I got a new prosthetic leg in the fall of 2000. It has a pneumatic knee and a Flex foot brand foot. The foot is great because it allows for some lateral movement, which is good for off path adventures. With the old foot I took most of the pressure on the top of my socket, at the hips. The leg has seen me through antelope, deer and elk hunts as well as my everyday activities for three years. It is been comfortable and most reliable.
The elk hunt of 2003 found us in Steamboat on the same private property we hunted on last year. This year we cashed in our elk preference points to draw either sex tags during the first rifle season, which is elk only. It just may be the best chance we had for a nice bull.
The first two days of the hunt found the weather to be just too nice for elk hunting. We saw a few cows and heard some bugling from some elusive bulls. Don took a cow on Saturday morning. On Sunday evening a cold front moved in and left a dusting of snow, which turned to rain before we got to the property. The rain stopped as we hiked to our positions. The plan was that we were going to catch the sleepy elk off guard. Denny and Scott were going to head up to some high points on the north and south sides above the valley where they had been bedding down at night. I was going to enter the valley at a low point and work my way west to see if I could stir something up. Don was going to enjoy a nice walk up the road to the top since his hunt was done.
I found my way to the fallen tree stand, which is at the bottom of two interesting drainages. I began a slow and methodical hike toward the west on a well-traveled game trail. It was a rather easy hike once I got up the first steep hill to get to the game trail. I moved slowly, stopping every few steps to look and listen.
There was a jumbled mess of deadfall lining the floor of the bowl like a carpet. It was easy for the elk to maneuver around, but it presented a challenge, as I had to walk around the fallen trees or carefully step over them as quietly as possible. The one thing that sticks out about this particular draw is the unmistakable lusky odor of bull elk that greets me as I first step into the eastern edge of the bowl. The stench grows even thicker as I carefully move to the west. I notice that the aspen trees are also getting larger too.
The ground begins to show sign of very recent elk activity. There is fresh scant and even some places where the urine is so fresh that it is still steaming. I could see fresh trails through the two-foot tall weeds that lined the side of the north wall of the bowl. They were headed toward an area where they would meet up with Scott.
I was almost to Tom's Couch when I spotted a cow and quickly put it in my cross hairs and squeezed off a round. I heard the tell tale thud of the 180 grain bullet hitting her and she took off and I lost sight of her through the large stand of aspen a hundred yards away.
After I caught my breadth and my heart slowed down I started toward her. Small aspen trees lined the well-worn game trail leading into the large bowl surrounded by nice ridge along three sides. I used the trunks of small aspen trees for support as I headed into the bedding place of the wapiti.
As I slowly walked toward the cow the all too quiet morning was shattered by a loud snap. It sounded like a dry inch and a half branch snapping in two. I remember thinking that I had not stepped on a branch as I grasped the aspen trunk I was using for support. I found myself on the ground feeling quite curious, as I was puzzled as to why I was there. I don't remember slipping and my footing seemed to be firm on the game trail I was on.
I turned around and sat up and found the cause of my fall. I picked up my left leg and the bottom of it, from the knee down was just dangling there. I distinctly recall thinking, “This does not look good.”
I pulled up the pant leg of my camouflaged trousers and the bottom of my prosthetic leg fell out and onto the wet blanket of colorful aspen leaves. I just looked at it in disbelief. There was the bottom of my leg with my Herman Survivor hunting boot tightly laced around it. This was going to change my plans for the day, maybe the whole hunt. My thoughts were of my nice camo painted crutches leaning against the wall inside the cabin back in town.
I reached inside my pocket and withdrew my radio to inform the guys that my hunt was over for the morning, at least until I retrieved my crutches. I called and got Scott on the other end and informed him that I had broken my leg. He asked which one and I replied that I was not in pain. He then asked if there was anything he could do and I told him to keep on hunting and I would find my way back down the mountain. I told him the elk were headed his way and I had one down.
It was a good mile back to the truck and a good resting place would be the fallen tree stand. If I could make it there it would be a short journey to the logging road where I could be retrieved via the ATV.
I took my leg and strapped it to my fanny pack. Then I put my head and left shoulder through the sling of my Savage 30-06. I then looked at my trusty walking stick that was not going to do me any good at the moment. I grabbed the stick and threw it down the path in front of me and began my descent.
It was a long scoot down the mountain on my behind. It is thoroughly amazing how the forest looks so much different from two feet above the ground as opposed to my normal five-foot eight. It was a long, tiring trip. Every time I caught up to my walking stick I flung it ahead once again. It had the same mindset as the game of golf.
Every once in a while I would rest and during one of these moments a shot rang out from the rim above me. Scott had bagged a cow elk. Now there were two to pack out. As I scooted along the floor of the woods, leaving a track resembling a giant snail, the thought came to me that I probably was giving off the vibes of a wounded animal and I would look like prey to the resident bears and mountain lions. A discerning thought indeed. The rest of the trip was spent with one eye on the path ahead and one eye ratcheting around looking for predators.
When Don got there we radioed to Denny and Scott that we were going back into town so that I could change and grab my crutches. We threw a tarp over Don's seat and left. When we returned we found out that Denny had shot another elk right after we left. That meant three elk that had to be carried out and brought to the trailer. Denny and Scott were the designated packers for the day.
We got the three cows down and into the trailer by using a relay method. Denny and Scott quartered them and brought them down to the road and I loaded them onto the ATV and drove them to the trailer. I parked the ATV as close to the trailer as I could and balanced on one leg and transferred the soon to be tasty morsels to the trailer.
It was indeed a long and physical day for all of us. Later on that evening I appeared in the main room of the cabin holding my formerly white underwear, now completely mud stained and announcing that I was going to have to go home and tell my wife that I had soiled my underwear.
I reached the steep drop just above the tree stand and could see that I could finally take a rest as soon as I slid down the embankment. I finally got to the fallen tree that once held the tree stand high above the intersecting trails and took stock of my situation. I called on the radio and Don answered. He was on the road a few hundred yards away. He walked in and eased my load by taking my leg and rifle out. He made the comment that the thought of packing my leg out had never entered into his mind as something he would be doing that day.
I made the arduous journey the rest of the way to the muddy road and took another rest and waited for Don to get the ATV from the base of the mountain. As I sat there I noticed that the camouflage pattern on my pants was gone. It had disappeared. My legs were now a solid mud soaked brown color.
