Let Them Roam - A Bison Yarn

I finally settle in to sleep around 5am. The snow is blowing, but not much accumulation yet because of the wind, only 15mph currently. A solid 8 hours of sleep would be nice, but I am reluctantly brought to a groggy wakefulness by hunger, and my phone buzzing after a measly 3 hours. The truck is coated in snow and I can't see out the windows at all. I get a welfare check via text from the biologist who knew I had been pretty far back pretty late in the night, and a text from the game warden, who offers to help pack the bison. I politely decline, but that's a pretty nice offer considering the conditions! I text pictures to all sorts of folks and check weather forecasts, but I need some food, cereal sounds good. How much of this snow is going to end up on me when I open the door to get at the cooler just outside on the ground? I can't even tell what's going on outside. The wind is starting to blow harder, but it isn't clearing the truck.

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Opening the door, the snow is in a lull, but the wind makes it quite chilly. Today is about to be a zero day. Tomorrow will be better and I will get the bison back to the truck in a couple days.

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While I eat breakfast, I crank the truck and warm up. I dont bother with coffee because I plan on going back to sleep shortly. When things are nice and toasty, I turn off the truck and pull my sleeping bag over my head.

Several hours later, I jolt awake to the truck rocking vigorously, loud scraping noises are reverbrating through the cab! What the heck is going on? I'm confused and delirous. The windows have been blown clear I look around, in my sideview mirror are big black bodies standing right against my truck.

Angus.

A herd has taken shelter from the wind, which has picked up to 20-30mph, in the leeward side of my truck and are taking liberties using it as a scratching post. I open my door, and they startle. There are a handful of tiny calves, no more than the size of border collies, that must really be struggling in these conditions.

My truck is about as it was when I parked it the day before, no noticeable damage.

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They move off, and I get out to make coffee and a hot lunch on the sheltered side of the truck. The snow has stopped for the moment, almost for good the rest of this blizzard, and the clouds are parting here and there.

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Double burner gets coffee and dehy ready in a few minutes.

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I don't feel any urgency to get a load out today, so I goof off and get everything prepped for the following day.

The sun peeks out just a bit at the end of the day, but it's getting colder and the wind is picking up even more.

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My plan to ride out the weather to avoid the 100+ mile one way trip over rough roads to town or 40+ mile trip to my previous parking spot seems to be working well. It'll be clear and cold the next day and I'll get the bison out while staying warm in the truck at night. I enjoy a beer before I cinch my sleeping bag around my face for the night.

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I'm getting good sleep. The wind is rocking the truck like a cradle, and it's tough to wake up. When I do around 830, the truck cranks, turns over for about 10 seconds, and then sputters and dies. Then it sputters and dies after 3-4 seconds. Then it never turns over. I stop trying with no way to charge the battery.

Uh oh.

Lots of trouble shooting via text and it still doesn't run, so I get my milk from the cooler just outside the door, and it's milkshake honey nut cheerios day.

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I don't have a good plan for reviving the truck beyond letting it sit in the sun and warm up, so I write "TRUCK TROUBLE, PACKING BISON" into the dust on my truck tailgate in case someone drives by on a mid-season Monday, and get going on load #1. I try a lower route to the meat cache (not too bad as the worst canyons wash out into alluvial fans at that altitude), weigh everything, load up the head and a bunch of meat to make 80lbs net, toss the nearly frozen quarters and other remaining meat into a tree, and make my way carefully through the snow and rocks and timber back to the truck.

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On my return, The truck still doesn't start, despite trying quite a few different things, so I start thinking that I need to get the bison out, and then worry about recovering the truck and transporting it and myself back to my home. There's no time for a second load today, so I text the warden back about her packing offer, and eat dehy dinner while I watch the sunset. Appraising another stunning array of colors, I remind myself that these are superlative and not routine experiences.

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The warden texts back a couple hours later. She's game to pack, or to get me off the mountain tonight if I'm in trouble. I elect to stay at the truck, and she plans to meet me around 8am to get going. At this moment, I am really hoping she's 6 feet tall with tree trunks for legs, or is bringing 4 friends, but even just moral support and a lifeline should conditions deteriorate will be nice.This is about the best possible scenario under the circumstances, and I'm in a confident mood until I watch the ice crystals growing across my sun visor within a few minutes of my zipping up the sleeping bag. It's really cold, about 10 outside, and my water jug in the passenger floorboard seems vulnerable to freezing. I can't survive without water, so I take a rechargeable handwarmer, turn it to low, cram it underneath, and wrap a down jacket around the jug. I set my alarm for 630. I'm warm in my sleeping bag, so I sleep almost comfortably until light starts creeping over the horizon.
 
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Wow! About all I can say, what an adventure in beautiful country.

Truck seems a bit full to be able to cram a bunch of bison meat/skull/hide inside.
 
Impressive. Damn impressive. In so many ways.

Having helped a friend field process a cow bison and having help from friends on two bull bison of my own, you did amazing work, all on your own and without the benefit of daylight.

Your storytelling skills with words and images should give you an invitation with Outdoor Life.
Or to an episode of Hunt Talk Radio!
 
What did you get done with the hide/skull?
Hide is fleshed and salted. I'm waiting until I need to reward myself for a job well done to get it tanned. Skull is in my backyard in a black trashbag waiting for the horn sheaths to rot off before I make it into a euro mount.
Did the packer not work out for you?
He was "taking that season off" and convinced me that I could do it myself given the smaller size of the cows.
 
Incredible write up so far, complimented by photos that come awfully close to showing the spectacular beauty of that part of the world. I'm with @Hunting Wife - I leave HT for a few weeks and happen to come back as you're recapping such a special experience. It's these stories and the people who share them that make this all worth while.

Please continue..!
 
I'm not a morning person, but I appreciate the sunrises I am able to meet up with.

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It's about 5 degrees, and the wind is blowing enough to convince me to set up the table downwind of the truck. I'm in my big puffy jacket, my puffy pants, my ski balaclava, ski gloves, extra beanie, and I'm still a bit cold. As I pour water from my water jug into my two pots, ice crystals instantly form inside the pots. I boil an extra 2 quarts to return to the jug, in hopes that it will remain liquid. I stamp in circles around my kitchen, ready my pack for the day's journey, and get to eating my dehy and drinking some coffee while I wait.


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At 740, a big pickup crawls it's way down the snowy road and out hops the CO. I pull off my headgear and introduce myself. She isn't 6 feet tall, but she does have tree trunks for legs. I'll take it. We mess with the truck briefly, trying to charge the battery and a few more things that I was scared to do with my battery in jeopardy the day before, but nothing works. I hand over the GPS collar because I know I'll forget later. A stroke of luck, she knows a guy who does offroad recovery and texts him while we sling on empty packs and get walking. It isn't long before he gets back to her and is on his way with a few spare parts and way more knowledge. It takes us a couple hours on the low route, following my tracks from yesterday, but we arrive to the kill site. I had pulled teeth from the jawbone for aging the night of the kill, but took a picture of the remaining teeth today to prove her 4+ status. If you want to nerd out on molar style wear, let me know if you have a better estimate than my 7.5-9.5 years range.


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I'm contemplating what to ask the CO to carry. I ask if she wants a back leg, she says, "I'll carry whatever you want me to." Its a touch under half her body weight. I decide to overload a touch and put a little under half my body weight in my pack. We make our way back to the trucks without incident. Turns out she's a bit of a badass and never complains and is rarely more than a few strides behind me. I'm grateful for the legit help. At the trucks, we eat lunch in her truck. It's the first time I've ever been in a LEO's vehicle, and the most I've ever enjoyed just being warm again. The daylight math doesn't add up for another trip to the meat pile, unfortunately. The offroad recovery guy pulls up about 20 minutes later and we all try for about an hour and a half to get the truck running, to no avail. It's getting a bit late, and the ORR asks if we need to get packs and headlamps to get the last load out, and I have to make the call to say it's too far to get back in the daylight, and too dangerous to do in the dark. At this moment, I wasn't aware that the ORR had just been in this very area helping a relative get a cow, but they had gotten one within a mile of the road. I find that out on the ride out after making the decision to ask if either of them would ride me out to a motel, and the ORR said he could do that and get an offroad wrecker here later in the evening and would help me get everything out tomorrow. At the motel, I get him his own room and he meets a guy with a wrecker about an hour away and returns. I'm beginning to dread the cost of this whole experience, but if I can get home, with a bison, I'll call it good.
I make some more calls, trying to find a way to get the truck home since it seems to be dead. No Uhaul within 250 miles has a flatbed trailer and a vehicle that can tow it. I ask a friend for a favor, and though a big ask, he agrees to get a trailer in Denver and pick me up in Utah the next night without much hesitation.

Adulting has reached epic levels.

The next morning at 7am, I'm ready to go, and the ORR and I start out in the wrecker, a ~2000 GMC dually. The CO offers to return to help, but I think we can manage it between the two of us. There's a storm coming in the late afternoon or early evening, so we're racing the weather a little bit.

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I'm getting to know the guy. We'd probably be friends if he lived closer. He loves to hunt, loves to help people, very straight shooter, very tough. We chat most of the way about all different kinds of things. Somewhere along the 25 miles of rocky BLM road, the truck starts making some noises, and then the power steering goes out. We stop, and there's a pretty good PS fluid leak. The truck is still drivable, technically, but the hydraulic assist on the brakes (my best understanding, not a car guy) runs off the power steering fluid too, so we have bad steering and bad brakes, and we're about to put a bunch of weight on the back. No worries, we just have some crazy steep switchbacks with cliffs on all sides to go up and back down later, and a snow storm on the way. We drive to my truck, park, and head towards the bison to get the last bit of meat. The ORR is doing this out of the goodness of his heart. 140lbs of meat and hide await us at the kill site. We take the higher route that the ORR had used to get and recover his relative's bison earlier in the season.

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At the kill site, the ORR is very concerned about being able to get this weight out, and asks if it can be boned out or if I'd consider leaving anything not mandatory to retrieve. It's all frozen solid, and I push back on leaving anything at all (though technically the hide, flank meat, and ribs could legally be abandoned). We start making our way back up the ridgeline to the higher trail. It's tough going. I've got my kuiu pack that I've put 144lbs in before, but the ORR is using a much lighter duty pack, after about a mile, he pulls something in his lower back and can't go any further. He wants to bone out the front shoulder he's carrying, and would need to build a fire to thaw it out first. I think he is a little delirious from pain at this point, and I just want to be out. I say, "Give me the shoulder, here are my keys. You take the 35lbs of trim you have and go get things hooked up. I'll be slow, but it'll be faster than a fire." He agrees, and once I'm standing, now carring 105lbs of meat and hide, and 15lbs of water and pack and safety gear, he takes off, with me following his tracks.

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The deep canyon from a few days before, I crossed in the middle the first time, lower edge the rest of the trips.

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We make it back to the trucks, and I load coolers with meat while the ORR hooks up the broken down truck.

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We crawl out of the mountains. The first several miles going about 2-5mph in 4WD Low. We add some power steering fluid right before the switchbacks, but it leaks out before we reach the bottom. We only have to reverse twice, only get within a foot of the edge 3 or 4 times, and make it out of the switchbacks unscathed, the ORR wrestling the steering wheel, but never complaining. The going is still very slow after the switchbacks, with the brakes impaired, gaining too much speed could be catastrophic.The ORR keeps apologizing for how slow we are going, but I tell him that I am so releaved we are making it out at all that I don't care how slow it happens. He laughs. We are supposed to be meeting my friend with the trailer at I70 right about now, but with the slow packing and brakes and power steering issues necessitating caution, we were a few hours behind schedule. I had texted from the a ridge on the packout, asking if the friend could meet us in the little town we started in, and he had agreed. With at least a plan in place, I start to relax. Not being the driver, I'm able to enjoy one final sunset, as the weather holds a bit longer.

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At the little town, we meet up with another saint of this story. The guy has been up since about 6, abandoned his wife and child, and driven 400 miles to pick me up. There's no way to repay kindness and generosity like this other than to try to pay it forward. I hope I can come close some day. We drop my pickup off the wrecker, then use the wrecker winch to pull it onto the trailer. It's with the weight on the trailer that we find one of 4 trailer tires has lost some air. We pump that up, I pay the ORR his incredibly reasonable fee, and I tack on a healthy tip, and we get going. We only make it a few miles, about the first time we hit 60mph, and the trailer starts swaying. We stop, pull 350lbs of bison from the back of my pickup and put it in the bed of the towing vehicle, and resume. Swaying solved. At a fuel stop in Grand Junction, I get more caffeine and some snacks, then onwards.

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The night drags on, and the promised blizzard starts on our way out of Vail, and it gets pretty intense. We're only going 35mph, but I can already see the headlines if we were to wreck, "Truck Towing Another Vehicle Through Blizzard Strikes Bison So Hard the Bison Blows Up!" without mention of there being no* wild, free-ranging bison in Colorado.

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We pull up to my house around 4am, roll the truck off the trailer, pull the bison out of the towing truck, and I thank my buddy again for getting me home safe. It's almost 5 when I get important things inside, so I crack open a beer and wait for my wife to get up. When she gets up, I give her a brief rundown of the trip and then pass out.

There's so much work yet to be done, but I'm home, with all my fingers and toes, from an amazing trip. I couldn't have done it without some help, and I'm grateful to the conservation officer for her willingness to help in whatever way needed, the offroad recovery guy for trying to get my truck running then not leaving me until I was out with my vehicle and my bison, and to my buddy for doing an almost 24 hour marathon of driving through blizzards and the night to get me home.
 
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I'm fleshing my own hides these days.

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Horn sheaths popped off yesterday afternoon with a pretty heroic effort. Borax slurry scrub with a toothbrush and they just smell like bison smell when they're alive. The skull is a nighmare of rot, still. Euro mount later this week when I find a metal tub big enough to cook it in. 14.5" long, 7.25" base circumference.

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This bison meat was spread out, and at least 12 different families have eaten some.


My neighbor is from Scotland and had been bugging me to retrieve the necessary bits for haggis for over a year, and I finally made it happen. One lung, a lobe of liver, and what was left of the heart. Boiled for a couple hours, ground with some bison burger, some beef suet, an onion, mixed with toasted oats, and spiced with salt, black and white pepper, coriander, and mace, tucked into vegetable based casings which are boiled for a further 1.5 hours to get the right texture with the oats, and included in a legit Burns Night Supper.

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Tip of backstrap (top) and half of a picanha (bottom)

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NY strips rare to medium rare

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The leg I didn't give away.

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6-8 week aged bison sirloin tip steaks that were some of the most tender steaks I've ever eaten.

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Bison brisket, and bison brisket sandwich made with homemade bbq sauce, and homemade mac n cheese.

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Whenever I get around to the Bison Wellington, I'll let you know how it tastes.

This is some of the best meat I've ever eaten, seasoned with some amazing memories. I wish all of you a true bison HUNT in your future, with all the things that go with it.

Now go forth and put more free ranging bison on the prairies, in the hills, and in the mountains!
 
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