Wayne in BC
New member
Shock may be a trite word but it was REAL as i knelt by my friend of so many years, the guy who was there for me when my mother and then my father passed and i needed him so bad! The fear clutched my gut and brought a sweat to my forehead.
Cliff lay not quite flat but up some on his left side, breathing raggedly and had the look of a man who knew he was in terrible trouble. I convinced him finally to let me carefully with no touching, to examine what was happening behind his back. On my knees with the light i peered under.
The blood was seeping from under his soft canvas pack, the dark stain and couple drips showing in the flashlight beam. My heart leaped as i realized that something did not smell right and ran a finger gently over the liquid that looked dark in the light beam and coming from under the pack, he was also too high off the ground for much penetration to have occurred i thought hopefully.
Raising the finger to my nose, then my tongue, i nearly laughed but shut up, thinking better for it. Gratefully i said....buddy trust me, the tine did not go through your pack, please try to roll over. He said no way! I can feel it and the blood. I reached again under the pack and put my finger under his nose, saying, you had a couple cardboard orange juice boxes in your pack didn't you? Then rubbed the wet finger on his lips. He started to curse, then stopped and an odd look came over his face and he rolled slowly to his side with a grunt of pain and said, now look, ughnnn....
I can't repeat here what was said in the next couple minutes, suffice to say that we were both very relieved to know that he had a nasty bruise and was saved from serious trouble by the canvas pack, his coat in it, and a couple squashed juice boxes. Those soft packs tend to get articles against your back downright warm over time, about as warm as blood
After a bit i pulled his pack off as well as his wool shirt to find a darkening purple 2 inch bruise, handed him a few Aspirin and said....getcher lazy butt back to work.....i will carry for a while. I said little about the incredible relief i felt, nor did he, we were macho dudes, or pretended to be.
Now the boring part of the story comes in. After a great meal of Elk liver with onions and a good sleep, late morning the next day found us at the Elk carcass, having led the horse up the trail.
No more adventures, just a slow journey back to base camp with the pack horses carrying about 200 lbs of meat each, that is all you get from about 800 lbs of Elk. Quite a bit of walking and chainsaw work now that the packhorse had wider loads and we switched the Antlers and cape from one horse to another halfway back.
We arrived at basecamp in late afternoon, hung the Quarters on the meatpole, took care of the horses, then made dinner, this time Elk tenderloin on an iron grill with campfire baked potatoes and a can of beans
Late now and we sit around the embers of the campfire, wrapped in the velvet blackness of the night and wilderness. The slight sounds all around familiar and comforting, a lullabye for these old friends. Finally we rise from the comfortable stupor, Cliff wincing and saying, best you don't mention about this here little bruise....heck no i said, and i haven't till now
Epilogue.....
From the time you are 7 or 8 years old, you have become one with the horse beneath you. He knows your nearly unconscious signals to him and you know his mood on any day as he knows yours.
Often painful for lifelong horsemen is the watching of dudes as they clatter about atop the patient and graceful horse, one of your most trusted of course.
By the end of two weeks hunting that changes some with carefully phrased coaching from me or my wrangler/guides. The client is saddle sore for a few days and you walk where you would normally ride, sometimes foothunting stretches the muscles and gives some relief.
I have had some experienced horsemen as hunters who tried to buy my horses for their own hunting back home, knowing as they did that a horse must be virtually raised in a bush setting in order to become a good mountain horse. Taking a cowhorse or pleasure horse from the prairie and dumping him into a world he has never seen, a world of swift rivers, bogs, strange and frightening smells of bears, cougars, etc, all who the horse instinctively recognizes as danger is in the case of most, a poor idea.
Not to mention that horses often fed on only Alfalfa or other tame hay must adjust to the native grasses in the mountains which carry little protein and too many owners do not understand that they must carry grain with them.
I mentioned Cloudy, a nondescript more or less white gelding of uncertain ancestry which i often cussed but tolerated for many years. When i sold the outfitting business and left Alberta in 1988/9, Cliff wanted to buy him, i declined and made a gift of the horse to him along with Frosty who later became blind and about whom i have written, Frosty the wonderhorse who almost never stumbled or slipped even on sheer ice, who would look down and place his feet so carefully that he became so many hunters favorite mount, and who we later realized had such poor vision that he intentionally looked where he was going unlike some nags, and people
On the trip out Cliff used Cloudy under saddle and packed his horse, You see, although requiring an experienced horseman under saddle and not at all good for dudes, Cloudy had the softest gait i have ever encountered in a horse. No jarring at the trot, not at the lope, and his walk was silkiness! Just the ticket for a guy with a sore back who also had to put up with his buddies snide comments
Endit.....
Cliff lay not quite flat but up some on his left side, breathing raggedly and had the look of a man who knew he was in terrible trouble. I convinced him finally to let me carefully with no touching, to examine what was happening behind his back. On my knees with the light i peered under.
The blood was seeping from under his soft canvas pack, the dark stain and couple drips showing in the flashlight beam. My heart leaped as i realized that something did not smell right and ran a finger gently over the liquid that looked dark in the light beam and coming from under the pack, he was also too high off the ground for much penetration to have occurred i thought hopefully.
Raising the finger to my nose, then my tongue, i nearly laughed but shut up, thinking better for it. Gratefully i said....buddy trust me, the tine did not go through your pack, please try to roll over. He said no way! I can feel it and the blood. I reached again under the pack and put my finger under his nose, saying, you had a couple cardboard orange juice boxes in your pack didn't you? Then rubbed the wet finger on his lips. He started to curse, then stopped and an odd look came over his face and he rolled slowly to his side with a grunt of pain and said, now look, ughnnn....
I can't repeat here what was said in the next couple minutes, suffice to say that we were both very relieved to know that he had a nasty bruise and was saved from serious trouble by the canvas pack, his coat in it, and a couple squashed juice boxes. Those soft packs tend to get articles against your back downright warm over time, about as warm as blood
After a bit i pulled his pack off as well as his wool shirt to find a darkening purple 2 inch bruise, handed him a few Aspirin and said....getcher lazy butt back to work.....i will carry for a while. I said little about the incredible relief i felt, nor did he, we were macho dudes, or pretended to be.
Now the boring part of the story comes in. After a great meal of Elk liver with onions and a good sleep, late morning the next day found us at the Elk carcass, having led the horse up the trail.
No more adventures, just a slow journey back to base camp with the pack horses carrying about 200 lbs of meat each, that is all you get from about 800 lbs of Elk. Quite a bit of walking and chainsaw work now that the packhorse had wider loads and we switched the Antlers and cape from one horse to another halfway back.
We arrived at basecamp in late afternoon, hung the Quarters on the meatpole, took care of the horses, then made dinner, this time Elk tenderloin on an iron grill with campfire baked potatoes and a can of beans
Late now and we sit around the embers of the campfire, wrapped in the velvet blackness of the night and wilderness. The slight sounds all around familiar and comforting, a lullabye for these old friends. Finally we rise from the comfortable stupor, Cliff wincing and saying, best you don't mention about this here little bruise....heck no i said, and i haven't till now
Epilogue.....
From the time you are 7 or 8 years old, you have become one with the horse beneath you. He knows your nearly unconscious signals to him and you know his mood on any day as he knows yours.
Often painful for lifelong horsemen is the watching of dudes as they clatter about atop the patient and graceful horse, one of your most trusted of course.
By the end of two weeks hunting that changes some with carefully phrased coaching from me or my wrangler/guides. The client is saddle sore for a few days and you walk where you would normally ride, sometimes foothunting stretches the muscles and gives some relief.
I have had some experienced horsemen as hunters who tried to buy my horses for their own hunting back home, knowing as they did that a horse must be virtually raised in a bush setting in order to become a good mountain horse. Taking a cowhorse or pleasure horse from the prairie and dumping him into a world he has never seen, a world of swift rivers, bogs, strange and frightening smells of bears, cougars, etc, all who the horse instinctively recognizes as danger is in the case of most, a poor idea.
Not to mention that horses often fed on only Alfalfa or other tame hay must adjust to the native grasses in the mountains which carry little protein and too many owners do not understand that they must carry grain with them.
I mentioned Cloudy, a nondescript more or less white gelding of uncertain ancestry which i often cussed but tolerated for many years. When i sold the outfitting business and left Alberta in 1988/9, Cliff wanted to buy him, i declined and made a gift of the horse to him along with Frosty who later became blind and about whom i have written, Frosty the wonderhorse who almost never stumbled or slipped even on sheer ice, who would look down and place his feet so carefully that he became so many hunters favorite mount, and who we later realized had such poor vision that he intentionally looked where he was going unlike some nags, and people
On the trip out Cliff used Cloudy under saddle and packed his horse, You see, although requiring an experienced horseman under saddle and not at all good for dudes, Cloudy had the softest gait i have ever encountered in a horse. No jarring at the trot, not at the lope, and his walk was silkiness! Just the ticket for a guy with a sore back who also had to put up with his buddies snide comments
Endit.....
