The day the fat duck came into camp was very memorable.  Most of us were dog-tired after a hard full day of trying to make meat for the rest of the year.  It was early in the season, so we had passed up some smaller jerky carriers hop’in for bigger.  Ain’t much better fer the ego than a store house full of good ‘ol jerk and a hat rack to brag on that just fit through the lodge door.  Specially when it’s cold out and all the folks is gathered in your lodge for grim and jaw’in.

Now some say a mountain man smells bad, looks ugly, can’t see fer beans and hears even worst.  I’m here to tell ya them leathers we wears smells purdy as a mountain ash fire and sweeter than a dry’in rack of buffalo hump jerky.  Down inside we be good lookin dudes.  All us be’in where we is cuz we was fear’in get’in captured by some fool squaw down on the flat land.

We got eyes that kin see an eagle open his lids at 3 miles out and with these here eyes we kin plumb dog a 54 cal Hawkin ever time we raise her to make meat or take a bet.

Come hear’in, well, I useta  could hear a fool hen pick up a chokecherry at 200 yards. But since time does go by and after much shoot’in and get’in muzzleblast in the ears my hear’in ain’t quite what it was.

We was pass’in the jug bout dark that night when Tracker asked where Cherry might be.  Last any of us had seen him he entered a thicket up top of Barns Canyon when they heered a blast from this 50.  That were a good hour ago.  Well we decided to give him another 30 minutes or so then we’d go look’in.

We sat there jaw’in and pass’in the jug and bull’in each other about the bets we’d made on shoot’in the big buck when out of the darkness we saw Cherry com’in in with a nice 4-point muley.   Bout then Stevie, as they called him down in Taos, spoke up and said:  “Just goes to show you boys it ain’t over till the ‘Fat Duck’ walks back into camp”.  I looked up at Tracker who had the jug.  He looked at me and we both smiled and toasted without a word.  That night, after a warm meal of venison liver, we had a little parley without Stevie.  We got out the talk’in stick and Tracker done the honers of call’in Stevie up to the council fire and forever more, wherever mountain men shall meet, he be called “Fat Duck”, “Fat Duck”, “Fat Duck”….”!!!  What a celebration we had!

Bears Butt

Sept-Oct 1988