell you where the Heavy part of the title came from. A guy I used to work with swore to me that his dad killed a 1400lb elk near where we live in OK. We have elk so that part was believable enough, but the wildlife department has never in 25 years of seasons encountered one weighing over 500lb dressed. Furthermore he insisted that him, his dad, and his brother had slid it down to the lakeshore on a blue tarp and loaded it into a 12’ johnboat along with the three of them for the 1/2 mile trip back along the lake. Then the butcher delivered back to them 900lb of boned meat. Absolute BS and we still laugh about it.

So as we make our way up the steep slope my other uncle radios saying he heard that I’d gotten a bull and wanting to know how big it was. My Dad, bless him, chugging like a locomotive grabs his walkie and replies with the most perfect two words anyone could have uttered. “Fourteenhunnerd pounds!”

Once we got over the top it was smooth sailing back to the wheelers and we decided to go get what we had on the meat pole and have a cold one, planning to come back the next day for the last load. We got everything hung up and started supper going we burned the day’s trash and kicked back while we waited for the rest of the gang to get back off the mountain. At supper everyone agreed that I must not have been BSing about getting it over with and shooting the first one I saw.

The next day I helped with breakfast and hung out in camp for a while to give everyone else a chance to hunt before Dad and I piled off into the bowl after the last quarter and the head. We made good time and only had one near miss on the way back out. In hundreds of years of combined experience in the area nobody has ever run into what could have been a serious problem for us. As we neared the top of the slope on the way out Dad suddenly started backpedaling and saying “whoa whoa whoa”. Not knowing what to expect and being unarmed I was surprised and startled to see a huge skunk about 20’ in front of him! At 8000 feet or so elevation no less. Thankfully he didn’t seem to want our company any more than we wanted his and he quickly departed without spraying.

We hung the rest of the meat and boiled ham bones before putting the beans on to simmer in anticipation of supper. I peeled potatoes and sliced them and we used the big deep fryer I brought for the fish to make a huge pan of golden fried potatoes to go with the beans. I had to get creative for the cornbread when I discovered that we didn’t have any cornmeal. I had an extra bag of Louisiana brand seasoned fish fry, which is more or less Cajun seasoned cornmeal. An egg, some milk and flour and a dash of baking powder and I had a batter that I poured into a preheated iron skillet with melted ham grease in the bottom before sticking it back in the oven. The consistency of the cornbread was just how I like it, crispy bottom and top and chewy in the middle. The flavor was different but there wasn’t any leftover and nobody complained so I guess it was okay. More dominoes and dirty jokes were the order of the evening until we banned the big stove and crawled into our bunks. I had a smile as I bedded down, three days in and I’d laughed harder, ate better, and had more fun than I had in the last 6 months combined and knowing the next day would bring more of the same.

More later and I have a bunch of pics to hang.....