It was back in ’91, Wapiti Dung, Rut Runner, Wine Maker, Many Steps, Windy and me went fer a trip down on the Bear River.  We was in Bannock country, so we knowd there wouldn’t be no injun trouble.  Most our concerns was possibly flippin our rigs.

When we done got there, we found there was a rondeevoo happinen.  Our eyes was a delight. Old Soda Griz was havin a shinin time.

When at the rondeevoo most any other plan ya mighta had goes by the wayside, cuz it’s time ta jaw jack and kitch up on what has happened ta folks ya aint seed fer some time.

We done told of our years trappin and fightin and goin what we done, when Old Griz got holt of the talkin stick and told of one of his fishin tales.  Mind ya now, Old Griz aint never told no lies.  Mountain men never lie.

“…It were early Spring up near the Hamms Fork, I’d done trapped long nuff, twer time fer some fishin and gitten away from beaver ‘an sitch.  There was still a bit ‘o ice formed round this here fishin hole I was trying ta fish and in the early morn it were chilly.  Later on in the day the water warmed some and the ice would melt.

I’d been fishin fer some time and couldn’t git one ‘o them brookies ta even look at my bait.   I even considered ta toss a lighted powder horn in there with ‘em, just ta git some fer ta eat.

My luck was powerful down, when here come swimming long was a water snake, what had a bitty frog in his mouth.  I grabbed up dat snake an tried ta pull the frog frum his mouth.  No deal..Mr. snake weren’t letting go.

Wall now, I don’t go off  fishin in the cold of Spring without my little jug ‘o brandy, so I figgered Mr. snake might be persuaded ta trade the frog fer a drink.  I poured a smidgin in the snakes mouth and sure ‘nuff he let go of that little frog.

I thanked him kindly and let Mr. snake know I was much abliged afor letting him go.

I done put that little frog on fer bait and BAM—had me a 20 plus incher first cast.

My eyes was shinin, but now I didn’t have no more little frogs.

With luck done about run out there I sat wonderin where I might find another bitty frog when somp’n started pattin the side of my near froz leathers.  I looked down an there was Mr. snake with another frog!!

Wonder what he wants?”

Bears Butt

July-Aug. 1991

Spring  an summer be the best time fer rondeevoo and there is word out that late in May we is a meetin up on the left hand fork of the Blacksmith.  See ya there.

Speak’in of rondeevoo ‘an meetin.  Rondeevoo is a time fer let’in off steam and tell’in tales of hard times.  See’in whos story is the wildust.

Heres one I heard ‘an I aint so sure he weren’t tellin a true story.

He was trappin river otters up on the Yukon in late Spring.  His company and him hadn’t had much good meat fer weeks.  Theyd been livin on wolf, otter ‘an muskrat.  Twernt no moose, elk er deer up as high as they was.

Out check’in traps one day, low an behold up steps a big ‘ol cow moose.  He slowly raised his trusty 50 and BLAM, that ol moose was his fer the takin.  Just about the time he gits his skinning knife out, a sudden Northern began to blow and the temperature dropped to minus 80!  Rivers what were clear of ice, sudden as kin be refroze and even ol Mr. Griz bear had to go back to hibernate.

Well the ‘ol boy was just finishin the dressin chore when it started ta git to him.  His body got a chill sumpin fierce.  So ta save his own skin, he crawled up inside of that mooses chest cavity to git outa the cold.  He figured the animals body heat would save him.

Good plan, till next day when he figured he’d best git goin back to the cabin.  When he tried to get out, he was stuck.  Rigermorti had set up in that critter and the rib cage had him pinned but good.

That’s where they done found him some lebben days later, most dead as that moose.

When he told me this here story at that summer rondeevoo he still had moose hair on his leathers.

Hope ta see ya up at rondeevoo!

Bears Butt

Mar-Apr 1991

For many years a runnin, we been palin round with a mountain man named Ken.  A real quiet sorta man, deliberate about his doins, an always a all round good guy.

He’s been ta many a rondeevoo, an hunted the wiley mulie with some of the best.  Includin meself.

I’ve stood side ta side with him on the shootin line an seed him plumb a ball agin the sharp edge of a double blade ax an break clay bowles, one on each side of the ax, at the same time!

But, Ken was what we called him.

I’ve heard tale of him long-gunnin big mulies at 600 yard, drink cases of Annie Green, an PJ Swine, then rip the corner off’n a perfectly good lodge.  Tussle with men bigger than big, even whop’em up side ‘o the head with a stick ‘an still come out  not  hurtin’in

But still we called him Ken.

We was talkin one day about old Ken and most tryin ta figger out a mountain name fer him when “No Grimace” say—“Ya know, old Ken is just old Ken.  Quiet, to the point, an never makes no mistakes or does anything out of the ordinare.  How kin a guy git a name doin that”?

“Tracker” spoke up bout then and said—“You be right, ‘No Grim’, hard ta name a man bein the same as the rest”.

One day old “Two Breaks” spoke up an said, “Ken done got some kind a likin fer feathered critters.  Seems he done got one ‘o them talkin birds what don’t need the tung split, an is teachin him to cuss like his squaw.  He done also got a heard of ducks ‘an some miniature chickens, ‘an some of them carrier birds like what the King of the Black Forest uses to send notes to his buddies with.  Seems like maybe perhaps his name could deal with that.  Bein buddies to a heard o ducks don’t seem ta me like ol Ken got all his ores in row”.

Well now, we didn’t know all this about ol Ken.  Least ways about his teachin the talkin bird ta speak such lingo as that.

So, back at rondeevoo in ’91, up on the left fork ‘ol Ken was called to the talkin stick, an wherever mountain men shall meet forever will be called—“Flying Feathers”!

Bears Butt

May-June 1991

Pretty face

Petite little hands

Glows in the dark

Never ending rhythmic beat

Keeps me on time for appointments

Can be turned on in a minute or off in a second

Has my number and a song in her heart

Makes me happy when the time is right

She tells me when It’s time for bed and wakes me with a song when it’s time to rise

She is never wrong, unless the power is off

Oh what would I do without my bedside radio alarm clock?

Bears Butt

Jan-Feb 1990

The mountains is a be-utiful place ta be, an huntin an trappin makes it even more so.  When we Willow Crick guys go huntin ever one has a job.  Some days ya wake u and you is a cook, other days ya don’t do much mor’en keep the fire goin.

Ifn’n you’re the cook ya gotta put tagether the vittles on the plan or the whole trip might be ruint.  The plan is made up prior to go’in away from the lodges and the little woman down in the flat land.

Here might be a typical plan for a meal—Elk, H-Booms, T-toast, Cow Juice and Whiskey.

Now the cook is goin ta need some help, so he gits a helper as a right hand man and another as a “go-fer”.

The right hand man might cook the “H-Booms”, an maybe the “T-toast”, whilst the cook does justice to the “Elk” and the “Whiskey”.

The “Go-fer” is just that..a “go-fer”.  Go-fer this and go-fer that.  Sometimes all he go-fer is more whiskey.

All this don’t make much sense unless ya knows what the meal is, so here is what it means.

“ELK”—Red meat, be it stew, steak or roast.  A mountain man has gotta have it.  Fried, boilt, stewed or just thrown in a dutch oven.  M-M-M I kin smell it now.

“H-Booms”—These be letters what mean Hash black potatoes (H)(B) with special added peppers and pimentos (O), onions (O) and Mushrooms (M).  The “s” just finishes it off and gets more than one man fed.

“T-Toast”—Thick sliced toasted bread.  Sometimes with garlic on it, an always held close to a fire or sum’in real hot to brown it good.

“Cow Juice”—Milk.

“Whiskey”—Any variety of pre-meal elixir what settles yer nerves from a day in the field.  When ya has it all ta gather it makes fer some good eatin and friendly converstation.  Sets ya up right smart fer a good night rest too.

Oh ya_–The go-fer kint ferget to “out’n the frig” before goin to his lodge fer the night.  That means put any frozen food out to thaw so it’ll be ready for cook’in at the next meal.

Bears Butt

Sept.-Oct. 1990

The question of “time” was ask me the other day.  What does “time” mean to a mountain man?

Well, I’m here to tell ya bout time.  Good things always come “in time”.

We was sittin in a likker place in Taos one year when this old boy comes in and yells “It’s ‘time’ boys”!  We  all  gits  up  and  fallers  him  to  the  horses.

On our way to beaver country we was all talkin bout the good “time” we had back in Taos.

After a long spell of not catchin no dad blame beaver and then one happins to git in yer traps most often ya hears the words “bout time” come from the trappers lips.

When ya is late gittin over the pass to yer winter’in spot the boss always says—“Hurry fellers ‘times’ a wastin”.

Over on the Snake River one Spring we was held up by some ornery Blackfoot Injuns I heard the cap’in say—“Shoot em plum boys we ain’t got ‘no time’ to be hear  long”!

Whenever one of the boys’ luck runs out and he heads for the big mountain in the sky, we all figger “his time” ran out.

It’s always a “long time” between rondeevoos but when we gits there it’s “shinin time” and fun will be had by all.

Well, I gotta go, “ran outa time”.  Until “next time” keep the nose on your hat outa the dirt.

Bears Butt

July-Aug 1989

Twern’t long back, the Willow Creek Free Trappers (that’s what we call our small band of mountain folk) was huntin small game out in some rollin sage flat land.

There be times when venison and beaver tail eatin gits kinda tiresome.  We done felt obliged to git us some rabbit.

We left the horses outen the way, and spread out.  Each was some two lodge pole lengths apart and we moved real slow.  Lookin under the brush for Mr. Rab.  Recallin back I believe it were Windy what put the first cotton bunnie in the bag.  After that it don’t make much never mind.

Back at the horses we cleaned up the rabs and set to makin some fine vittles.

Many folks don’t know howta cook up some good rabbit, so I’ll be letting ya in on a little how-to.  This here works good on wild game bird and ever day yard bird as well.

A dutch oven with a good fittin lid is best to use, but most any pan or skillet with a lid will do.

Simply brown the cut up parts real good on all sides.  I reckon I use some half inch deep lard or bear grease or whatever kinda frying grease meets yer fancy, fer to fry an brown rab meat.

Next, ya  want  ta  git you a “stand-off” what will fit real nice in the pan.  I heard some Frenchman over on the Seedskadee once refer to a “stand-off” as a “”trivet”.  Whetever you call it, I’ve even used four forks layed cross ways and it worked like a beaver tooth agin a aspen.

Place all the brownt meat pieces on the stand-off and pour in enough water (I prefer beer) to cover the stand-off completely.  Now put the lid on the pan, turn the heat to low and fergit about it fer bout an hour.

Use the time to fry up some fresh spuds and onions, beans, or whatever ya like ta go with yer rab eatin.  We like it just like it come frum the pan with nothing else.  So the hour is used ta do some shootin and bettin at standin still targits.

When the hour has past git yer mouth ready fer some of the tenderest eatin rab ya ever had. MMMMMMM-it makes me hanker ta do it agin real soon.

Bears Butt

Nov-Dec 1990

When dreams become reality it makes a guy just a triffle humble.

It were back in bout ’87, on a meat hunt up over Monte Cristo, when I had a very real dream.

The snows was real heavy in the high country and most all the big game animals was mak’en their way to more pleasant surround’ins.

My dream showed me sittin high on a vantige point glass’n the area—here they was com’en—nose to tail, nose to tail fer as you could see.  Long strings of em, ever other one had horn.

When I awoke frum such a perty dream I told the boys about it.  You’da thought I’d dreamed the wildest tale of em all.  Them boys laughed and joked till they was near roll’en on the ground.

Later that day we was tak’en a lunch break when I spotted part of my dream com’en cross a expanse of open ground.  There they is!!  Nose ta tail boys, lookee!!

Sure nuff—bout a hunert head—antelope they was—nose to tail and a com’en up the trail.

That shut the boys up fer the rest of that hunt.  But  they  amembered  my  dream  fer  harass’en  later.  And jived me ever chance they could.

Now, ever  thang  in perspective—it were ’89 and we was huntin Mulies up in the same place as I had my dream.  Most of the boys had been there fer 3 or 4 days and they was bummed out.  Aint seed a mulie with horn.  Hardly see any track.

“Help me set up my lodge ‘an I’ll show you where they is.  Member my dream?  Well boy howdy, me and the second biggest buck in these parts have a date.  Let’s get mov’en”!

So they helped me set up and off we goes.

Twernt long we was all in place fer a good hunt.  Some of the boys weren’t quite ready, so I’m just wait’en fer the signal to start.

Sudnly  ahind me and up on the crest I heard a sound.  Spinnin round here they come—nose to tail over the top.  It weren’t quite like my dream, cause my dream showed ever other one with horn.  This was real and nose ta tail fer as far as you could or wanted ta see, they was a com’in, and ever one had horn!

Well be’in the sport’in blood I picked the second biggest one out of the group and let fly my trusty 54!  Them boys still aint beliv’in my dream, but I got them horn hang’in as reminder.

Kant say as it gets any better!

Bears Butt

Mar-Apr 1990

Names is portent stuff in the mountains.  If ya aint got a name then nobody knows who you is.  We get a Christin name when we is borned down in the flat lands.  That helps ya get introduced in the mountains, but if ya stik around up in the hills you is gonna need a real mountain name.

Names come from most any source.  Some folks want real bad to have a certin name, so theys names themselves that.  Others start gittin called something right off the bat and that stiks with em.  Extra ordinare doins can and have been the best naming sources.

Wy listen to this:

We wuz up at rondeevoo back in ’90 doin normal stuff what all rondeevoo folks wuz doin.  All the little mountain people wuz up on a hill playin and us growedups wuz jawin and cleanin guns.

Suddenly we hears one of the little ones a whailin away.  Callin out for help, he was a hurtin.  I recollect it sounded sumpin like—“Hey Ho in camp—Cut a Ho—Cut a Hey”!  Which is universal mountain lingo for “Help me Bad”!

We alls jumped and saved him from dire disaster.  As we wuz carry’in him offen the mountain I called out –“Bones, git some ice in a wet cloth, this boy needs some fixin and he is too young to drink whiskey”!

Most ever one heared my call and others, besides Bones ran for wet cloth, ice and whiskey.

One such mountain folk, has a skunk proof entry to theys lodge.  It sits sorta high up, so ya need some logs or rocks or sumpin ta help get ya high nuff to get in.

They got in, grabbed some whiskey and started out.  Musta fergot about the first step cuz that wuz missed.  Musta fergot about the second step cuz that wuz missed and whenit wuz all said and done and the dust settled there they lay with a broke leg.

Now we got two a hurtin!

There wuz lots of help come runn’in from all the camps and down the mountain the two of em goes in a big wagon.

We talked some that night about what happened and there is go’in ta be a naming come next Willow Creek Council fire.  We had lots of names ta pick frum like “Rock Face”, and “Dusty Bottom”, but there aint no escaping names like “Tumbles” and “ 2 Breaks”!

Bears Butt

July-Aug 1990