I’m convinced some of you readers think this mountain man is B.S.’n you with my tales of how these boys from the Willow Creek Free Trappers got their names.  Rest assured only true facts are printed in this (APFO Gazette)—now added to the BearsButt.com

My pencil is now leading us into the “Four Hooves” naming episode.  We find ourselves in a hollow, some 25 miles from the metropolis of Logan, Utah.  A nice place with a flowing stream and grassy meadows.  The dirt road leading in and out (one and the same road) is typical of this part of Utah.  Hard as concrete when dry and slicker than a cat’s hieny on a door knob when wet.  We are assembled for the Spring Rendezvous.  A time when trappers bring their winters catch to trade for next years’ supplies and to re-acquaint themselves with old friends and the finer art of partying.

Like past years, we are indulged in the goings-on when the gods of good sport open up the darkened sky and rain mixed with snow pour forth and swell the stream with its “ugly”.  Mud and water are everywhere.  Powder is getting wet!  Leather leggings are dragging from the weight of water and mud.  “Ugly” is too good a word for what it’s like.

When our heads begin to clear, the question is asked—“how the He__ are we going to get out of here”?

The road out is pitched at about a 25 degree angle, rock (boulders) infested—the kind that open their eyes on a rainy day and lay In wait for oil pans to come by—at which time they leap out of the ground and jab their pointed heads through the oil pan causing the contents to drain rapidly and make the owner wish he had a horse.

The decision is made—the weatherman on the radio says it’s going to rain for the next week.  We ain’t having no fun.  Our powder and spirits are wet—let’s try to get out.

Only one among us, my brother-in-law Roy, has a 4X4 and chains.  It will be up to him to pull us out.  We each slide our rigs into position, hook up our trailers, and prepare to “hopefully leave this pristine area”.

The first rig is readied, and the process begins.  As each one is pulled to the top, the road gets worse and worse, but we make it.  Everyone is out of the “hole”!  Muddy and tired but still—Roy got us out with his 4X4 pick-up and the knowledge of its use.

At the next “council fire” he is dubbed and named for all and eternity, wherever mountain men shall meet, Roy shall be known as “4 Hooves”!

Bears Butt

March-April1987