The Winner – 1991
“Toughest Hunt of My Life”
By Royce Carville
Paonia, Colorado

What a beautiful Fall day! My best friend and hunting partner, Mike Chapman, and I were unloading my horses below Bald Mountain Reservoir. We were in our shirt sleeves as we dusted the 1/4-inch of dirt off the horses’ backs from the trailer ride up. I remember thinking, “I sure hope the weather changes or the game won’t be moving much.” As we loaded the gear on Blue and Peaches I thought, “Why am I hauling these snow pacs and snowsuit? I’ll just leave them in the truck – Naw, I better take them.” (I guess the Boy Scout motto had been firmly embedded in my brain.)

Our adventure had started three weeks earlier as we had camped and scouted the area around the headwaters of Soap Creek in the West Elk Wilderness. We had selected both a high and low camp (depending on the weather) for our ten day pack-in hunt. Obviously, we would hunt from the high camp at about 11,800 feet.

The first two days of the season were great. Mike and I both passed up smaller bulls waiting for some of the trophy size we had seen in our early scouting. On the third day it started snowing. That was great – I really loved tracking elk in fresh snow. It was about one hour after dark when I returned to camp. I had taken the horses down to the low camp to bring hay to the upper camp, and hadn’t seen Mike since we left camp before daybreak that morning. The game was really moving, lots of animals and tracks – all going downhill. I guess I recognized the early warning signs – the clouds, the feel of the air – but I was just too excited about tracking elk in the snow the next morning. I remember thinking it odd when I saw a mama bear and her two cubs headed down a high mountain trail, all three carrying suitcases. Something big was about to happen!
Mike was obviously concerned when I finally reached camp. He had spoken with some other hunters earlier that day. They were packing up and moving out and recommended that we do the same. They said a massive snow storm was bearing down fast. I assured Mike we were well prepared for a Fall snow storm, but we did discuss packing up and trying to make our way out during the night. We decided against it. We’d weather the storm. We fed our horses, retired to our 2-man dome, had a light supper, and crawled into our sleeping bags. I know we both had that same uneasy feeling, but we didn’t talk about it anymore.

I knew we were in big trouble when I zipped the tent fly down in the morning and the snow was over the top of the tent exit. I pulled on my boots and snow gear, pushed through the tent opening and was greeted with a beautiful but eerie sight. The early morning light and the heavy falling snow gave a ghostly appearance to the landscape, and alongside, a feeling of impending doom. The snow was up to the top of my legs and appeared to be falling in an endless white sheet. Mike and I quickly downed breakfast and hastily – much too hastily – broke camp and loaded the panniers of the horses. Neither one of us said it – but we both knew our plight – we were six miles from our truck and if the snow continued at this rate – what if?

Blue was carrying the heaviest pack, and because everything was so cold and stiff, we didn’t get a good cinch on him. Wading through almost waist deep snow, we hit our first obstacle only 200 feet from camp. Blue floundered in the creek bottom (which had drifted to chest-high snow) and proceeded to unload the pack saddle and panniers. Forty-five minutes later, we were repacked and took off again. Great pace! We figured at this rate we would cover six miles in less than thirty days! Visibility was about 100 ft. and I’d estimate the temperature at about 0 degrees; the wind was swirling at about 20 m.p.h. Four hours later, we were at the confluence of East Creek and Curecanti Creek. Here we made a big decision: we either had to go to our rig which was parked below Bald Mountain Reservoir (to get there we had to go up from this point- a major climb even with no snow on the ground) or go down Curecanti Creek and take our chances of finding someone to take us back up when the storm broke. We decided to go up the mountain to the certainty of our vehicles. We hoped maybe we could make it by dark.

To this point, we had plowed mostly downhill. We were dressed sufficiently – and the cold wasn’t a major factor. While we stopped to make our directional decision, I broke through to the creek and drank a lot of icy water. I was about to learn a very valuable lesson about hypothermia.

Within minutes of drinking the icy water, I had a severe case of the shakes. The combination of the icy water, the inactivity and consequent cooling down of the rest period and my dropping my pants to answer the call of nature had plunged my body temperature to the point where I couldn’t even call out to Mike. I knew I was in serious trouble and was about to pass out. Quickly untying Blue, I floundered uphill in the direction of the trail to Baldy. I knew if I stopped I would never get going again. I will never forget the feeling of struggling up that hill, still violently shaking, slipping and falling in the 3-foot deep snow, but knowing if I stopped it would be all over. Mike wasn’t sure what was happening but I think he sensed my predicament by my actions. It was fully thirty minutes later before I was once again able to speak plainly enough for Mike to understand me. Hypothermia become an ever present threat the rest of the journey.

We trudged up the mountainside not sure exactly where the trail was, exchanging places periodically to break through the waist deep snow. By about 4:00 p.m. we could no longer break the trail by walking. I told Mike I had seen a movie where the Indians tail walked their horses and used them to break the trail. Evidently neither Blue nor Peaches had seen the movie because we tried both horses and neither would move, no matter how hard we yelled and prodded them. It may sound funny, but we were very dejected when this plan didn’t work. We had over 2-1/2 miles of uphill to our vehicles and our only choice was to start digging a trail as we walked. The snow was so powdery that we were walking on the ground instead of atop the snow. Our lifesavers turned out to be two Rubbermaid pans we used for feed buckets. I seriously don’t think we could have made it without these pans. It was throw three pans of snow, take a step, throw three pans, take a step, and on and on. It was hard to imagine ever making it back! The snow had never let up; visibility was forty feet with the wind at 25 to 30 miles per hour. I was worried and scared as I’m sure Mike was, but we didn’t discuss it. I wasn’t sure how we would make it back. And then things got worse.

We reached the creek that drains the northeast side of Bald Mountain. I knew we would have a problem, but didn’t expect what did happen. It was just getting dark at this point. Where the trail crossed the creek was the only feasible place to cross. Above and below the trail were large boulders and dropoffs. I had a terrible time getting Blue into the creek – he must have sensed we weren’t on the trail. About halfway across, I slipped on a boulder and fell in over my head in the snow. Blue floundered and suddenly was on top of me. I had crossed above the trail and I had fallen into a drifted pool of snow. I literally swam out from under Blue, while he was kicking and struggling to get out. The panniers were like pontoons on a boat and kept him from getting his feet on the ground. He kicked and struggled for about three or four minutes while I lay half-buried in the snow a few feet away.

I hollered at Mike to stay back so that we both wouldn’t get trapped. I somehow managed to get up on Blue’s back and release the panniers. Blue was able then to go down about 15 feet to the trail. I recall being extremely numb and exhausted, but I kept thinking, “I’m not going to die in the creek!” We then had about a 10-foot embankment to climb out. I broke the trail, but Blue couldn’t get out. We tried several times, but it just got more icy and slippery. I finally had to get on my hands and knees and dig steps in the embankment with my hunting knife. I finally got Blue up and Mike got Peaches up without a lot of trouble. We then had to go back and retrieve the panniers buried in the snow and pull them up the embankment. Finally, with everything on the other side, it was 9:30 p.m. It had taken over two hours to cross that 30-foot wide creek.

Ever try to pitch a little backpack tent in 40 inches of powdery snow? We tromped down the snow under a couple of small spruce trees and kind of tied the tent up. We decided to leave the saddles on the horses, and fed them the last of the grain. I had a couple of foil survival blankets that we tied over their heads and necks. They were truly exhausted and Blue was obviously sick from something. We later found out from other hunters on Baldy that the temperatures dropped to 10 degrees below zero without the wind chill factor that night.
I’ll never forget the night in that little tent. The wind howling and huge flakes of snow were still falling. I don’t recall sleeping, but I do remember a lot of praying and thoughts of hanging on a rope as a helicopter hauled us out. Mike and I had to constantly bang the top of the tent to keep the snow from caving in on us. It was extremely cold but other thoughts kept my mind off that misery. We both agreed we had to get an early start and make it out tomorrow. We had considered staying put and waiting out the storm. But what if it didn’t stop snowing? Would our tombstones read, “Buried in 20 feet of snow in the great storm of ‘80?”

We were scared and exhausted when we broke out of our icy tent at 5:00 a.m. I stepped away from the tent toward the trail. My God, the snow was up to my shoulders! It was impossible to walk anywhere without the diggers – those Rubbermaid pans – to break the trail. The horses were a pitiful sight. They had shaken off the blankets and their heads and necks were covered with long icicles. About one hour later, we were packed and on the trail. We were about 1-1/4 miles from our truck and we were determined to make it out today. Little did we know it would prove to be twenty-one hours of digging, crawling, falling – twenty-one hours filled with misery and despair to traverse that 1- 1/4 miles.

The trail up Baldy is a series of switchbacks; a difficult trail even in dry weather. West of the trail is a rock wall that is impossible to climb; to the east a dense spruce stand with lots of deadfalls. Taking turns digging, we went about 100 yards and realized we were no longer on the trail. No backtracking here; we had to go forward and up. I think it would be hard for most people to imagine this combination of howling winds, 30 to 40 foot visibility, and heavy snow falling, while you’re standing in a snow trench over your head at times with a dishpan in your hand digging and throwing snow each time you take a step – all the while knowing you are actually lost except that you have to go “up.”

Blue was getting worse. He was stumbling and had fallen a couple of times in the trench. He was costing us a lot of time as we had to constantly prod him along. Also he was dangerous as it was hard to get out of his way when he staggered and fell. I knew what was coming, but didn’t want to think about it. Finally, in a particularly steep place, Blue slipped and reared and went over backward in the trench, and narrowly missed crushing Mike. Blue laid on his side in the snow, seemingly unwilling to go on. When we finally got him up, we saw he had a large limb stuck into his belly below his ribs. Blue was the first horse I had ever owned; he was a good strong horse, standing over 16 hands high. Mike and I quietly unloaded his panniers, took the minimum we felt necessary to survive and put it on Peach’s pack. We cut another trench and got Peaches around Blue. Mike forged ahead, digging out the trail. I’ll never forget the crack of the rifle and how quickly it faded. I saw Blue’s legs buckle. I never looked back, but I heard the soft thud. Blue’s troubles had ended. As I trudged up the trench, I wept out loud. Usually able to control my emotions, I was totally overcome by the events and our plight. From here on out it was strictly survival – whatever the cost, whatever the hardship.

We dug and clawed at that mountainside for the next ten hours. We constantly had to change our course to go around cliff rock or deadfalls that Peaches couldn’t go under or over. Mike and I were both totally exhausted; we continually alternated digging and breaking snow. I’m not sure which was worse: the exhaustion of digging and throwing snow or the standing helpless in the subzero temperature of the trench wondering if we were still headed in the right direction. Mike and I had been on a lot of tough hunts together. I think we gave each other strength; we didn’t talk a lot but seemed to know what each other needed. Mike never complained and we shared the digging workload evenly. I was lucky to have such a partner. We ate very little and sucked on snow for moisture. Our desire to eat was overpowered by our desire to survive as our bodies were driven forward.

Just before dark we reached a ridge that we recognized to be the one leading down to Curecanti Creek. We had missed our mark by about 1/4 mile, but at least we knew where we were. The last 300 yards had been the worst. The snow had drifted below the ridge and at times we were digging in a trench that was 18 to 20 inches over our heads. We dug our way up the ridge until we were above the reservoir. From this point on, we literally fell and rolled down the mountain – many times being completely engulfed in the snow. We were headed down – down to the safety of my Blazer. We reached the reservoir about 11:30 p.m. – yes, we would, indeed, make it. But fate had a couple more surprises in store for us.

While we were discussing our good fortune, Peaches had turned in the trench and was heading back – surely to get Blue. She had a 20 yard head start, and she had our sleeping bags and all our food! We could just see her dark rump; she was walking steadily .We both took off; trudging, falling, and totally exhausted, we were no match for her long legs. How Mike caught up to her, I don’t know. I was about 15 feet behind and I couldn’t go on. I saw Mike lunge and grab her tail. She dragged him a short ways and then stopped. It took us both a full 20 minutes to recover.

Two hours later we had covered the distance to the truck; it was 1:30 a.m. It was hard to believe we had been climbing and digging for over twenty-one hours without ever stopping (time sure flies when you’re trying to keep from dying). What a beautiful sight, even though we could only see a portion of the windows! The shape made us cry for joy! My mind flashed back to the dusty horses and my decision to pack my snow gear. One more problem: the door key for the truck was with the pack and gear we left with Blue. No! I wasn’t going back for it! I had an ignition key in the truck, but I didn’t want to break a window and ruin our shelter as we didn’t know how much longer this storm would last. One hour later, with the help of some wire I found after digging out the horse trailer, we were inside the Blazer! Wow, was it great! Thirty minutes later, after finally cutting the laces to get out of our frozen boots we were in our sleeping bags. Again, I prayed a lot.

The storm broke about noon the following day. The hunters who had warned Mike three days earlier thought we would be stranded and sent help. What a beautiful sight to see: Lilborn Ferrier with his tractor and bucket digging his way up to us. We finally got our truck and trailer down to Highway 92 that evening.

Toughest hunt I’ll ever have? Boy, I sure hope so!