Day one of my hunt was a bit uneventful until an unfortunate turn of events spun an afternoon hunt into an all-nighter. I was never a fan of all-nighters, even in college and especially not 7500 feet up without appropriate gear. (By the way, low 50's in the Valley equals low 30's in the Mountains.)
I took a 3-mile hike to check on some wallows in one of my favorite honey holes. I always track my route on OnX, partly because I want to be able to retrace my steps if something cool happens like seeing a good bull, finding a new wallow or heaven forbid, getting a shot at something, and partly as an ego-thing to say, "wow, I'm still getting it done--hiking my ass off even at 53-years-old." However, as much as I feel like I have maintained the stamina over the years, my phone battery has not. Before I made it back to my truck, my phone was dead.
Wanting to charge it at least enough to turn my phone back on and turn off the tracker, I plugged it into the charger in my truck and turned the key to the auxiliary position. (Apparently, a safety future on these newer vehicles is to not let you charge your phone unless the truck is on....) I changed out of my camos and jumped into the driver's seat. In the time it took to change, my truck battery also decided to give up the ghost. As I turned the key, that sickening sound of, click...click...click...sent my brain scattering thoughts in dozens of directions. Looking at my watch, I also noticed my heart rate elevated to 106 beats a minute. Thank God for smart watches to let me know my inerrant problem with anxiety.
I'm 15 miles from the nearest town. That 15 miles took me 50 minutes to drive due to the road being rutted up much like the rolls on the face of a bullmastiff so I'm not hopeful there's another truck for miles. It is Friday so maybe a hunter, trying to beat the weekend traffic, would be passing through but with the condition of the road, it ain't looking great. I wonder if one of the side-by-sides I hate so much tearing up and down the road, would have enough juice to jump me but even they ironically, are no longer making their annoying presence known.
"Maybe it's the terminal connections," I optimistically consider.
I pull off the terminals with my trusty Leatherman, scrape up the posts of the battery, and try again. Nothing.
I start taking inventory of my gear. Two fleece jackets, two merino wool base layers, two pairs of long-underwear, jeans, my hunting pants, a puffy jacket, a set of raingear with pants and top, and a hoody...not bad. If, and by "if" I mean most likely, I have to stay the night, I shouldn't freeze.
As for food and water, I have plenty of water, and a few beers. I also have a few home-made snack sticks, 4 bananas, and a bag of chicharrónes. I'm pretty set for a while. I'll hunker down, listen to the football game, have a beer and...yeah that can't happen. My phone is dead. The truck is dead, there's no radio. For some reason, that realization keeps popping up in my head. I'm bored. I wish I could listen to the football game...
The night wasn't all that bad, just a little uncomfortable. I long for the days I was able to fall asleep just about anywhere--a friend's couch, the seat on our tour busses while in Up with People, backstage on a drum riser, in a desk during fifth-hour English Lit... somehow the seat in an F-150 wasn't providing the necessary comfort this old body needs for a restful sleep. It did, however, conjure up some pretty crazy dreams during the 10-minute spans of unconsciousness I was able to achieve.
As the stars started to fade and the impressive darkness of the backcountry slowly illuminated like a snowy 1960's black and white TV screen, I deliberated over what to do. I had decided to hunker down last night because I was holding out hope that someone would pass by. I also didn't want to walk out in the dark. As the sun came up, the question was, do I try to hike out the 15 miles, or do I wait for someone to drive by, which could be hours? Or, do I go on a morning hunt and deal with the truck later. That's what a true sportsman would do, right?
I was thinking about Cutter though, my 12-year-old black lab who also spent his night outside. Only he didn't have any food. I felt bad for him and knew I needed to get back to the house to feed him. He's going to be pissed. Not scared or worried. Just pissed I forgot to feed him last night.
I decided to hike. The rationale was that at least I was doing something to take charge and improve my situation. That's what a self-reliant sportsperson would do. Right? But 15 miles is a long fricken ways and then what?
I ate a snack stick, a banana, and the last of the chicharrónes, grabbed my pack and water bottle and headed down the road. In the back of my mind, I knew someone would come along. I just didn't know when or if they would be willing to help.
About three miles into the hike out, the sound of an old Chevy slowly crept into my consciousness disrupting the Zen-like rhythm I had established in my gate. As the hole in its muffler announced its arrival, my heart raced a bit with excitement of meeting my savior. As he pulled up, I noticed there were two people in the Chevy green cab: an older gentleman sporting camos and a somewhat well kempt grey beard and a younger woman. also, in camos. I was having a hard time figuring out if she was his daughter or if he was a lucky recipient of a May/December type situation.
Focus.
I waved them down and spoke to the gentleman through the window. "Hey guys, I hate to impose but my truck is broken down back about 3 miles. I had to spend the night out here last night. I'm just wondering if you have any jumper cables?"
The gentleman, we'll call John, says, "I'm not sure I do. Let me look."
He jumps out of the truck and rifles through his cargo box in the bed of the truck.
The woman, we'll call her Jenny says, "You stayed out all night? See any elk?"
Unfortunately, John didn't have jumper cables and neither did I. As he recounted where his were, I apologetically admitted mine were back in my garage in a tote I had filled with emergency provisions like tire chains, tow strap, traction pads, come along, bottle jack, and yes, jumper cables for times just like this.
"Good place for them," Jenny unsympathetically states the obvious.
"Well," John starts, "There's a fence up here by the cattle-guard, we can cut a couple lengths and as long as we keep them from touching, we can jump your truck with that."
Not sure it would work, I felt like at least it was worth a try.
As John tells me to jump into the truck, he looks at my belt and sees my can of bear-spray.
"I see you have some of that 'real' bear spray," he sarcastically observes. "Lot of good that'll do ya."
"Yeah?" I give the quizzical response knowing I'm setting myself for some serious redneck splaining. "I would carry my .41 mag but knowing how well I shoot it; I think I'll take my chances with the spray."
"You know," Jenny cuts in, "all you're doing is seasoning yourself with that stuff. Even the biologists say that it only works on a bear one time, and then they come immune to it. You'd be better off shooting the bear in the nose with your gun because they have bad eye-site and if they can't smell you, they can't find you to attack you. All they do is smell their own blood and they leave you alone."
"I'm counting on finding the bear that hasn't been hit with bear spray yet," I tell myself, not letting Jenny in on my inner dialog.
"You know what your problem is," John adds with authority, "You're holding the sites on the pistol like a rifle. You can't shoot it like a rifle. You got to hold the site on the bottom of your target. You always shoot high with a handgun...."
"How the hell would you know how I shoot a handgun?" Again, internally.
Now, anyone who knows me could probably predict my response. However, I just spent the night in the backcountry with minimal gear. I'm tired and these two are my only hope. I consciously hold my face in a completely thoughtless and emotionless pose, nod and ask, "So you guys been getting into any elk?"
Not wanting to let the bear topic go, Jenny actually states that "they", meaning someone with authority, have seen 3 grizzlies living in that area and a Kodiak brown bear that was collared and somehow made the trek from Canada due to all the fires. Only "they" won't make it public because FWP are lying a-holes.
From bears, John and Jenny move on to hybrid wolves that have been re-introduced to Montana and how they pinned their cousin down last week up there. I can't. for the life of me, remember how the cousin go out of the situation because I mentally checked out of the conversation. My brain is reeling. I'm too tired to entertain the B.S., and my only goal is to get my truck started so I nod and agree.
(Let me just take a little side-step here. Kodiak brown bears come from Kodiak Island, which is Alaska. There are no Kodiak bears or Alaskan brown bears in Montana. Grey wolves are not hybrids. And contrary to local red-neck beliefs, they are the native subspecies of wolves in this area. Timber wolves inhabit the Great Lakes Region and were native to the Eastern States at one time. Also, every expert I've ever read endorses the use of bear spray over a gun. Oh yeah, and there have only been 2 wolf attacks in the US in the last 20 years.. Are wolves dangerous to humans? New report shares key detail (wolf.org))
We get to the cattle-guard and to our surprise, find a length of insulated wire running underneath the grates of the guard. Not sure why it was placed there but we gratefully cut two lengths about 4 feet apiece. We finish the 10-minute drive back to the truck while Jenny and John educate me on all the other crap, I don't know but obviously should.
"Don't say anything. Don't say anything," I keep telling myself.
We hook the make-shift jumper cables up to the battery of my truck and then to John's and then wait a couple minutes to get a little charge, I turn it over. Thank God it starts. I offer them a couple beers. John doesn't drink so; I give them the rest of my snack sticks and we say our goodbyes.
Don't think I'm not grateful to these two folks. I definitely am. But on the way back to town, I can't help but wonder of where this "knowledge" these two have, comes from? And then my brain continues this thought to a broader perspective of where knowledge, as a whole, comes from and why people believe what they believe is the Gospel's truth. It's baffling to me, and mind numbing to be honest. I mean, literally, a couple Google searches and any of these myths are dispelled. But regardless of ALL the evidence that's out there, these two people, who are endemic to so many people in our country, somehow just know way more than any of the experts and everyone else is just stupid. (I'm sorry but I blame FOX.) (Ok, not sorry.)
And then I wonder what my counselor would say, "why are you letting these people occupy space in your mind? What does it matter?"
"Because these people vote!!!"
The first thing I did when arriving back in town was feed Cutter and apologized for leaving him alone all night. He didn't bat an eye. He just went back to the corner of the yard to which he guards the property from squirrels. My next task was to buy a battery and finally, put my tote with all my emergency gear in the back of my truck. I'll be more prepared for the next hunt.
Keep 'em where they live...
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