# I never found my old knife



## wyogoob (Sep 7, 2007)

OK, OK, a short story and then I'm going to bed.

1986; Shot an absolute tank of a cow elk. I didn't have a camera on the hunt; didn't take a lot of pictures back then anyway. The adventure ended up being the toughest hunt I ever encountered. I accidentally left my knife and sheath at the kill sight and the following weekend my youngest son and I drove up there and hiked into the kill sight to find the knife. I'd had the knife since 1967, a birthday present. There were 26 notches cut into the sheath of that knife, 26 big game hunting memories from Illinois, Missouri, Iowa, Wisconsin and Ontario Canada. We took a camera with us and took pictures as I relived the hunt with my son. I wrote notes on the back of the photographs to give my grandkids something to read down the road.

Had a WY Cow/Calf elk tag for an area north of Kemmerer. I hunted a number of weekends with no luck, each trip hunting further and further from the road. All I could find were bulls and spikes, good grief.

Down to the last 3 days of the season and I had spike camp set up near the outfitter's camp on Mistum Creek by the road to Red Park, the old road from Big Park over to the Commissary Ridge on the top of the Hams Fork.

5:00 pm, the last day of the season. After days of rain it finally cleared up, turned nice. I'm sittin' on a log in a little quakie patch enjoying the scenery, having a smoke, resting before the tough up-and-down hike back to the road. I had just enough daylight to hike the 2.5 miles and drive back to spike camp. Spike camp was 2 hours from home. I was closer to a place called Devil's Hole than anywhere. Out of vacation, I had to be back to work in 15 hours.


Suddenly a dozen elk came out of nowhere and ran in front of me not 75 yards away. I spit out my cigarette and neck shot the biggest cow in the bunch. Dead before hitting the ground the old girl rolled and rolled down the hill, ending upside down in a deep wash. I cut the animal in half to gut it. De-boned some meat until I ran out of clean places to lay it. Then I grabbed the heart, liver and tongue and headed back towards the camper in the dark. The batteries in my flashlight were dead.




There were no GPSs in those days but I had a compass and knew how to use it....uh, sort of. I knew there was an 11° declination, I just couldn't remember if it was towards the east or off towards the west. I picked west and got miserably lost. Spent a good deal of time in deadfall timber floundering around like a carp out of water. I finally settled down and built a nice fire. It was a beautiful night, no moon, stars so bright you'd think you could reach out and grab them....coyotes singing away...lots of coyotes signing, and kinda back where my cow elk lay. Anyway, who cares? None of that's important until after I get to a phone and call the wife and my employer.


I was nodding off as the flames turned to glowing coals, just perfect for grilling a slice of liver I thought, and boy, I was hungry. Odd though, I couldn't find my hunting knife and had to slice the liver with my pocket knife. Oh well. I cooked that slice of liver on a stick. It was awful, just awful.

By the time I found my truck it was closer to sunrise than to sunset. I drove back to the camper, took the chains off the tires and raced to Cokeville to use the pay phone. I called the boss and told him I'd be back to work the next day. I called the wife a number of times but it was busy every time.

Drove back up to camp, grabbed a backpack and some bags to pack meat in....a saw...some bailing wire, a Leatherman, rope and lashing straps, a topo map, flashlight, and my last pack of cigarettes. I threw two tire chains in the back of the Bronco "just in case".

I got about half-way to where I needed to park before I got stuck. Great, it's Monday, big game hunting seasons are closed; even the outfitters are gone. I was able to get the chains on using the bumper jack and a bottle jack. By the time I parked the truck the day was more than half over. I'd had little sleep, maybe an hour while lost in the woods.


It took a couple of hours to hike to the elk carcass and by the time the animal was de-boned and bagged it was getting dark. I had an old aluminum-frame Boy Scout backpack, a big mesh laundry bag, and a big sleeping bag stuff bag, all full of meat. I tried to strap the smaller meat bag onto my back pack but it was just too heavy to carry all of it, especially in the dark. I was afraid of blowing out a knee or ankle.

I'd put the backpack on and carried the sleeping bag full of meat in my arms. Walk 100 steps or so, lay the sleeping bag down, take the pack off, and then go back and get the laundry bag. Back and forth, back and forth, I went, leap-frogging the loads. The laundry bag was a challenge. I'd just grabbed it up off the ground and tuck it up against my chest and belly and then literally run with it until the sloppy meat shifted and fell to the ground...or I tripped over something.

After banging around for hours I made it through the dark timber and up to the top of a nasty gully...lost again. In the darkness I just couldn't recognize any of it, so, exhausted, I settled down, took a much needed break and started a fire. I love fires when I'm lost.

It's cold. I'm soaking wet from perspiration and I don't have enough clothes on. It was time for some soul-searching man: Am I crazy? Is this really worth it? They sell meat at the grocery stores don't they? What's the wife doing? Geezus, do I need to drive all the way back to town and make some phone calls? Will I lose my job? Should I just sort out the good cuts of meat and leave the rest for the coyotes? Waitaminute, I'll build a travois!!! :mrgreen:

I'm thinkin' the travois took over an hour to build and another hour to strap the meat to it 7 different times. But off I went, dragging the travois loaded with stinky dirty elk meat down the steep bank, lost, in the dark, until the **** thing got away from me, ran me over and passed me by. The sleeping bag full of meat was the first to go, rolling down the hill out of sight into the darkness. The laundry bag lay close to me in the dirt, the spawn of the devil. The twisted wreck of a travois, my Boy Scout pack intact, was in the willows, somewhere below. I couldn't stop laughing.....that Jack Nickolson-kinda laugh from the movie _The Shining._
__

Repairs were made to the travois and up the hill I went. But I didn't have enough strength, or energy, to pull the load up the other side of the gully. I crapped out "that" close to the top. I unstrapped the 2 bags and the pack from the travois and went back to leap-frogging again. Dangit, this is taking a lot longer than what I thought it would.

By the time I got to the top of the Hams Fork River the eastern horizon was showing a little light. I think the beaver pond below was the largest beaver pond in Lincoln County. Screw it, I just rolled the bags of meat down the hillside to the river bottom below and then I stumbled down the embankment wearing the Boy Scout pack. Uh...I "stumbled" down the embankment hard enough to pull a grommet out of the backpack frame harness. It didn't take but a half hour to fix it. I was thankful I saved some bailing wire off that neato travois I built.


Now let me say that walking across a beaver dam with heavy bags of elk meat is bad. Floating heavy bags of elk meat across a beaver pond is slightly easier. And when lost in 10-foot tall willows don't take more than 20 steps before you drop a load, and expect to go back and find the last bag you left laying back there. Trust me.

It's daylight. I'm on the truck side of the river and I think I know where I'm at. It's less than 1/2 of a mile to the two-track road, straight up. I leap-frog the meat up the bank hauling the huge laundry bag first, one careful little step at a time. There's a bent quakie near the top and I struggle to find every inch of energy left in me to get to it. Finally, I steady the big ole laundry bag on that bent quakie tree trunk and then carefully take off my pack. I made it! Big bag in my arms with the backpack on, unreal!!!


After a little break I wedge the backpack frame into the dirt and then slide down the hill to the river bottom and grab the other bag. Man, walking up a steep bank with a heavy bag of wet meat is tough. It would be nice to have like 4 arms, 2 extra arms, with hands, for some trekking poles.

I have to get the last bag all the way to the top of the embankment because there's no place to set it. So I get up as far as that little quakie tree and can't go any further. I lean up against the tree and knock the big bag of meat loose. It went down the mountainside kinda funny, kind of a flop motion. It would roll almost one revolution, then hesitate, almost stop, like it was waiting for me to rush down there and grab it, only to flop over just as I would bend over to grab it. Spawn of the devil.

At this point I turned into a crazy man. I'd a give a $1000 (1986 dollars of course) for a slice of pizza and a smoke. It didn't take me long to finish the steep embankment out and continue up the hill through the trees to the truck. I loaded the meat up, dug a butt out of the ash tray and drove back to the camper.


Wow, it was getting late, again. It had warmed up considerably and the road was dry. I took off the tire chains, broke camp and high-tailed outta there. Uh...when I got stuck this time it didn't take too long to jack the rig up and put the chains on. I was getting pretty good at it actually. :grin:

That's about it. When I got home the wife was a mess. She had called the Lincoln County Sheriff's Department. They waited the mandatory "48 hours late" and then sent out a search party for me. I probably could have done a better job telling the wife exactly where I was going to hunt.

Weighed the bags of meat:
Daypack - 18 lbs heart/liver/tongue (plus 10lbs of hunting gear).
Sleeping bag stuff sack - 62 lbs
Backpack - 64 lbs
Laundry bag - 111 lbs


The meat was tough and gamey, the worst elk I ever ate.

I never found my old knife.


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## BPturkeys (Sep 13, 2007)

Oh yeah, the dumb sh*t we do when we're young. I am guessing you just figured out how to use the timer setting on that new camera?


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## 2full (Apr 8, 2010)

That is why I never shoot the biggest cow.......:mrgreen:
That and I am usually by myself.


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## Airborne (May 29, 2009)

A Heck of a story Goob! Thanks for posting it--really enjoyed it! There has been many a time I have wondered why I hunt, seems to happen more often when I am alone and dealing with stupid horses that got into another trail train wreck, who needs tattoos when when scars make better stories!


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## nocturnalenemy (Jun 26, 2011)

This is my favorite story.


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## DallanC (Jan 13, 2009)

Great story, reminds me of the great Patrick F. McManus who wrote great stories on the back page of the older Outdoor Lifes.

PS: Only hunt uphill from the truck.

-DallanC


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## neverdrawn (Jan 3, 2009)

If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times. Hunting is awesome! Killing and retrieving the animal nearly ruins it.

Great story. It reminds me of so many excursions I have been on. Wondering the whole time what is wrong with my head, then getting home and smiling to myself about how much fun it was.


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## wyogoob (Sep 7, 2007)

neverdrawn said:


> ......................................................................Wondering the whole time what is wrong with my head, then getting home and smiling to myself about how much fun it was.


thanks

I don't know about the "...then getting home and smiling to myself..." part. When I got home I had to deal with a mad boss, an angry wife and 255lbs of dirty meat that was starting to sour.

Uh...we kinda forgot to call the Sheriff when I got home so Search and Rescue looked for me while I was back home. That whole thing could have went better. ouch
.


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## Packout (Nov 20, 2007)

That mesh bag full of dirty meat makes me chuckle. The things we did sure educated us for future events. Good story.


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## wyogoob (Sep 7, 2007)

*did it again, same place*



Packout said:


> That mesh bag full of dirty meat makes me chuckle. The things we did sure educated us for future events. Good story.


Packout, it's funny you say that. I was just thinking about some of the bad decisions I've made hunting, especially hunting alone.

I'm a slow learner. In 2011 I told the wife I was going up to the "same ole place on the Little Greys" to hunt elk. I ended up on the Hams Fork, same place as in this story, 100 miles from where I told the wife I was going. My mother passed away while I was driving up to hunt and naturally, for western Wyoming anyway, there was no cell phone coverage. Family members were all over western Wyoming trying to find me. They put off mom's funeral arrangements for 3 days until my son-in-law finally found me.

It's quite a story in it's own right. I was cold-camping out of a backpack; no camp, no tent, sleeping on the ground where ever I ended up at the end of the day. My SIL found me in a part of the Hams Fork he'd never been in before. amazing

.


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## wyogoob (Sep 7, 2007)

The old cow was the 2nd biggest elk I ever killed.

Her molars were worn to the gum line in places. One of the canines had a cavity in it.


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## AF CYN (Mar 19, 2009)

This story pains me because I've experienced many of these horrors (though never all in the same day). Your story truly ecompasses all of the worst elements of hunting--feeling rushed, getting lost, hiking in deadfall, hiking in the dark, getting stuck, packing out an elk. I seriously wonder why we think it's fun. :neutral:


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## wyogoob (Sep 7, 2007)

AF CYN said:


> This story pains me because I've experienced many of these horrors (though never all in the same day). Your story truly ecompasses all of the worst elements of hunting--feeling rushed, getting lost, hiking in deadfall, hiking in the dark, getting stuck, packing out an elk. I seriously wonder why we think it's fun. :neutral:


yeah

Hey, the weather was great for me!

.


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## trackerputnam (Dec 21, 2014)

Would that have been where the Petersons had their outfitters camp?

Grandfather left a knife on a big boulder above the Alpine feed area after shooting a cow. Went back after the snow was gone in the spring and found it! A beautiful custom buck knife from their first year in business. I inherited that knife and knew the story and rock where he left it. Some lowlife appropriated it from my truck over ten years ago. I still stop at pawn shops looking for it now and again. Thank you for the story!


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## wyogoob (Sep 7, 2007)

trackerputnam said:


> Would that have been where the Petersons had their outfitters camp?
> 
> Grandfather left a knife on a big boulder above the Alpine feed area after shooting a cow. Went back after the snow was gone in the spring and found it! A beautiful custom buck knife from their first year in business. I inherited that knife and knew the story and rock where he left it. Some lowlife appropriated it from my truck over ten years ago. I still stop at pawn shops looking for it now and again. Thank you for the story!


We get too close to our knives. :|

I don't remember who the outfitters were. Whoever they were they moved over to Lake Alice.

.


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## 3arabians (Dec 9, 2014)

wyogoob said:


> We get too close to our knives. :|
> 
> I don't remember who the outfitters were. Whoever they were they moved over to Lake Alice.
> 
> .


This is true! I have a Schrade I bought at Wal-Mart back when I was 16. God I love that knife! I have carried my beloved knife with me on every hunt since. I rarely use it anymore but it must be with me on every hunt. I keep it in the side door compartment of my truck so I always have it if I need it even though I have 15 other knives that are way better.

Man, I love that knife......

Sent from my SAMSUNG-SM-G891A using Tapatalk


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## 2full (Apr 8, 2010)

WyoGoob:
I had a boss years ago that used to get mad at me as well. 
He actually worked under me when he was younger. I promoted him and got him going in the biz. 
He ended up being my district manager. Later he became a V.P. in Houston. 
He actually took my place when I stepped out of the corporate management training program. 
I did not want to be moving my family around when the kids were young. My dad did that to us. 
While he was my D.M. we were chasing cats a lot. 
I told him that when we got a fresh snow, I would not be in my store if conditions were right. 
He used to get a bit upset, but never got too mad.......just wanted to see the pictures. 
We killed some good cats and had a lot of fun.


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## trackerputnam (Dec 21, 2014)

Three Arabians mentioned his Schrade knife. That got me thinking about a Schrade my farther gave me way too many years ago than I would like to think about. It has been on every hunt since. Big Game or birds. Sometimes when a hatchet or saw has not been available, that Schrade and a good rock have worked well for busting through a rib cage or other bony obstacle. Its worn down quite a bit, which you can see in the picture where it is next to a couple of bucks.

This group of knives is what I took pig hunting in Texas. I hate to sharpen while processing game. The orange old timers you see there are cheap little knives but after some work on the stone they make great little skinners. You can see a white handled Cutco knife there. A friend sent it to me. Ten minutes after it arrived I had the serrated edge ground off and was working on the edge in the kitchen. Oops! That's an expensive knife. I still like it better with the serration gone. You can see a couple of pink handled knives. That's just a small portion of my daughters knives. I venture to say she is one of very few 16 year olds in her school with as many knives as she has.

You just can't have enough knives, and loosing one is like loosing a family member.


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