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Elk
Story of the World Record Elk Typical
Growing up in the White Mountains of eastern Arizona has given Alan C. Ellsworth the opportunity to see some great elk. However, he never would have imagined what was going to take place on February 28, 1995.
"Being a local antler buyer, I was leaving my home to pick up some antlers. As I was waiting at the intersection to pull onto Main Street, a blue Dodge pickup loaded with a washer and dryer, along with a great elk rack, drove by. As I pulled onto Main, behind the truck, I was in awe of the faded elk rack. It was turned upside down, straddling the dryer. My first thought was, ‘There’s a 400 point bull!’ I followed the truck for about a mile, guessing the 6x6 would score about 420 points. The truck turned into a local restaurant and I had to see the bull up close, so I turned in as well."
"To make the story short, I was able to purchase the elk. I took the rack back home, quickly put a tape to it, and came up with a score of 438. Telling my wife, Debby, that we may have a new state record, I hurried out the door to get back to my antler business. While I was gone I kept thinking, ‘I must have made a mistake on my score.’ I didn’t think it was that big. When I returned home that night, I remeasured the huge rack. This time a lot slower! After double checking everything I came up with a score of 445- 4/8. Now I was really excited, but also in disbelief! Could I possibly have a new World’s Record?"
A week later an official Boone and Crockett measurer, Robin Bechtel, scored the elk at 447- 7/8 points. Ellsworth’s trophy went on to break the Arizona state record that April with another score of 446- 2/8. However, in order to take the World’s Record at Boone and Crockett’s 23rd Awards program, Ellsworth would need to provide some additional history on the great 6x6.
Backtracking, Ellsworth traced the story to the previous owner’s brother, Alonzo (Lon) Winters of Globe, Arizona. Winters, since deceased, was a second-generation cattle rancher who grew up enjoying the outdoors of Arizona. Riding through the White Mountains during the fall of 1968, Winters and close friend, Bill Vogt, spotted the magnificent animal near the Black River. Winters took the elk down using his Savage Model 99 .308, and avoiding incident, the hunters headed out of the canyon with their prize packed on their horses. Later though, Ellsworth noted one minor dilemma Winters had to overcome.
"Tagging his elk presented a problem. In 1968, the Arizona Game and Fish game tags were a metal band. Lon was unable to fit this tag on the large elk, so he notched the bull’s antler between the G-4 and G-5 points, so he could properly tag his elk. His children can remember eating elk burger that winter, and the rack was stored for years in the garage. Friends and relatives remember how proud Lon was when he showed them his trophy."
Nearly 30 years later, Ellsworth must have felt similar pride as he concluded the fine elk hunting story with a triumphant ending, a new World’s Record scoring 442- 5/8 points.
Lava
Proper Usage: The Lava Story
by Brittany Petersen
A few years ago my mom and my sister were walking over a lava field. (I really need to think of a joke for that opener.) They were picking their way toward a glowing river of magma when my sister ran ahead. Now if you’ve never walked on lava, imagine the surface of the moon, but made of the food remains that get stuck on cookware if you leave them out without soaking them and then it’s IMPOSSIBLE to get off and so you try to put it in the dishwasher but that doesn’t work so it ends up sitting on the counter until your roommate gets annoyed enough to just WASH IT ALREADY. That stuff: crumbly, rough, jagged, and a ruiner of civil relationships.
So my four-year-old sister was running in the dark, flashlight in hand, over this dried lava resembling food remains, when she suddenly stopped short. She looked back at my mom, then down in front of her, then back at mom, then down again. Then she bellowed, in a way only a four-year-old can bellow:
“That. Is a big fucking hole.”
My mom, in relaying this story to me via telephone, chuckled at this point. I asked whether she’d punished my sister for using a bad word.
“Well I started to scold,” my mom said. “But then I got up to where she was and I looked down and I'm telling you, this hole was the size of a house. I mean, she was right. It was a big fucking hole.”
Moral of the story: Proper usage justifies crude language by a preschooler.
I love my family.
A few years ago my mom and my sister were walking over a lava field. (I really need to think of a joke for that opener.) They were picking their way toward a glowing river of magma when my sister ran ahead. Now if you’ve never walked on lava, imagine the surface of the moon, but made of the food remains that get stuck on cookware if you leave them out without soaking them and then it’s IMPOSSIBLE to get off and so you try to put it in the dishwasher but that doesn’t work so it ends up sitting on the counter until your roommate gets annoyed enough to just WASH IT ALREADY. That stuff: crumbly, rough, jagged, and a ruiner of civil relationships.
So my four-year-old sister was running in the dark, flashlight in hand, over this dried lava resembling food remains, when she suddenly stopped short. She looked back at my mom, then down in front of her, then back at mom, then down again. Then she bellowed, in a way only a four-year-old can bellow:
“That. Is a big fucking hole.”
My mom, in relaying this story to me via telephone, chuckled at this point. I asked whether she’d punished my sister for using a bad word.
“Well I started to scold,” my mom said. “But then I got up to where she was and I looked down and I'm telling you, this hole was the size of a house. I mean, she was right. It was a big fucking hole.”
Moral of the story: Proper usage justifies crude language by a preschooler.
I love my family.
Elephant
A Touching Elephant Story
By Timmargh.net
In 1986, Mkele Mbembe was on holiday in Kenya after graduating from Northwestern University. On a hike through the bush, he came across a young bull elephant standing with one leg raised in the air. The elephant seemed distressed, so Mbembe approached it very carefully.
He got down on one knee and inspected the elephant’s foot and found a large piece of wood deeply embedded in it. As carefully and as gently as he could, Mbembe worked the wood out with his hunting knife, after which the elephant gingerly put down its foot. The elephant turned to face the man, and with a rather curious look on its face, stared at him for several tense moments.
Mbembe stood frozen, thinking of nothing else but being trampled. Eventually the elephant trumpeted loudly, turned, and walked away. Mbembe never forgot that elephant or the events of that day.
Twenty years later, Mbembe was walking through the Chicago Zoo with his teenaged son. As they approached the elephant enclosure, one of the creatures turned and walked over to near where Mbembe and his son Tapu were standing. The large bull elephant stared at Mbembe, lifted its front foot off the ground, then put it down. The elephant did that several times then trumpeted loudly, all the while staring at the man.
Remembering the encounter in 1986, Mbembe couldn’t help wondering if this was the same elephant. Mbembe summoned up his courage, climbed over the railing and made his way into the enclosure. He walked right up to the elephant and stared back in wonder.
The elephant trumpeted again, wrapped its trunk around one of Mbembe’s legs and slammed him against the railing, killing him instantly.
Probably wasn’t the same elephant.
Grizzly Bear
By Cathy Carlisle, Colorado
While working as a Park Ranger in the bear management program in Yellowstone National Park, I was part of the National Park Service team that tracked, re-located, observed and managed grizzly bears and black bears at the Canyon District. I have worked with the National Park Service for over twelve years and with the National Forest Service for five. My job now is to manage the Visitor Center in Carbondale, Colorado with the Forest Service. It's extremely rewarding. The experience I will tell you about was, and still is, the most rewarding experience I've ever had and to this day reminds me of how beautiful and majestic bears really are. I love bears!
This story is about a grizzly bear, although now I've had many encounters with black bears and grizzlies throughout my life. Each encounter was unique and different and very special. I had just gotten off duty from the ranger station at the backcountry office and it was around 5:00 P.M. I was ready for a late afternoon hike. I had no one to go with so I decided to go alone. I put together my small daypack, put on my boots, jacket, and got some rain gear. It was a cloudy day and the sun was nowhere in sight. It was the time of year when the flowers were in full bloom and the grasses were crisp and green. The wind was blowing and I knew I'd be out for a couple of hours but for some reason I didn't tell anyone where I was going or when I'd be back. In the back of my mind I knew this was dangerous but I was in a hurry.
I decided to drive up the canyon and take the closest maintained trail about three miles from my government home. The forest was deeply wooded and the trees were wet with dew. This was the trail leading to Mallard Lake, one of my favorite short hikes. It was only two miles or so to the lake and I knew I better hurry along the trail if I were going to make it back before sundown. I began hiking the first part of the trail and immediately walked into the thick forest which was extra beautiful that day. I was in a great mood and loved looking at the tiny flowers and plants dotting the path. I had my camera with me but I just wanted to enjoy the scenery and the quiet on this afternoon.
This story is about a grizzly bear, although now I've had many encounters with black bears and grizzlies throughout my life. Each encounter was unique and different and very special. I had just gotten off duty from the ranger station at the backcountry office and it was around 5:00 P.M. I was ready for a late afternoon hike. I had no one to go with so I decided to go alone. I put together my small daypack, put on my boots, jacket, and got some rain gear. It was a cloudy day and the sun was nowhere in sight. It was the time of year when the flowers were in full bloom and the grasses were crisp and green. The wind was blowing and I knew I'd be out for a couple of hours but for some reason I didn't tell anyone where I was going or when I'd be back. In the back of my mind I knew this was dangerous but I was in a hurry.
I decided to drive up the canyon and take the closest maintained trail about three miles from my government home. The forest was deeply wooded and the trees were wet with dew. This was the trail leading to Mallard Lake, one of my favorite short hikes. It was only two miles or so to the lake and I knew I better hurry along the trail if I were going to make it back before sundown. I began hiking the first part of the trail and immediately walked into the thick forest which was extra beautiful that day. I was in a great mood and loved looking at the tiny flowers and plants dotting the path. I had my camera with me but I just wanted to enjoy the scenery and the quiet on this afternoon.
After hiking a mile, I rounded a bend in the trail and was half way there. The sound through the trees whistled and breezed through the lodgepole pine and fir trees surrounding me. I started the gradual uphill portion of the hike towards the lake and it started getting cooler as the sun was going down. I hurried along going up the switchbacks one by one walking faster now. I noticed a few blue birds flying through the low pine branches and then came upon a small grove of wild strawberries growing along the banks of a small stream. I picked one of the berries, ate it quickly and kept going. I was nearing the lake. I turned another switchback and walked closer towards the meadow coming up on my right. I saw in the distance a small opening through the pines where the trail ended and opened up into the pristine Mallard Lake meadow. I couldn't wait to peek through to see the lake!
I walked into the opening slowly and looked through to find the lake. I saw the sparkling water and colorful meadow up ahead and then I saw something different. It was moving along the banks of the lake and it was big! I knew it was a grizzly bear. I screamed a little cry and moved back a few inches. I looked more carefully and wow, it was huge. It must have been over 400 pounds, with a large hump on it's back, dark colored but with glistening, silver tipped fur. The grizzly was overpowering in his majestic grace. I could hardly believe what I was seeing!
I had just realized not only the beauty of this mammal but also the danger I had put myself in. So many things were going through my mind. And then all of a sudden I looked back over at the lake and the grizzly was gone. I shifted my eyes left and right and then saw the grizzly moving round the lakeshore coming towards me in a jog. I was scared but my instincts kicked in, my adrenaline rushed into my brain and I immediately knew I had to leave. I had taken my eyes off the grizzly for a few seconds to ponder on the situation I was in. I didn't want to look towards the grizzly anymore but I had to. I had to see where the grizzly was located now and see how fast it was moving. I peeked up quickly and saw that as I expected it was already too close for comfort. Only 100 yards from me and coming up fast I saw the animal I had so admired and now, in a blink of an eye, feared. I started running hard and fast, and thinking there's no way I can outrun a grizzly! I had been telling visitors all summer not to worry because "you can always climb a tree if your being chased by a grizzly". Grizzlies don't climb trees very easily if at all. The only problem was that the trees in Yellowstone happen to be lodgepole pine with smooth trunks and no lower branches to speak of. I would not be climbing a tree.
Now I was just running for my life. Running down the trail and thinking what if he catches up to me? What if he reaches out with his giant claws and grabs me by the shoulder, pulls me down and starts gnawing into my flesh? I ran and ran and ran as if I was a marathon runner. I knew I wasn't supposed to run but I had to. I couldn't think of anything else to do. I had told visitors that if they spotted a grizzly not to run, but what was I doing? I was running and doing the wrong thing. I started to sweat and I just couldn't bring myself to stop to take a break. Maybe I could stop and play dead like I'm supposed to, but that wasn't going to happen. I had run over a mile and a half by now.
As I was listening carefully to the forest nearby I could no longer hear the grizzly's foot steps anymore. It was quiet now and all I could hear was my own breathing and wheezing. I didn't dare look behind me and I just kept running although now. I was at a slower pace and running out of breath. I could see my lemon yellow, Ford Fiesta through the trees as I was coming around the bend and then just like that, I was at my car. I unlocked the door quickly and got in. I finally looked up to see if the grizzly was coming into view but it wasn't anywhere to be seen. I stayed there for about 15 minutes waiting for him but he never came. I was thinking now that I would wait and take a picture of the bear, but he never showed up. I was finally calm, the sun had set, it was starting to sprinkle and I decided to go home. I felt very lucky that the grizzly decided not to attack me, and I knew I would never forget the first time and the only time I ran from a Yellowstone grizzly.
Horses
A Horse Story
By John Reismiller
It's cold outside, so this is how I will keep my horse warm for the winter.
Oh, didn't you know that this writer had one? Well, he wound up in his imagination after this horse had suffered the indecency of having to push an old cart around for a mean apple vendor. This cruel owner insisted on putting the cart before the horse, so this poor creature felt forlorn and hopeless because he could never see where he was headed. Not only that, but he was forced to wear blinders which meant that all he could see was the back of the cart and the apple vendor. There must be more to look at in the world than the tail end of a man and a wagon, he thought.
So one day he upset the apple cart and bolted into a field of dreams which lay along the roadside. There were acres of oats, barley and lush grass as far as the eye could see. He thought he had died and gone to Horse Heaven. Now, he thought, I can graze to my heart's content and see everything before me. He bent his neck down to crop the sweet grass that was growing under his hooves, but, alas, he sadly discovered that it, like the oats and the barley, were all part of a field of dreams and were not real. He was in a beautiful landscape, but he couldn't enjoy it because, as a horse, he lacked imagination. It was all so sad, but true.
At that moment, this writer was coming through the field and noticed the lost and sorrowful nag looking around in bewilderment. Since he and the horse were in the same field of dreams, he reached out and put his arms around the horse's neck, slowly guiding him into his own imagination. As soon as the horse passed through to it, the grasses, the oats and barley all became wonderfully real to him. Even the landscape shone with a radiance that he had not noticed before. He could smell the earth and feel the breeze blowing through his mane. He trotted alongside the writer and soon reached his home in the woods. He was tethered to the fence post and was dressed in some old clothes the writer had found in his house. He was given a place in the barn with straw on the floor and water in a trough nearby. Now he had a home he could call his own. He whinnied his approval and neighed his joy for the wonderful world he had found.
He has lived with the writer for many years and is the happiest horse imaginable now that they both are together in this glorious field of dreams. They will be as one for as long as they dwell in the kindness of each other's mind.
Notes of Interest:
All copyrights to "A Horse Story", written by John Reismiller, remain with the author. Return to Tales of the Horse main page to learn more about Mr. Reismiller and for a link to his website.
Oh, didn't you know that this writer had one? Well, he wound up in his imagination after this horse had suffered the indecency of having to push an old cart around for a mean apple vendor. This cruel owner insisted on putting the cart before the horse, so this poor creature felt forlorn and hopeless because he could never see where he was headed. Not only that, but he was forced to wear blinders which meant that all he could see was the back of the cart and the apple vendor. There must be more to look at in the world than the tail end of a man and a wagon, he thought.
So one day he upset the apple cart and bolted into a field of dreams which lay along the roadside. There were acres of oats, barley and lush grass as far as the eye could see. He thought he had died and gone to Horse Heaven. Now, he thought, I can graze to my heart's content and see everything before me. He bent his neck down to crop the sweet grass that was growing under his hooves, but, alas, he sadly discovered that it, like the oats and the barley, were all part of a field of dreams and were not real. He was in a beautiful landscape, but he couldn't enjoy it because, as a horse, he lacked imagination. It was all so sad, but true.
At that moment, this writer was coming through the field and noticed the lost and sorrowful nag looking around in bewilderment. Since he and the horse were in the same field of dreams, he reached out and put his arms around the horse's neck, slowly guiding him into his own imagination. As soon as the horse passed through to it, the grasses, the oats and barley all became wonderfully real to him. Even the landscape shone with a radiance that he had not noticed before. He could smell the earth and feel the breeze blowing through his mane. He trotted alongside the writer and soon reached his home in the woods. He was tethered to the fence post and was dressed in some old clothes the writer had found in his house. He was given a place in the barn with straw on the floor and water in a trough nearby. Now he had a home he could call his own. He whinnied his approval and neighed his joy for the wonderful world he had found.
He has lived with the writer for many years and is the happiest horse imaginable now that they both are together in this glorious field of dreams. They will be as one for as long as they dwell in the kindness of each other's mind.
Notes of Interest:
All copyrights to "A Horse Story", written by John Reismiller, remain with the author. Return to Tales of the Horse main page to learn more about Mr. Reismiller and for a link to his website.
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