Poodle lady in pink

INDIANOLA, Neb. — In my early 50s I got the chance to go on an Elk hunt near Walden, Colo.  I thought I was in pretty good shape, but I hadn’t accounted for the change in altitude.  I drove my Explorer up a mountain covered in snow after I had left work that morning.  I remember seeing so many hunters on the interstate passing me with their camo clothes on and their vehicles packed with hunting supplies.  I had on a pink sweater with some jeans that had pink plaid with my normal jewelry and pump shoes that I had worn to work.  

When I got out of the car there were hunting dogs running around a campfire surrounded by a bunch of men.  I gingerly walked through the snow to talk and said I hadn’t realized we could bring our dog.  They asked me what kind of dog I had, and I said a tiny toy poodle, with a straight face.  One could tell that all these guys were seriously wondering if I could even shoot a gun!  

At supper that night we all introduced ourselves and had to tell what type of gun we had brought.  I had my favorite 243.  Some guy from New York said he didn’t think one could bring down an elk with anything less than a 7 mm, which I replied I thought it would depend on where one hits it!  These guys remained skeptical of my skills!

When I was packing for this trip, I brought a pair of camo coveralls from the Goodwill that I paid five bucks for.  I also had some armor underalls, gloves, boots and headgear, but since I’d never used hand warmers or such in the past, I was unprepared for the cold and higher altitude.  

As you can imagine I hated to drink very much so I wouldn’t have to leave my stand to tinkle!  I’d been hearing “bugling” all morning and just plain had to “go”!  So, I climbed down off my perch and walked quite a distance to prevent as much odor as possible and unfortunately had to take all my clothes off to get down to my skivvies, while the wind whipped right through me.  UGH!  

As I’m heading back to my stand, I heard a huge commotion from the direction I’d just come from.  As I turned to look, I got down on one knee and as luck would have it, a 6 X 7 bull stood broadside at about 50 yards.  I took aim and pulled the trigger and he dropped.  I relaxed and about that time he jumped up and ran off!   

Too shocked and cold as ever, I slowly walked back to look for a blood trail.  I continued down an embankment and there he was.  The snow and wind were so fierce that it appeared his ears were moving so I just watched him for a few minutes.  I actually had cell phone service, so I called the outfitter and said my bull was down and the guy said “He’s down?” 

I continued that I had been watching him for a while and was sure he was dead!  The fella seemed a bit surprised but said they would be up with a four-wheeler.  This terrain had a lot of fallen trees, so it was hard to drive anything in.  He asked where the animal was and since I’m not very good with directions, I told him that we weren’t exactly by the stand.  

It took them well over an hour to get to me and in the meantime, another couple of bulls walked right past me, so if someone had been with me they could have filled their tag too.  It took even longer to get the big boy off the mountain.  They said he was the biggest bull they had shot in two years. Although we weren’t in a high preference point area, I was still pleased with my trophy.  I wonder if they tell campfire stories about the poodle lady in pink from Nebraska!? 

Have a Good One!