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Sometimes it’s not the Coffee – Sometimes it’s the Experience

We were sitting around the table in the kitchen tent talking about where and how we would be hunting after breakfast while George, our outfitter for this hunt, was making coffee. We were in a large canvas hunting tent about 14 foot wide and about 20 foot long. It had a little wood stove in one corner for heat and a larger, wood cooking stove in the corner of the other end. A long table with lots of chairs around it gave all of the hunters and guides a place to eat and talk about hunting. There was still plenty of room in the tent for washing dishes. There was also plenty of room in the tent for the three camp dogs to lick pots and pans and to lie around soaking up the heat from the wood stoves. The dogs weren’t just there for companionship; they were also there to keep the grizzly bears away.

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We were in Wyoming to hunt elk with our bows in some of the most beautiful and most remote country you could imagine. 15 miles from the road, this was our home for seven days. A long horseback ride in to our camp and several days of hunting in the Shoshone Wilderness Area was an incredible way to spend a week. The breathtaking views, comradery and the wild game viewing were just some of the things that made this an extraordinary hunting trip.

It was the morning of the first day’s hunt and we were all sitting around the table while George’s cook was whipping something up for breakfast and George was making coffee. He had an old, blue, enamel coffee pot sitting on the stove cooking water. This coffee pot must have been about three gallons! I don’t think I ever saw one this big before. I was standing with George discussing his coffee pot and his wood cook stove and wondering how he got this huge stove out into the wilderness. George was a big, ol’, 6’2’’ tall cowboy with a friendly demeanor who always seemed to have a smile on his face and kind word for everyone. I proceeded to watch George stand there with a two pound can of coffee under one arm, haphazardly tossing scoops of coffee into a three gallon pot of boiling water. I asked him how many scoops of coffee he put in that giant coffee pot. He said, “Well,  I just put a bunch in there until it looks right and it always seems to turn out good.”  Who was I to question George’s coffee making skills? He was previously an owner of a few restaurants.

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A hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs all washed down with several cups of George’s coffee spiked with a generous helping of sugar really hit the spot. I was all ready to head out on horseback on my first day of hunting an elk with my bow. The excitement was really building to go out after an elk as I thought about George’s coffee. Wow, he really did know how to make great coffee. I headed out of camp on my horse with my first Wyoming elk camp breakfast under my belt ready to take on the day.

I arrived back home in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania after my hunt and couldn’t stop thinking about the great trip I was on. There were many great times shared with old friends and stories told with new friends. Special memories were made that will last a lifetime.  There was also that mystically delicious coffee experience. I couldn’t get the thought of George’s terrific coffee out of my mind.

I wanted to buy my own enamel coffee pot and make my own cowboy coffee.  As luck would have it, I received one as a Christmas gift. I set it up without the percolator and proceeded to toss scoops of coffee into the boiling water until I thought it looked good. When it was all finished, I poured myself a cup of that sweet, black brew. I blew off some of the steam and took a nice sip. Yuck! It was terrible! It didn’t taste at all like George’s coffee! Maybe George’s coffee wasn’t quite as good as I remembered it had been.

Sometimes it’s not the coffee. Sometimes it’s the experience.

A Grizzly Encounter

My buddy stopped in at the shop one day with an interesting invitation. “Hey!” He said, “We’re going to Wyoming next Fall to hunt elk with our bows. You in?”

I hesitated for a minute and asked, “Are we going to stay at the lodge and hunt from horseback?”

He kind of chuckled and replied, “Nah, we’re riding in on horseback along the border of Yellowstone Park and staying in a tent. We’re going to be about 15 miles from the road. It’s grizzly country.”

He could already tell what my answer would be from the look on my face as I replied, “Heck yeah, count me in, that’s gonna be awesome!”

I began shooting my bow every day in preparation for the hunt, while I was working long hours at my business and trying to get all of my gear ready for the trip. I didn’t realize how fast the next several months had passed, and before I knew it, it was September 21st and I was standing on the top of a mountain holding my bow and listening to my guide calling for an elk.

My guide and I had just tied our horses near this old tree that looked like it had been struck by lightning. It was so big that you couldn’t wrap your arms around it. It was leaning over on a peculiar angle on the side of the hill where Mother Nature planted it , and the whole tree was supported by a piece of tree trunk that was only a few inches wide. It was hard to believe that it was still standing. It was an ugly looking tree for sure, but one that would become memorable for more than one reason.

It was starting to snow as my hunting guide and I made our way silently over to the edge of the mountain where he wanted to do some calling for me. The temperature was starting to drop and the wind was picking up. Justin said this was a good area to call from because he had some success at this spot before and saw a few big bull elk in the area. That sounded like a good plan to me.

I stood on the edge of the mountain and looked across the timber covered valley below at the other mountains in front of me and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was the most beautiful view that I’ve ever seen in my life. The mountains looked as though they rose all the way to the clouds. The sky was the brightest, most magnificent blue I could have imagined. The clouds were tremendous. They were the whitest of whites. They looked as though they were floating in the air just above my head and stretched across the sky forever. I almost felt like I could reach up and grab one of them.

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Justin said in a low voice, “It’s an amazing view isn’t it?”

I said, “It sure is. It’s the most incredible place on Earth!”

He pointed his finger off to the West, “See that mountain over there? That’s Yellowstone.”

I think my mouth was just hanging open in awe. I didn’t answer him.

“OK” Justin whispered, “Nock an arrow and get ready, I’m going to start bugling.”

I nocked a Beman ICS Hunter arrow onto my bow string and as I adjusted my grip on my bow, Justin blew into his elk call and the sound of a screaming bull elk sailed across the valley below us. We stood and listened and I doubt that more than five or ten seconds went by and suddenly we heard a big bull reply back to us. He was way down on the bottom of the other side of the valley. There’s nothing like the sound of a big, old bull elk bugling. The first time you hear it, the loud, eerie, high pitched, guttural scream will send a jolt of spine-tingling electricity through your body and the hair will stand up on the back of your neck. Justin called back and again the bull responded. It’s always exciting to hear one bugle back in response to a call.

We stood and listened for a few minutes, then, Justin made another series of calls. Seconds later, there was an elk bugling. This time it was off to our right, but still down in the bottom of the valley. It was another bull. Justin called again, but this time there was no response from either of the bulls. We waited 10 to 15 minutes to give the bulls time to build up some interest and to see if we could make them try to come find us.

The wind began to let up a bit as we stood and waited for a sign of a bull coming in to us. I looked over my bow again and made sure I was ready for a shot if an opportunity presented itself. My Alpine bow was ready and so was I. Justin was getting ready to start calling again when I noticed the wind had completely stopped and there was complete silence in the air. Not even the birds were singing. A strange feeling started to come over me.

Just as Justin was about to start calling, I heard a twig snap in the small thicket of trees about 30 yards behind us. Justin made some calls and after we waited for a brief moment, I whispered to him, “Justin, did you hear something in the brush behind us? I think something is there.”

Justin just shook his head no and motioned for me to stay ready. He proceeded to make a few very subtle calls, and again, I heard something behind me. He did too. We remained completely still and silent for several minutes, but it seemed like forever.

Justin’s voice broke the silence. “OK, let’s go. It’s getting late and those bulls are too far away to come in before dark. Make sure you stay ready as we work our way back to the horses. Let’s cut through that little thicket of trees.”

Our boots left tracks in the fresh snow as we crept silently toward the little thicket behind where we were calling. We entered through a narrow opening in the thick brush. I held my bow up shoulder high to keep the arrows in my quiver from getting caught up in the branches. We made our way about ten feet into the brush and found that it opened up into a small clearing approximately fifteen feet wide.

Justin stepped into the opening and knelt down as he pointed to something in the snow. I walked over to him and bent down to see what he was looking at. I think I gasped out loud as I saw what he was looking at! It was un-nerving to say the least. It appeared that there was good reason for that strange feeling I had earlier. Now I started to feel uneasy when I saw what was in the snow.

Fresh grizzly tracks painted the snow behind where we were hunting. It appeared that the big bear heard our elk calls and stalked in on us! He stopped about 30 yards behind where we hunted to check us out. The fear of knowing that a grizzly stalked you for the purpose of his next meal is like no other feeling. He walked off in a direction behind where we left our horses tied. Wyoming 2005 178

My heart was still beating at a rapid pace as I reached down and unsnapped the strap on my holster. My hand caressed the grip of my 44 magnum Smith and Wesson model 29 revolver as Justin and I made our way back to our horses. Darkness was approaching as we stowed my bow and saddled our horses. Thoughts of that grizzly weighed heavily on my mind as we headed toward the “old lightning bolt tree”. It was a complete surprise when I looked up past the big tree and there stood a beautiful Bighorn ram. He stood there in a graceful pose as if he purposely allowed me to get a good look and snap a few pictures. I was grateful for the opportunity of the sighting. How many times will someone living on the East Coast encounter that?

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I kept searching my surroundings for a glimpse of the bear. I looked behind each tree, each bush and every log, but as darkness set in, objects began to appear as bears in the shadows of my imagination. I could almost see the “griz” every place I looked. I was expecting the bear to attack at any moment. Our hour long wilderness ride through the darkness back to camp on our horses was an adventure I wasn’t looking forward to.

The cold steel of my 44 was of little comfort as I heard Justin say, “You ready? Let’s get going”.