(Note- I’ve thought about it for a while and decided that I would like to share some of the past hunts with everyone through a ‘read along’ format. With no real timetable in mind, occasionally I will write a story with the sole purpose of entertaining the reader and promoting the traditional aspects of bowhunting. Lastly, I will omit the last names of the people involved to not invade on their privacy.”)
1984 Elk Hunt- Part I-“The Trip”
The world was a lot bigger in 1984 as technology had not cut the world down to size. Certainly the geography was the same but it was an age that lacked the internet, digital cameras, cell phones…even fax machines were the modern marvel of the time having just been introduced. I was 26 years old and had never traveled to the Rockies of the great West. My picture of the Rockies were gleamed and mentally imprinted from the magazines I read and the western television series that were still popular in the era. Not only had I not ever seen the grand Rockies in person, I had never even traveled further west that Tallulah La…the western most range of my work area! When my good friend Archie asked if I wanted to accompany him on a trip for mule deer and elk in mid-September of that year, I was instantly intrigued.
There were economic concerns for sure. Archie said we could make the trip for $300. He broke it down in terms of the cost of the times…$100 for gas, $100 for food, and $100 for a mule deer license; a couple of hundred more if I wanted an elk tag. It seemed like an amount I might be able to swing, but I wasn’t making much more than minimum wage so it was harder than it might sound today. My new bride gave me the green light and I confirmed my participation with Archie. Now the planning began!
The first plan involved a new truck. I went out and borrowed from the bank $7,000 for a new Toyota 4x4 to make sure that my spent $500 wasn’t going to be in vain! Archie went and rented a tent for the trip and he taught me what Mountain House freeze dried food was. Archie had a small Coleman stove and we both reasoned that was about all we would need as long as we could get a couple of cots and sleeping bags. I might mention that Archie always took a tool box of chains and spare parts for ‘emergencies’. I think he could have built us a new vehicle out of all the parts he had. He was definitely a good guy to make the trip with! I had been playing around with a 75 pound Martin Hatfield recurve and thought maybe I could kill a deer with it on the trip. Of course, I had my mainstay bow of the time, a 98 pound compound with 2219 autumn orange aluminum Gamegetters and three blade Rocky Mountain broadheads. I found this more than enough for the local whitetails! I had gotten the 75 pound recurve trying to be sure and follow the advice that I had been given not to ‘overbow’ myself! People really shot heavier bows back then.
The trip was soon upon us and I can’t explain the excitement I was having. I kept trying to let it sink in that I was going to see the Great Divide, the golden colors of the quakies, coyotes (not common in Mississippi at the time), mountains, cooler temps…and elk and mule deer! (hopefully). There was no way this trip wasn’t going to be a rush! No one has ever accused me of not embracing a good adventure; but given a younger version of Stringwacker; coupled with the new experience at hand, I didn’t sleep more than a couple of hours the night before we were to leave out. The plan was to meet at Archie’s parents house early that morning shortly after daylight, load the truck, and drive non-stop to Montrose Colorado; before spending the night and heading up into the Uncompahgre National Forest the next day. We anticipated the trip to Montrose to take about 24 hours and we reasoned that by alternating drivers at each re-fueling we could travel non-stop to Montrose. With a few pictures taken to document the great occasion to the history of a photo album, we rolled the brand new four banger Toyota truck out of the carport and began our ‘epic’ journey. So long 90 degree Mississippi temps and hello Colorado!
Now I know if sounds stupid, but crossing the Ole Muddy at Vicksburg started the great ‘western’ adventure. Unchartered territory , new sights, and an uncontrollable spirit took center stage. Archie took the wheel before Dallas and I marveled at the size of the city…always thinking where ‘J.R.” might live! It wasn’t long before we hit the Highway 287 stretch to Amarillo and I learned that no place could a fellow see further…and yet… see less; save a few thousand pumping oil wells. I figured it was “J.R.’s” home place.
For the readers that have taken the 287 route, they know that it never really ends. It takes you through little Texas towns that all have a Dairy Queen, a bar, and a gas station…only the names really change as the native culture and scenery never does. In some ways I was glad to see the sun set on this portion of the trip as after hours of the same; I knew I wasn’t missing anything. Night brought forth it’s own brand of flavor as cattle wagons (semi’s hauling cattle) blaze by you in the middle of the night going 85 mph with fire rolling out the twin stacks. I often wondered why they all were in such a hurry. Archie said to get behind them! Archie kept saying that that if I didn’t go faster, we would never get there. 55 mph was the speed limit of the time.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, we stopped in a slightly larger town called Dumas. I remember thinking it was a funny name and I renamed it something to more to my liking by adding a ‘s’. Archie wasn’t amused. However, as I got out to pump gas, something was different…holy smokes…a cold chill was in the air! I asked Archie how far were we from the mountains and he just groaned/muttered something that I couldn’t hear. I figured we weren’t very close. I did pull a jacket out from the rear of the truck. The cold air felt good. The cold air and the coffee made me pull a double driving shift.
Later in the wee hours of the morning we found ourselves at Amarillo Tx. I kept thinking about the George Strait’s brand new hit “Amarillo by Morning” as that is exactly where we found ourselves. Archie had made the trip before and he told me to stop at the Waffle House where 287 and I-40 come together. We stop and ate a very, very early breakfast…life was good. I smelled natural gas in Amarillo…a smell that I remember to this day. I kept asking Archie…how much further until the mountains?…Archie would reply…if you would have driven faster we would be in them by now. He was a real nice fellow but definitely wasn’t a morning person! It was good to leave 287 behind. To this day, if I go to Colorado I prefer the Kansas route there as I still despise the 287 Highway.
Finally as we rolled through the endless corn fields of the Texas panhandle, we approached Raton, New Mexico….and mountains! Archie said something about the NRA having an elk hunting operation there. It was the first time I had thought about the fact that WE WERE IN ELK COUNTRY! The mountains at Raton were magnificent in the dawn…but short lived. We found ourselves back in flat country. It was now good daylight and I could see rolling hills with very few trees. I saw some antelope which was exciting in itself as I had never seen one. I remember thinking the entire species would be eliminated in a week if they all lived in the open like that back home. Archie told me the real mountains lay before us…and to drive faster. I remember that I had the accelerator all the way down on little non-fuel injected four banger and I was only going 50 mph on flat ground. Archie surmised the 5,000 foot thin air altitude combined with a slight but steady incline was the culprit. He finally stopped telling me to go faster.
By mid-morning we were cutting through some pretty rugged country on Hwy 69 and huge mountains were on the horizon. The terrain had turned ‘rocky’ and I would have been excited if it had been no more than that. However, in the never ending winding passes that took us through little towns like Gardner, Texas Creek, and Kremmling…we suddenly had to slam on the brakes. The road was absolutely full of sheep. Not a common sight back home; but apparently the accepted norm in Colorado. The sheep herder walked by us and with a waive he was gone. I snapped a few pictures. I was kind of impressed despite the lack of sleep.
Archie kept telling me about we were going to get the ‘Monarch” and we may need some chains. I asked why do we need chains and he replied it’s always snowing on Monarch. He said the ‘mountains’ start at Monarch pass. Monarch I learned is a 11,300 Ft pass over the great divide. The four banger was going to be in for a workout!
It wasn’t snowing but it surely had been. Snow covered the passes and ice was everywhere as the small four banger huffed and puffed its way to the top at 20-30 mph. Archie commented that he hoped it didn’t finally refuse to go any further. The painful climb to the top that took 10 miles was only eclipsed by the terrifying trip down the other side as I used the lower gears to keep the brakes from overheating. In the movie Wizard of Oz, Dorothy commented that she wasn’t in Kansas anymore…..and I knew I wasn’t in Mississippi anymore. WOW!!!! Heavy stuff for a fellow that hadn’t went further than Tallulah La just hours earlier. The rest of the trip was eye popping. It was God’s creation at its finest and the realization that this was wild country that didn’t compute with the woodlots I scouted and formed my opinion of ‘wild’ back home.
Late in the day we arrived in Montrose 6 hours behind schedule and booked the night at the Black Canyon motel. We made a trip to the Red Barn Steakhouse and despite the extreme exhaustion we ate real beef from real beef country. The next day promised to be one of yet a new adventure…the hunt itself! We tuned in that night to perhaps the best night sleep that I ever had.
(Part II- “The Hunt” shall be posted soon)
Topic: 1984 Elk Hunt (Read 1403 times)
