In 1985 a friend called to ask if I wanted to pack some elk hunters for a paycheck. My brother got hired as the cook. We packed about 20 miles into the Colorado mountains in the San Juan Range with a string of mules and set up our camp at 10,800 feet. We had 4 wall tents with wood stoves in late October. Snow most of the 10 days on the trip and below zero most nights.
About the 6th day I put one of our hunters on a 6 point elk that busted out of the brush. He jumped off his horse and fired 3 quick shots at about 75 yards. We found a tiny blood trail but it took two hours to track the big bull. I went back to camp and got two pack mules to haul the meat. After quartering the elk and tying them with diamond hitches, we left the gut pile and I was the last one out. It was steep country so I was watching backward eyeballing the mules. A black bear had been waiting to hit the gut pile and he was on top of it.
We turned out the stock, hung the meat, and got back to a warm tent. After some good Kentucky bourbon, I handed my brother the elk liver which had come from the warm elk into a plastic bag on my horse's saddlle bags. My brother cooked the liver right on the wood stove with bacon and onions. The aroma inside the tent was like perfume. Even the people that said they didn't eat liver had two helpings. That trip was hard to beat, and I got paid to do it.
