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Show A4 The Emery County Review, Tuesday, December 9, 2008 Two bull elk shot and left to waste near Moab Two bull elk were shot and left to waste near LaSal Creek in the LaSal Mountains near Moab. The elk are believed to have been shot on the first day of the general spike-only season on Oct. 4. The bulls, a 5x5 and 4x5, were killed within 100 yards of each other. “This type of behavior gives hunters a bad name,” says Conservation Officer TJ Robertson. “The Utah Division of Wildlife Resources is working very hard to turn the LaSal Mountains into a trophy elk unit, and this criminal act takes out two bulls that could have become trophies in the next few years. If a mistake is made, we can deal with that; but when animals are shot and left, it’s very hard to forgive that type of action.” The UDWR is asking for your help in solving this case of illegal taking. Any information obtained will be kept strictly confidential, and rewards are available for anyone providing information leading to the arrest and conviction of those responsible. If you have information about the shootings, contact Officer Robertson directly at 435-820-6015, or the UDWR “Turn-In-APoacher Hotline” at 800-662-DEER (3337). Traveler relates story of being ‘Lost in Joe’s Valley’ Continued from Page A1. Sanpete County, according to the 2008 Rand-McNalley road atlas. I travelled in the dark for about two hours on Highway 29’s winding pavement and wound up at a campground in “Joe’s Valley” (Joseph Smith?). The pavement ended there. As I was completely wiped out, I decided to stay in the campground to figure out what to do in the morning. No one else was around and I hadn’t seen another vehicle for at least an hour. My thermometer said it was 29 degrees. A brisk wind was blowing tiny snow crystals so I decided to sleep in the cab in case I needed to use the engine to warm up. After an awkward, restless night on the seatbelt buckles, I woke up at 6 a.m. to the sound of church bells echoing faintly through the hills. I thought; “I mustn’t be far from civilization,” even though it was otherwise quiet and the truck was surrounded by deer. There was a “road closed” sign, a gated road, and another, open road with numerous tire tracks going up the mountain. So I figured the traveled road was the right one to Ephraim and decided to go on over the mountain. The road wound its way high up into the mountains. It forked off several times without signs or with forest service signs so faded out that they were completely unreadable, even standing right in front of them. I kept taking the fork with more tire tracks and evidence of use. I passed the turnoff to Grassy Lake carved into a rotting cross board on a small post. No, I didn’t want to go there! That was the only readable sign, other than graffiti carved into the aspens. It was nice to know that “Kyle B loves T. J.” even in the pre-dawn cold approach of winter. The road kept winding inward and upward around the mountain with no end in sight, nor sign of getting back to any populated area. The sun rose in magnificent rose-orange behind me silhouetting the bare aspens and lush pines. It began to snow needles of ice as a foggy cloud wrapped the landscape around me and dropped the visibility to about 15 feet. Ahead and above me near the road I could hear the sound of large trees or branches cracking and breaking in the wind of the ice storm. I had just decided to turn around and drive back down to Orangeville when the truck lost traction on the ice underneath the snow and slipped backwards down and off the road. I had a quarter of a tank of gas left at this point. I got into the back of the truck to look for equipment to dig myself out, but the location of my 1940s forest-service style shovel/axe eluded me until a picture popped into my head of it leaning against the side of a house in Arizona after we had hauled in a couple truckloads of firewood. All I had was my heavy walking stick and the tin lid of a tea box. I was able to get down to solid ice but couldn’t dislodge any sand for traction. What I would have given for some kitty litter at that point, even used! I tried rocking the truck and attempted to get traction on blankets, to no avail. I was stuck, and I knew it. I started to panic, but said to myself; “No way! Keep your head clear.” I walked back down the road and found a small marker that said 56, then returned to the truck. By this time my feet were wet and very cold, as were my ankles and knees. I knew I had enough water, food and gear to last for about three days. I knew the way back was farther than I could walk in one day. The fact that the road kept climbing up towards snowier and more remote looking mountains made me doubtful about going forward. “Well it’s your pride or your toes,” I told myself. I tried to call out on my cell phone, but although it had two thirds of a full charge, I got only silence and a screen that said “dialing” for far too long. No number went through. Then I gave myself permission to cry and I did cry, not sure I would make it out of this one, although I had successfully gotten other vehicles out of tougher spots and deeper snow than this on my own. Crying cleared my head. Freezing to death, I have heard, is not a bad way to go, but I really didn’t feel finished with this life, even if it was a beautiful place to come to the end. Without communication, people wouldn’t probably start looking for 24 hours after I was reported missing, which might have been sometime late that evening or early Monday morning, and that could mean a day or two more. Although my daughter knew I had missed exit 89 at Salina, no one knew which of three pictured westward roads I was on for sure. I got into the back of the truck for dry pants and socks, plugged the cell phone into the car charger just in case, then ran the truck engine long enough to change and warm up. I couldn’t dial any number before, but after the boost, I tried 911 again, and it worked! The dispatcher that answered was in Sanpete County, and asked; “Who gave you permission to be up there? That road is closed!” His tone was scolding although I assured him I hadn’t passed any locked gates, and was following other tracks! He said they couldn’t reach me from there and so he was going to give me a different number to call. I begged him not to hang up! This 911 was pos- "A History of Emery County" 100 years of history 1SJDF 'MPSBM *OD 8FTU .BJO t 1SJDF 6UBI t Great for Christmas gifts! •Poinsettias •Unique Gifts •Free Gift Wrap with purchase •Open House now through Christmas Only “Come in and enjoy the sights and scents of Christmas”. $6 ea. written by Dr. Edward A. Geary Any $100 Off Is now on sale for $6 until Jan. 1, 2009 at the following locations: Museum of the San Rafael and the Pioneer Museum in Castle Dale, the John Wesley Powell River Museum in Green River, and the Emery County Recorder's Office, or you may call Sylvia at 435-687-9184. PARTY express sofa and loveseat combo! Wide variety of styles Gift Baskets made in Utah Large Christmas Basket $39.00 Medium Basket $35.99 Filled Christmas Felt Tote $19.99 Includes: Enstrom's Tote $15.99 *Free delivery in Price, Helper & Wellington. Minimal charge for outside local area. 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I hadn’t put my wet shoes back on except to hang my most colorful blanket off the back of the truck topper and had my feet tucked under me. She let me know it would be a while before they could get to where I was and asked if I would be all right. When I said yes and let her know where I was to the best of my knowledge, (past the Grassy Lake turnoff and a marker that said 56), facing south because the sun had come up to my left. Then we hung up. The phone screen still registered “emergency mode.” Although I remember asking the dispatcher her name I did not write it down and regret that I have forgotten it. She deserves a lot of credit for doing her job well and treating people sanely and humanely. She sent two search and rescue guys up in a little skyblue jeep with rubber bull’s balls in back and a cable winch in front. The cable winder didn’t work, but luckily, Hal Johnson had a tow chain for back-up. Julian Bowman gave me a cup of cowboy coffee in a tall Styrofoam cup that had the obligatory 1/8 inch of black sludge in the bottom. I didn’t turn my nose up at that gift, for certain. Although I was shaken and shaking, two sips were enough to calm my nervous system. They pulled my truck backward down onto the road (there was nothing metal under the front bumper of my 2007 Ford Ranger to hook onto). I was then able to get turned around. They let me know that three people had already died of exposure on that mountain recently; an older couple and a young man who tried to walk out, and they told me the map is wrong. “You can’t get there (to Ephraim) from here.” The road I was on was open for the hunt. There went my faith in the Rand-McNalley road atlas. But my greater faith grew. I am both lucky and glad to be alive, and believe now more than ever that it is important to let the people we care about in our lives know we love them. Katie Brady 190 So. 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