We Be Elk Hunters
(but not elk shooters)
David's Story 2006:
The Sunrise Silhouette
First posted October 31, 2006
Last updated November 7, 2006
Preamble
This was the first year that I really did any preparation other than the night before leaving. I bought equipment from Cabela's (Leica rangefinder, heavy wool windproof pants, two belts, orange hunting vest, non-insulated boots, sleeping cot plus cot accessories), plus I bought and modified a frame backpack for hauling elk meat, other wool pants, and such. I also read two books on elk, Olaf Murrie's Elk and another, plus I joined the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation and have been reading their magazine. I read a book about mule deer hunting. I also put in real time practicing shooting, both bench and field positions, and read up on bullet design. I worked harder than ever to be ready.
Day One: Oct 9
Up at 4:30 am, fly off to Denver. Sandy met me as I got off the plane at 11:10 am, together we went over to the Dollar Rent a Car at 12:00. Craig had warned me to get chains, but not only do they not have chains for rent, they prohibit their use on their cars. I asked how anyone can get anywhere in the snow to ski, etc, without chains, and I could have been speaking in Serbo-Croatian for all the good it did: no chains on their cars. We load up (Sandy has almost nothing, as Craig has it all in the truck. More on this later...) and leave Dollar at 12:30 on the nose.
We take the Tollroad (E470) and pay two $2 fees, then hit I25 to Cheyenne. We stop for subs then eat driving. We see antelope and Sandy starts to get excited. The weather is clear and sunny, but becomes cloudy as we rise up to Cheyenne. After we turn west on I80 it turns darker. We buy our Conservation Stamps in Laramie and drop by an auto parts place and plunk down $80 for chains. After we leave Laramie, it turns to snow, which was thick in just a few miles.
About 10 miles out of Laramie, with 84 miles left to go to Rawlins, I see a car pulled over to the side of the road. I start to pull over to see if they need help, and notice a man walking back to the car. It is an old gent. I roll down the window (it is too cold and windy and snowy to get out) and offer him a ride. He accepts, and says he wants to get some stuff out of his car. I roll up the window and wait in the warm car, not eager to share the storm with the stranger. He does not return, and after a while I get out to see what is going on. He tells me he is so cold that his fingers won't work. Turns out he is 82 and had been sitting in the car for about 30 minutes. No one stopped to help, so he figured he ought to walk to the next town. Some insight into his level of thinking might be gained by remembering we are 84 miles from Rawlins, the next town, and it is snowing like no tomorrow. I see that he only has two boxes in the car, tell him to get what he needs, and then (with a lucky bit of insight) suggest that he also get any medicines that he might need. We gather up one box and a plastic bag of meds and head back to Sandy and the warmth of the car.
His name is Harry Thornbury but goes by the name of Red. His wife died 7 years ago and "I feel a little lost without her." (A little lost? Like "hiking 84 miles in a snowstorm" lost?) He has no kids and is moving from Wisconsin to Reno, where he used to live. He is planning on staying temporarily with his niece, Tina. I asked him when he last talked to her: "About a year ago."
"Does she know you are coming?"
"No."
"Anyone know you are on the road?"
"No."
Hmmm. We turn the heater up full blast and Sandy feeds him some of her home-made, Bill's-birthday cookies. He is quite appreciative. We stop at the next filling station to see about towing his car, Red can't get it together to ask so I speak for him. They don't tow. We asked again just a bit down the road, same answer: no towing until you hit Rawlins. The agent makes the suggestion that we should phone the Highway Patrol and let them know about the car, so it won't get towed. Good idea. Red cannot think clearly enough to do this, so I call them. We give up finding a nearby tow and drive to Rawlins. We get to know Red better. He has worked his whole life as a laborer, used to have a private flying license, knows a lot about experimental planes. But in the present tense, he is just stuggling keeping things together. He has $21 in his pocket, all his life's belongings are in the two boxes in his car, and no one knows he is on the road, driving across the country in an old beater car in a snowstorm.
We pull into Rawlins at 5:30 pm, 250 miles out of Denver, to falling snow and failing light. Craig calls and tells us it is snowing at Camp and to spend the night in Rawlins, with plans to drive out the next day if the weather and roads improve. We go to Rip Griffin's (now Travel America) and check in at the hotel. Not. The roughnecks from the oil and gas boom have taken up all the rooms and they were full. (For future reference: reservations are America's Best Value, 888-315-2378.) With night and snow falling, we (plus Red) were in trouble! Sandy asked them to call around, she found a place that had room, and made reservations. She came out to the car and told me that she had a place, and to go to the next exit (215) on the freeway. So we drove off in the snowstorm and got off at 215.
"OK, Sandy, which hotel?" There were several at that exit.
"Oh, you know, I forgot to write it down. I don't know which one!" (Snow falling harder now, getting hard to see the road. Dramatic music offstage, lights dim. Audience starts to get restless.)
We just head to the first one, stand in line at the desk behind a bunch of roughnecks from the oil fields. When we get to the front of the line, there are even more men in line behind us. It is pitch black outside, the wind is howling and the snow falling. Sandy asks if they have reservations for us. They don't, but they do have room, so we just say "We'll take them!" and the heck with the price. It is a bit seedy, but any port in a storm. She gets one room, Red and I get another (I decide that Red and I can "split it one way": he has no money). We hustle some of our stuff through the storm into our rooms. I hold Red's elbow so that he won't fall. I suggest to Red that he can use the restroom first, and he says, "I got to warn you. I don't wear any underwear." Turns out underwear chaffes him. I tell him I don't mind, and he goes into the bathroom. He urinates and it stinks like heck. I can tell he is dehydrated (by the concentration of his urine) and then some.
"Red, you been drinking enough water?"
"No, I am not very thirsty." (He is on medication that dehydrates him, as well as older people sometimes loose part of their thirst sensation; cold weather also supresses thirst: bad combination.)
"Red, you been eating OK?" I wonder about this, due to the lack of funds, age, etc.
"Yeah, I been eating."
"What?"
"Oh, I had a twinkie. Today or yesterday, I forget. You know, I's not very hungry."
"Red, you should be drinking more water."
"Yeah, and maybe I should get this urinary tract infection taken care of, what do you think? Maybe when I get to Reno, I can go the the VA."
I check his meds. Most of them are cardiac meds, to be taken twice a day.
"Red, when do you take your medicine?"
"Every morning." (So he is skipping every other dose!)
Great: an 82 year old, lost in the wide world, not eating and dehydrated, with a urinary tract infection and taking all his cardiac meds wrong, staying with me for the night. However, we like Red and I actually enjoy helping him. And help he needs.
All of my cold weather gear is with Bill. Red offers me the use of his second jacket, but it is a bit shabby. So I mooch a jacket from the lost and found at the hotel, which is in better condition. We head off for dinner after stashing our gear.
We drive to a restaurant, snow increasing. Red says he is not hungry. I look over the menu, find some soup listed, and suggest some chicken soup. Jewish penicillin. Red says he might be able to eat that, so I order it for him and Sandy and I order dinner. She chooses a steak (turns out to be shoe leather soaked in gravy) and I get chicken strips. Red digs in with gusto. I can tell he is feeling better after a bit. We talk, get to know Red better. He is a real nice guy, just lost in the world with no family.
"You know, if you guys had not picked me up, I might have died out there. I was so cold I wasn't able to move. "
Yup, he is beginning to understand.
After dinner, I use the restaurant phone and yellowpages and start calling tow companies. Red can't figure out how to even start to solve the problem. I get the first guy on the phone.
"Broke down? Where is it?"
"On I80, 84 miles east of town."
"No, I don't go that far. Not in a storm. Nah. Anyway, what kind of car is it?"
I ask Red, tell the man. "Are you kidding? That car ain't worth fixin'. Just abandon it. I wouldn't bother towing it; heck, I would not even take it for free. Abandon it. Good luck, buddy." (click)
Great: an 82 year old, lost in the wide world, not eating and dehydrated, with a urinary tract infection and taking all his cardiac meds wrong, staying with me for the night and maybe longer since he now has no car, no money, his things are 84 miles out of my way, and no way to get to Reno. The snow and plot thickens. I call the Highway Patrol, ask them how we can legally abandon his car. Do nothing, they will tow it away in two days. If we change our minds, we need to get to it tomorrow. I describe the situation (old man, no funds, no car, no way to get home) and ask what help they can offer. The dispatcher is really kind, but they don't handle that. She suggests I speak to the local police. The Rawlins police dispatcher was also very kind, but stated that they do not have any funds for this kind of thing, but could put him in touch with some of the local churches. They might be able to help generate bus fare. Nothing to do at this time of night, so I shelve it. Call the Highway Patrol, to tell them to just tow it, we are not going to try to fix it. Discussed it a bit, wondered how we could get the rest of Red's things, now that he is not going back to the car. She offered to tow it tomorrow, to Rawlins, that way he could pick his stuff up in Rawlins. Nice lady, great suggestion, I accepted her offer.
We finish dinner, head out to Tom's to see the horns. We will put off grocery shopping til the next day. Snowing like crazy, hard to see the edge of the road, cannot see the dividing line or the side line. Miss the turn off due to snow and limited visibility, just never saw the turnoff. Sandy suggests that we skip Tom's due to the snow: this is no weather to be wandering around in unless you need to. I see the wisdom and we head back to our hotel, and turn in. Remember, all of Sandy's things are with Craig at camp, so she is flying bare bones. We rush into the hotel, trying to avoid the snow. I am holding Red's arm, both to guide him and to be sure he does not fall.
Pillow talk with Red:
"Red, how much money you got?"
"Don't know. Here is all I have. Count it for me." $21, wadded up, half of it in singles.
"Red, how are you going to pay for an apartment in Reno?"
"I get some money each month from the VA and Social Security."
"When do you get paid?"
"The third of each month" (this is the 9th.)
"How much you got in the bank?"
"Oh, I don't know. I think I am about out." (remember, this is the 9th. Not very savvy with saving.)
"Don't you know your balance?"
"No."
"When did you get money out last?"
"Oh, last week."
"Got the receipt? It should have your balance on it."
"Yes."
"Well, where is it?"
"In my pocket."
"Well, get it out. Maybe you don't need the help of the churches and you can just pay for a bus ticket to Reno yourself." He pulls it out, I read it: $401. Rich enough to get to Reno on Greyhound. Things are looking up. We turn in.
And so ends Day One, with drama and intrigue, and we haven't gotten into Hunting Camp yet!!!