By Peter Christensen

Op-Ed Commentary

Winston, a wily old hunter, had been given the job of teaching this young pup to pack and guide.  We’d been to the upper reaches of Moose Creek on a cool rainy fall day while the other fellows hunted below us. Toward evening we ambled onto the Big Slide near Moose Creek cabin and there found that “the Frenchman”, accompanied by his guide, had shot an elk.

His guide had quartered the elk and as the cabin was nearby, he planned to return for the meat the next day. He had hauled the elk quarters a short distance from the gut pile.

In the morning Winston and I went along to help and as sure as dogs trot there was an ole grizzly on the carcass. Suggestions about how to move the bear off the carcass were discussed.

Suggestion number one was that we’d drive the grizzly off. We all started across the creek toward the bear, hooting and yelling. The grizzly responded by bluff charging and driving us back across the creek, our tail between our legs. Round one to the bear.

Next, it was decided to fire a volley of shots over his head. There was no season on grizzly during the fall so shooting the bear was not an option.  The grizzly raised his head and bit at the bullets whistling over him as if he might catch one or two and spit them back at us. Round two, to the grizzly.

About then Winston turns to the Frenchman and asks, “How bad do you want that elk meat?” It was the wrong question. I mean who wouldn’t want a couple hundred pounds of elk steak, roasts and burger? The Frenchman replied in a philosophical tone, “Yes, I want dat meat.”

Without another word Winston goes over and unties Thunder, a young colt. He detaches the cinch off a diamond-rope, coils the rope in his hand and mounts up. He looks down at the Frenchman and with a glare says, “Put a bullet in the breech and shoot the bear if it comes after me.” The Frenchman nervously loaded his weapon and sighted in on the bear.

Wild bears will defend their food and young, attack and hunt. Two years ago, a couple of local hunters were killed by a sow grizzly. She apparently stalked them while they were butchering an elk.

Before we knew what was up, Winston rode across the creek and up the slide to a place between the grizzly and the elk quarters. He slowly stepped off Thunder, careful to keep Thunder between him and the bear. With the reins clutched in one hand, and using the lash rope in the other he slipped a hitch over an elk leg, then quick as a cat mounted and stampeded down the slide and back across the creek with the elk quarter in tow.

To test fate he made the journey two more times. The bamboozled bear claimed the fourth quarter. Winston tied Thunder to a tree and says to the Frenchman that he could unload his gun. That was when we found out the gun was jammed.

With the menacing bear still laying on the elk remains we loaded the stolen meat onto a couple of pack horses and headed down to the cabin. As I was helping Winston unpack the quarters, I asked him why he used a young colt to retrieve the meat rather than one of the older, more reliable horses? He pinned me with a piercing eagle eye and said with snort, “Young horse don’t know any better.”

e-KNOW file photo

– Peter Christensen is a Columbia Valley based writer and poet.

Article Share