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Show Dinosaurland Outdoors By HurttWIxom Vernul Express Outdoors Writer When everything goes wrong Talking to other outdoor writers recently I was struck by a common lament? It seems most of us are accused at one time or another of seeing the world through rose-colored glasses. We see only the positive side" and "everything sounds so easy," according to the complaint. Doesn't anything ever go wrong? someone wants to know. So this is it. My confessional, an itemized list of things gone awry. I can't name them all. They remind me of that Outdoor Life Story I read a few years ago, "Mistakes I have lived through." Of course, if you have spent many years actually living through some of these trial-and-error escapeds, you learn also how to avoid them. My philosophy of life has touched upon the idea that anything which doesn't kill you helps you. It can brighten your outlook. In any event, here goes, lets take horses first. I have been unceremoniously dumped from a saddle twice, the first time when it came loose. As it slipped beneth my mount on the north slope of the Uintas, all Hades followed. There was something as I lay looking up from the grass, that my cayuse didn't like about the saddle being down around his flanks. When he stopped bucking, a new coat, and two fishing reels in the saddle bag (fortunately my camera was spared because it was around my neck were ruined. So was my pride for the moment. The next time an outfitter had just scarcely told me, "Don't let the pack horse rope get beneath Princess' tail, or you could land on your head," when that happened, I got dumped on my head. With eight horse legs flying, it was inevitable one would hit me. I caught it on the thigh. The next day when -I hiked five miles around a Wyoming lake, I almost didn't have the legs to reach camp before dark. I had found an inlet where 14-inch cutthroats swarmed my mosier nymph, but in this case a creel full of fish was a doubtful reward as I hobbled over each patch of blowdown timber along the trail-less lake. While on the subject of horses 1 have also been forced to hike back into an elk camp when my mount strayed while I glassed distant ridges. So much for horses. Doesn't anything go wrong when fishing? Yes. It is true any angler likes to recall the successful moments. But I have had my share of first casts with a 2-lb. test leader and midge get caught on the bush just in fror.t of lunker trout. These are things you hate to admit, but sometimes the sheer excitement of seeing feeding fish dimpling the surface out there within "easy" casting distance complicates things all out of proportion. Sure, you can break off the fly, but any such times is agony as the trout keep bulging without you. I learned an early lesson about using borrowed rifles. "Sighted in perfectly for 200 yards," my host said. But I should have asked for who? The 3-point buck at top of Mill creek Canyon broke out of aspens where only I could see him among the opening day hordes. But I missed what can only be described as point-blank range at 75 yards. Besides, he was broadside. I still see that some half -asleep nights. One of my most vivid memories is watching the tip of my pet fly rod crunch in the automatic rear-end station wagon window. Sudden rain, a slight miscalculation, and well... you just can't cast a fly with no tip-end guide. Holes in boots? Fairly routine, not barbed wire. You can be careful of what you see. Usually a protruding branch beneath the water. I can also say there have been some narrow esacapes. I frequently get over-zealous over-zealous when fishing steep, walled-in canyon streams. Once I found myself with no place to go over the Uinta River ' in the shale ledges upstream from the U-Bar Ranch. There was nothing to do but let go and spill into the frothing current. It was cold, but I lived. Another time I groped around after dark along the Uinta's North Fork of Provo, suddenly finding solid ground had fled. I had my choice as I was falling: break my fall with a free hand, or continue to clutch spin and fly rod in opposite hands. I tossed them free, I knew I would never locate them again in the black night, and there was not time to switch into one hand. I chose to retain my rods, like a monkey with a banana which won't let go. What stopped my fall was a tree stump on my chin. I wore the dubious badge on my lower face for months. I once awoke at dawn to look into the face of a black bear. I did what anyone with any sense at all would do: screamed without any thought of decorum or dignity. The bruin was scared out of his wits. Later I discovered some one had dumped surplus syrup around camp. The poor bear meant no harm, and I had sent him off without his breakfast. Twice I have been chased by moose, and one kept me from my own breakfast when he stood steadfastlv between me and camp. I finally moved him, but not without a hatful of rocks. He glowered at me until I felt humble indeed. A moose may not be as dangerous as a bear, I decided, but I'll give them room everytime. Rocky roads which break down tires, and bust campers, have been a way of life. I learned the hard way that tires should have tread, and you check for little things like the camper jacks remaining off the ground while you're traveling. I've had Tires from propane leaks, and even lost a propane tank once at night. Tents with hoses, back packs without the right padding, blisters and unforgotten ponchos... I have paid the price. But it is this very suffering of sorts which propels you to do it right the next time. Getting lost? Not from roads themselves, but precisely where on that road is the truck? I take very careful bearings when going around one side no the mountain to emerge at the proper place on the other side. But exploring New country, I've also looked down a thousand-foot cliff wondering how I'd get from here to the vehicle. Once on Lone Peak, I came very nearly having to scale back up a mile or more to get out. It happens to all of us, I suppose. The main thing is: "what did I learn from it?" |