I remember it like it was yesterday, labor day weekend September 1992....
I was hunting in New Mexico in the Gila part of the state and was already concerned about the possibility of drug smuggling in the area. Whether it truly was a real concern or something that was just stuck between my ears didn't matter. All I knew was this wasn't central Mississippi anymore.
It was the days before cell phones and though GPS may or may not not have been invested by Al Gore yet; I didn't have one. I put my faith in the directional compass and struck out for the deep parts of the unexplored and untamed wilderness of the Gila; where the thoughts of 300 Class bulls danced in my head.
It was quite a pack that I had planned and maybe three miles in I strained to hear a women crying for help. I immediately charted a course toward the expressed agony. I was a younger man then and fairly bulletproof in both physical and mental attributes. As I got closer, that bravado that had served me well in the past (even when hunting with the big bears in Alaska) started to melt like snow on a 50 degree morning. I thought it had to have drug implications and I questioned just what was I going to do when I got there?
Regardless, I pushed on until I topped a ridge and looked down to see an old cabin where is wasn't suppose to be. (This was in national forest) The noise was very loud now, it would stop for a brief moment, then start a moaning wail that had a lot of variation in the pitch. The cabin was still, no movement that I could determine which sort of heightened my anxiety. I didn't have any life experiences to pull from to help me reason through what was happening.
I slowly worked down the ridge toward the small opening where the cabin was. I started to slowly work around the cabin on the opening perimeter. I eventually caught movement! Geesh!
In then and there I saw what it was; I just couldn't understand what I was seeing. A 5 gallon metal can dancing like Elvis in his prime...almost like it was possessed on top of a short metal pipe. Up and down, rotating to the left, then rotating to the right it moved. At this point the idea of a woman in distress or drug smugglers left my concerns and I carefully approached the possessed bucket. I could now feel very cold air in the 90 degree heat....hmmm. Until that moment I thought maybe bees were in the bucket? But with the added development of the cold air, I discarded that notion and willed myself to lift the bucket. What did I see? It was a pipe most likely connected to a cavern or perhaps a mining shaft that had a powerful gush of air coming out of it. I just placed the bucket back where I found it and chalked up the 1.5 hours I had lost of elk hunting.... as a good trade for a new experience
Topic: Scary hunting stories (Read 925 times)
