Wounded Knee and the Trailer of Tribulation
Sacred Buffalo Hunt 2010
Sacred Buffalo Hunt 2010
Day 1:
Day 2:
Day 3 and the trip home:
Video 1: Around the herd
Video 2: Leif’s 2nd Buffalo
Video 3: Doctor getting his buffalo
Video 4: Leif’s 3rd Buffalo
Video 5: Leif’s 4th Buffalo
All Pictures: (the above-albums have only a selection of images)
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To tell the Tale of the 2010 Annual Buffalo Harvest, I must first tell the tale of my last elk hunt…
Late-Season Elk 2009
Late-Season Elk 2009
As you may well know, I like to hunt elk in the dead of winter. There’s nothing like going out in the below-freezing temperature to really feel alive. It’s just you and your wits against the freezing cold and the wily Wapiti. Well, at least that’s what we as elk hunters like to tell ourselves to justify going to the extreme measures that we do in order to do what our non-elk-hunting friends call ‘crazy.’ And we’re really not crazy… and if we keep telling ourselves that, it will, eventually, be true!
There we were, meandering around the ole hunting grounds, when I thought I saw some quarry. We were employing our tried and true ‘spot and stalk’ hunting, where you spot the game animal and stalk up on it without being detected. Of course, with my new rifle and scope, I don’t have to stalk as far – I can let the flight of the bullet do my silent approach for me.
Having spotted the mark, I stop the truck and sneak up a hill for a shot. I lie down in the deep snow and set my rifle on my bipod. But, putting my rifle down on the ground, it sunk into the snow and, what I thought was going to be a great placement for the barrel of my rifle ended up being almost buried. Luckily, my dad was there and volunteered to go back to the nice warm truck to get my pack to lay my rifle on. It takes an extremely steady hold to make a long-distance shot and my backpack would make a perfect rest.
I pull out rangefinder to check the range, and my wind meter to check the crosswind. While a wind meter only checks the wind at the spot, it gives a good idea of the effect of the wind on the bullet in flight. If you remember back to high school physics and Newton’s first law of motion, you recall that an object set in motion tends to stay in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by a another force. Two forces act upon a bullet in flight – wind and gravity. However, the wind that acts upon the bullet in the first 300 yards is going to affect the bullet for 70% of the wind drift. So, the hold for wind based on the wind speed at the location of me firing will still be an accurate hold, for the most part, for any object within or past 300 yards. Additionally, you can look at the affect of the wind on the vegetation at the target compared to your location to further assist you in doping the wind. As far as gravity, the counter-affect is dialing in the distance on my Ballistic Drop-Compensating turret. I can dial in any distance and hold the crosshairs right on the object. The only other affect, the rotation of the earth, only affects the flight of the bullet if facing north or south, and, if you are shooting more than 1000 yards. Being that I was facing east, and the object was around 500 yards, I didn’t have to account for that in my shot (air density/humidity, altitude, and temperature also affect the flight characteristics, but not enough to have to compensate for these variables at that time, as my turret is calibrated for 7000 feet at 30 degrees Fahrenheit, and the characteristics of where I was matched pretty closely).
While my Dad went to go get my pack, I grabbed a bullet from my shell carrier (on the stock of my rifle), opened the bolt, and fed it into the chamber. The bullet slipped into the chamber, and, as the rifle was pointed in the air and ‘downrange’ I began to close the bolt. The bolt went forward just fine, but, on the downward motion, the bolt was a little stiff. So, I pushed harder…
BANG!
Uh-oh. Actually, I said something else. I won’t inconvenience my audience with what I actually said, but think of something similar to “moldy spit.” The rifle discharging was the absolute last thing I expected to happen. Generally speaking it’s not a good sign when your rifle fires when you’re not looking down the barrel/scope. As a matter-of-fact, it’s downright scary. Talking with some guys later, the issue may have been many-fold as to why this event happened:
- Ice formed on the edge of the bullet when I was lying down in the snow (my shell carrier on the stock of my rifle may have allowed the bullets to touch the snow – my rifle previously had been in my 80 degree truck, and, it was close to 0 degrees outside. It wouldn’t surprise me if the warmth of the bullet melted the snow, and then it quickly refroze).
- The trigger was an extremely light trigger. It was maybe a 1 or 2 pound pull (1-2 lbs of pressure against the trigger making the firing pin engage).
Needless to say, after the firing any chance of getting off a clean shot was gone.
We tromped back to the truck and loaded up to find more elk. My dad and I drove to the north end of the unit and found a herd. As I set up, they came within 870 yards and I was in prone position with that exact distance dialed in to my scope. There were some other hunters around me and the hope was that the herd would move closer so that we could all get some shots. Unfortunately, as is often the case on public land, other hunters screwed up the shot. A crew full of yahoos thought they could actually drive up on the herd and were barreling their way down a two-track on the opposite side of the herd. The herd scattered and took off; we never saw them again. Sadly I thought to myself, “Here endeth the elk hunt.”
The Waterfall
After the elk hunt, the Remington was dispatched to the gunsmith. It was early January, and I was going to be leaving for Montana in 10 days. “No problem,” I thought as I walked up to the counter. After quickly explaining my situation, the gunsmith looked it over and said, “Six weeks.” “Six weeks? Are you kidding me?” I queried. “Why, is that a problem?” was the smithy’s reply. “Yeah – I’m leaving in 10 days to go on a Montana buffalo harvest, and, I still need to sight it in for short-range!” was my emphatic reply. His response was to put a ‘rush’ order on it - with the obligatory ‘extra charge’- but, at least I knew that my rifle would be perfect for the trip. I was willing to pay a little more in order to feel confident in my rifle again. The last thing I would want is a random shot going off around the buffalo!
Finally the day came when I called them and they indicated my rifle was ready. YAY!!! But I needed to get down there and pick it up, and I was in a hurry but still needed to wash my hair. Washing my hair is quite the undertaking, as the only time I can comb it is when there is conditioner in it (I prefer Infusium-23). But, even to get it to the point where I can comb it with my fingers, I need to let the conditioner sit for 5 minutes or so. During the wait, I used a salt-water rinse (like a neti-pot) for my nose (nasal irrigation). Up one nostril, out the other, then switch. The first time I did it, years ago, it felt like I was water-boarding myself. However, after awhile of regular usage, I got used to it and enjoyed the benefits of it (clear breathing is always a good thing. If you live in Colorado, you know the humidity is about 10% or less – i.e., it’s really dry! Doing the neti-pot keeps your air passage moist and fights any allergies).
Dressed and primped I set off to Bass Pro Shop to retrieve my rifle. Upon arrival, I inspected my rifle. They did several repairs: replaced one of the screws in the trigger, tightened another one (and put a post in it to keep it from slipping), and the trigger pull weight was then at 3 ½ lbs. Now, that’s okay for a standard rifle, but, when you have a fine-tuned tack driver, any undue pressure on the trigger can throw your bullet off at extended ranges. As this was for the buffalo hunt, where the shots are generally less than 100 yards, it would be fine.
The way Bass Pro Shop is set up, you get your bill, walk next door into the Fine Gun Room, and pay. Then you return to the gunsmith window, show them your receipt, and they hand over your firearm.
Now, if you’ve never been into a Fine Gun Room, you immediately become aware of how incredibly intimidating it can be. The cabinetry in the Fine Gun Room is exquisite; the wood must be burled walnut or teak or some kind of crazy-expensive rare wood. You feel as if you are walking into a museum/fine china shop, and are compelled to hold your hands behind your back as you know your mother is hovering nearby, ready to slap them away if you reached for anything. The rifles and shotguns in these Fine Gun Rooms are typically between $5,000 and $100,000 dollars. And it’s not a gun collection… it’s a gun library. Yeah… not one of the places where I typically hang out.
Walking up to the Elizabethan-styled desk with my bill in hand, I notice that the desk itself has a beveled-glass window looking down into the contents of the desk. Additionally (and what really caught my eye) was the rifle in the rifle-rest on the desk. This had to be one of those $20,000 rifles, just sitting there and the man sitting behind the desk (you’d expect him to be wearing a plaid smoking jacket with corduroy patches on the elbows, donning a derby cap, speaking in a voice similar to Sean Connery) was busy with paperwork, probably related to this exquisite rifle before him. He took my bill and credit card and set it down on the desk, saying “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
I took the opportunity to more closely examine the masterpiece of gunsmithing in front of me. I leaned over (hands still behind my back) to read the writing on the barrel. Then, to get a better idea of what was before me, I leaned over further to read the other side of the barrel. Now, recall the neti-pot treatment I had just before I left the house as you picture a cup of salt-water cascading out of my nose and all over the rifle, desk, and paperwork. In my excitement, I forgot to ‘drain’ before I left.
Looking up in shock, the gentleman behind the counter glared piercingly at me (and pulled it off) demanding an explanation. My first thought was to look up at the ceiling and say, “Wow. That’s quite a leak,” or point to the door and say, “Look! That kid just shot me with a squirt-gun,” but all I could manage was to lamely say, “Oh, sorry… it’s just salt water that drained out of my nose. Um, I use a neti-pot…” as if that would explain all.
I can honestly say I’ve ever received a more vicious scowl as he quickly grabbed my bill and credit card and stomped over to the machine to process it. Meanwhile, back at the desk, I tried to wipe the water/snot mixture off the rifle barrel. All I managed to do was smear it. I tried to wipe it off the beveled-glass on the desk. Like the rifle barrel, all I managed was to smear it worse. I was going to grab the paperwork on the desk to try and dry it off on my pant leg, but I figured the result would be the same, or worse. So, I just tried to nonchalantly wait while my bill was processed. After millennia of waiting, he came back and thrust the receipt and credit card back at me. I thanked him, hastily signed it (accidently putting the copy in a wet-spot on the desk to sign), turned tail, and beat a hasty retreat to the door, not wanting to look back and see the path of destruction and how the poor man was going to clean all that up.
No junk - 2010 First weekend
I sighted in my rifle later that week (I could keep the Huskemaw scope set at 200 yards, as there was less than half a quarter-inch between 50 and 200 yards on my 7mm Remington Ultra-Magnum Sendero with Berger 180-grain bullets pushed by 91grains of Hodgedon’s Retumbo powder, ignited by a CCI-250 Primer). My buddy Eric, who would join me on the second weekend, accompanied me to the range. I also sighted in my 12-gauge with slugs as I would be providing security for some archery hunters.
The Friday came where I picked up my buddy Matt and we loaded into the truck to head north. It was an uneventful trip (thankfully), stopping only for gas, food, and tobacco in Casper. We use the tobacco in ceremony and we give it as gifts to Tana and Joe. It has special meaning in the Native culture to pass tobacco to elders, or, those in a position of authority, as a sign of respect. We arrived, driving up Tana’s 3-mile driveway, to find a dog ready and willing to greet us. I found out later that it was Joe and Denise’s dog “Lobo” – a Res’ dog that needed a home. It jumped into the truck with us and we pulled into the driveway.
I met Denise, Joe’s lovely fiancée, and greeted Joe and Tana with tobacco in hand. Following dinner, we had pipe ceremony to bless the journey of the buffalo (especially the ones that would make their transition), to bless the land and give thanks to the native elders, the Ancient Ones, the Seven Directions, etc. It’s an involved process, not to be taken lightly. After we were done, morning was coming soon and the next day I would be harvesting two buffalo.
For accommodations, Matt and I had the downstairs bedroom. There was one bed – a double. I wear boxers, but Matt usually goes commando. Yeah, he slept in a comfortable pair of pants that night.
Bright and early, after a quick breakfast, Don Keever (nationally acclaimed taxidermist and all-around good guy) arrived and Tana smudged all of our rifles and equipment. Don was sure to give me a tour of his new Buffalo truck - a refurbished Army pickup, repainted all in camouflage with his “Anglers and Antlers Taxidermy” logo. It was a beast of a diesel truck as I was to find out the next day.
We headed out from the ranch up the hill to the pasture where the buffalo were roaming. And, they were roaming. We had to drive around a bit to find them. After driving to an overlook, we spotted the herd and Joe headed their direction. The buffalo came right up to the truck. As I readied my rifle, we waited for a buffalo to separate. One particular cow kept itself separated, and although not the biggest, there was no doubt in my mind that she was the one making the offering. With crosshairs just behind the ear, I dropped her without hesitation. She transitioned immediately, and we moved to surrounded her.
Now, as you’ll notice in the videos, I don’t simply raise my rifle and shoot. I wait for the perfect shot. I will not rush the shot, and, I want to make sure everything is ‘perfect’ before I squeeze the trigger. Sometimes the buffalo will take a step, make a head movement, etc., So – I wait. I’ll reposition myself to get a better shot, etc. I want the head to be clear, the neck clear, and the animal either not moving or just barely moving (a completely still buffalo can be rare thing). I owe it to the animals to make every shot a perfect shot. I also ensure that I have someone as my backup, ready to take a second shot in case something goes amiss.
The other buffalo really took no notice as they seemed to know it was harvest season. I wasn’t the first one up this year and I wouldn’t be the last. Tana has had to step-up her processing this year to keep up with the growth of the herd, and, the amount of land available to her to feed the herd. Don worked out an agreement with her to find people who wanted to participate in the Sacred Buffalo Hunt and in exchange, he would get the business of skull/hide prep/mounts, etc.
After the first buffalo was harvested, we looked to find the rest of the herd. The buffalo that were at the gate were just a small contingent off the main herd. They were quickly moving back to join the rest. We drove to try and get close enough to see if another would wait to be harvested, to no avail. They crossed a deep gully and went to a pasture known as “The Moccasin.”
To get to The Moccasin, we had to cross “Middle Crick” (creek). I left my truck on the west bank, and hopped into Joe’s truck, which has the lifter arm on the back. Matt climbed into the Diesel Beast and we negotiated our way down the gully and up the other side. It was a butt-clinching good time as the road was narrow and we mowed over some small saplings on the way up the other bank. Don made it through following behind us and we drove up to the main herd.
Buffy, the herd matriarch, came up to greet us as we scanned the herd for the right buffalo. One was lying off to the side (about 150-yards away) simply looking at us, not a concern in the world. It was away from the herd by at least 25 yards. Based on my experience, it couldn’t have been more obvious that she was The One. With guidance from Don as to where to hold the crosshairs at that angle, I held true and squeezed off the round. Another perfect shot and she laid her head down. We surrounded her with the vehicles, said prayers, offered tobacco, and began processing.
It was great having the snow. When we skinned the animal, we could put the hide down directly on the snow, skin-side down, and it would wash the blood off as we dragged it along. Matt was especially good at that; he could grab it by the head and drag the hide behind him. However, after dragging the skin, he went about 25 yards away from the truck towards a gully, and came between a portion of the herd and the truck. That same portion of the herd then became interested in Matt, as they were separating him from the trucks.
When harvesting a buffalo, we use the trucks as a barrier; a place of protection if the buffalo get upset and starts crow-hopping or become unruly. If that happens, the last place you want to be is out amongst the buffalo alone – unless you’re Tana. And being that Matt isn’t Tana, we waited for a break in the buffalo movement and I walked out and raised my arms towards the buffalo (this action makes the buffalo pause) while Matt scooted back to the truck. I’ll bet he never does that again.
On the way back, I tried to get a picture of Matt and Don coming through the crick, but at the camera angle I was in, the image doesn’t do the scene justice. We made our way back to the ranch and cleaned up. Don drove home and we cleaned / organized the house for the next day, when the film crew would arrive.
That night as we readied for bed, Matt asked if he could borrow a pair of boxers. I always bring extra, so, I happily gave him a pair and told him he could keep them – I didn’t want them back. (Personally, if I really needed a pair of underwear, I wouldn’t care who had worn them before. But, if I was okay in that department, and someone wanted to give me a pair they’d worn previously, I don’t know. I’d probably be checking for stains or leftovers or anything out of place where their junkpile had been. It would just be uncomfortable and I’d probably throw them away anyhow.) Apparently Matt didn’t share this bit with his wife, Burch, after he got home because she called me and said she ‘had my panties’ cleaned and ready.
No Fences Outdoors
A couple of archery hunters from No Fences Outdoors (Ben and Jesse) and their cameraman (Chad) came out the next day. They were filming a hunt that they would be broadcasting in 2011. I believe they are getting enough hunts in to have at least one or two complete seasons before they go ‘live’ as it were. They arrived with Don around 5:00 the next morning and Matt was not happy about having to wake up at 4:00 to get ready. (He’s not a hunter and having to get up that early, no matter the reason, seemed like blasphemy.)
Joe, Don, Matt, and I have new “Happy Heart Ranch / Sacred Ground International” jackets, made especially for this day. The idea is to promote Tana’s ranch and the work she is doing for the buffalo/the land as much as possible, bringing back the native grasses, etc. The jackets turned out really well and the logo on the back really stands out.
After introductions and familiarization, they filmed the opening sequence where everyone was smudged inside the ranch house and then the camera equipment, the trucks, etc, outside. We headed up the hill from the ranch into the unknown.
And really, it was just about the unknown. We had hoped to get some video of the sunrise over her land but the fog was too thick. It was so thick that there was no hope of even seeing the sun. Additionally, as we climbed higher, where Joe hadn’t driven, Don’s other truck (not the diesel – I was driving that one) became stuck. I pulled him behind with a chain as we continued up the hill. Then the chain came off. We spent 30 minutes walking the snow road, looking for it, until we realized that it was still attached to Don’s front bumper and he was pulling it underneath his truck.
It wasn’t until about 8:00 that the fog lifted enough for us to really even see where we were going and be able to find the buffalo. They emerged from the fog, walking towards us. That was a cool sight. Unfortunately, they weren’t filming at that point, but if they were, I would have told them to call that segment Buffalo in the Mist. It was that cool.
As we stopped the trucks to set up, I grabbed my 12-gauge and loaded it with some 430-grain slugs. I wasn’t expecting any trouble as Tana’s buffalo are pretty tame as far as wild buffalo are concerned- but she hadn’t, up to this point, had many archery hunters. How the buffalo would react to this method of harvest was an ‘unknown.’ The idea behind the perfect archery shot is to penetrate both lungs with the arrow. As death with an arrow shot is not instantaneous, the wounded buffalo can be unpredictable. Buffalo that you think are dead are the most dangerous. It’s best to be prepared and the 12-gauge helps considerably.
The first archer, Jesse, waited for a 3 ½ year old bull for his shot. As he readied his bow, we waited for a bull to present itself. Sure enough, one separates and the archer lets his arrow fly. The arrow strikes cleanly, sinks in and the shaft is buried as the buffalo goes to the ground almost instantaneously. I’m on watch to ensure none of the other buffalo get too excited. None of the buffalo reacted strangely and we waited for the bull to expire. We again do the prayers and tobacco, process the buffalo and set up for Ben.
The herd is still nearby and Ben readies his bow. I’m back on watch. The buffalo are naturally curious about the area where we processed the first buffalo and the herd moves up towards that point. Another 3-year-old bull passes without stopping on his way to the spot, following the other cows and bulls. But, almost as if asked to stop, he turns right around, walks 40 yards back towards us, and stops, broadside, about 30 yards away. The archer could not ask for a better shot – and he takes it.
Unfortunately, the shot wasn’t a clean one. The arrow hits a rib and goes in only about 4 inches. “Great,” I think, “now we have a wounded buffalo!” I’m on high alert as the hunter readies another arrow. However, less than a minute later, Ben sends another arrow, a double-lung and straight pass-through shot. It was ultimately a killing shot. However, to be safe, Don puts a round from his Pre-64 Winchester 30.06 just behind the ear and the animal drops. His thinking was smart; a wounded buffalo, full of adrenaline, may not have gone down quickly and then becomes dangerous to all. It’s better to have a buffalo on the ground than walking wounded, even if death is imminent.
With the second buffalo now down, we surround it and begin the process of prayers, tobacco, photographs, etc. We hoist it in the air and skin/disembowel it, and put the stomach in a plastic bag; it was promised to a Native man in Billings – a friend of one of the archers.
We head back to the ranch house and I end up futzing around with something in the shop. I don’t recall what it is, but, when I come up to the ranch house, they’re busy filming the wrap-up and Tana is showing her buffalo blankets and buffalo-horn jewelry. As everyone is inside, I don’t want to interrupt the filming, so I hang out outside. Lobo is there to keep me company and he keeps busy wrapping himself around my legs, biting at my shoelaces. After what seems like an eternity, I see that they are done filming and open the door. Don, ever the funny man, is quick to say, “The adults are done talking now, you can come in.” Nice… And I really have to pee.
Matt and I decide to follow Don and the crew to the butcher/meat processor as I hadn’t been there before. After the 45-minute drive off the Crow reservation to Billings, then on to Huntley, we arrive at the place. I’m really impressed at how clean it is. I walk into the walk-in freezer and see my buffalo hanging from the day before. They are really clean and well hung, aging nicely. The floors are clean, the walls are clean; everything is in its place. Very nice. If I had a butcher shop, this is how I’d want it set up.
Matt and I head back to the ranch, saying goodbye to the No Fences Outdoors crew and Don, saying that I would see him the following week. Matt and I head back to Denver the next day without incident. I drop Matt off and head home myself to get ready for my next trip.
Herd of Turtles – 2010 Second Weekend
I pick up my buddy Eric on Friday, and, we’re off like a herd of turtles. We had to stop at Gander Mountain to switch out a ‘skinning/gutting knife’ Eric had picked up. The one he initially bought was too small for the buffalo hides. I showed him the one I had. He said “Jeepers! I better get that one!” Or, something like that– even though I’ve never heard him utter the word “jeepers,” he might have used it during his tour as a law enforcement officer. Also, since I’m writing the story, I get a little bit of freedom as to what I think others are thinking.
After we get the knife, we stopped to get breakfast burritos and hit the road. We’re about an hour in, nearly to the CO/WY border and Eric then says, “Golly, I forgot my camera battery charger!” We stop in Cheyenne and attempt to find a shop that has a battery charger for his super-duper-megapixel-high-res-uber-quality-digital-camera. At least I’m pretty sure that’s the name of it. (It could be ‘Canon’, but I might be wrong.)
As we’re hunting for the right place to find this thing, Eric cautions me about the cop we just passed (He used to be “one of them” so he’s got super-duper ‘cop-sense’). I didn’t think anything of it as he gives me directions to turn right on this particular street (but crossing a solid white line to do so). I make the turn and Eric says, “You’re about to get lit up” and before I can truly respond, I see the pretty twinkling lights Eric just mentioned in my rear view mirror. I pull over and convince the Deputy that no, we’re not drunk, yes, we are from out of town and it’s all his (pointing at Eric) fault. I said, “He’s the navigator and he’s not that good.” Eric was kind enough to wave at the Deputy to accept the blame and he let us go. We finally find a shop where Eric can find the charger and I look at the clock on my dash. 12:30. I think the time must be incorrect, but, a quick check on my cell phone. Yep – it’s really past noon, and we’re only to Cheyenne. At least Eric’s roommate loaded him up with a bunch of pogey-bait for the trip (and the burger joint next to the camera joint didn’t hurt anything either).
This was Eric’s first trip to Montana (where the destination was Montana and not just passing through at night on his BMW 1150), and he was excited to see the scenery. The Bighorn Mountains were snow-covered and spectacular, but, crossing into MT and onto the reservation, darkness fell, and the land was black. This Crow reservation isn’t exactly well known for being well lit at night, or, having guard rails, and you can easily come around a bend and find a herd of cattle in the road. Caution is your best friend crossing the Res’ at night and Eric used plenty of it as he drove us onward.
Caution is also needed when opening bags of chocolate-covered sunflower seeds. Unfortunately, I didn’t use any and as Eric piloted on, I opened the bag and ripped it halfway down the seam, spilling the contents all over me, the seat, and the floor. Fantastic! I was worried, and, sure enough, the next time I got out of the truck, there was a large brown smear on the seat where I was sitting. Let the sheer beauty of that sink in.
We arrived at the ranch and Tana, Joe and Denise were quick to greet us and welcome Eric to the ranch as a first-timer. Tana is always quick to have any newcomers drink a glass of water, fed from the abundant springs, to connect them to the land. Eric happily lapped it up. Good boy, Eric, good boy.
Early the next morning, after breakfast, we put out all the equipment to be smudged while waiting for Don, who soon arrived with his buddy Rick. Also joining us was a Billings doctor that wanted to harvest his own buffalo. Don, Kirk, and the good Doc added their equipment to the table and Tana smudged it all. We set the expectations of what to find in the field for the Doctor as well. In a show of wanting to become part of the full experience, Tana asked Eric to smudge the vehicles, an opportunity I am happy to report that Eric took on with great enthusiasm. That done, we headed up the hill.
It’s always great to have others out to experience the harvest and be a part of the process. Tana has even started a program for young men, a ‘rite of passage’ hunt, where a 12-16 year old can come and harvest as long as they are accompanied by their father/grandfather/older relative or guardian, and they can demonstrate that they have the ability to shoot accurately. They are then introduced into the ‘sacred hunt’ that Tana offers with the buffalo on her ranch. There has been nothing but positive feedback from all who participate.
We got in the truck, and Eric must have thought, “Gee whillakers, we’re heading out!” (on a side note – Eric is the absolutely last person you would expect to hear that kind of talk from – and certainly not the “Golly Wally, Gee, Beav” type.) The buffalo were once again waiting at the gate and Eric took some incredible pictures with his super-duper-megapixel-high-res-uber-quality-digital-camera. After we crossed the gate, we pulled off and the Doctor readied for his shot. The animals settled a bit and we waited for one to separate from the herd. Sure enough, one meandered over to the fence line, away from all the others, and the Doctor, fully prepared, kneeled and took aim. His shot was carefully-placed, the animal dropped, and we surrounded it with the vehicles. We offered tobacco and prayers and processed it quickly. The time from shot to having it harvested and loaded in the back of the truck was maybe 35 minutes. Don was able to take the Doc back to the ranch house and get the animal to the butcher right away.
The rest of us stayed in the field as I had two more to harvest. As we stood by the trucks, a small herd came up from the gate area. One paused and stood there, looking right at me. “Thank you,” I said and quickly set up for the shot. My shot was clean and dropped her. After the tobacco and prayers, we hoisted and started processing. As we were busy skinning the buffalo, Don returned, just as Kirk was explaining that he was the Sporting Clays champion for Montana and Wyoming, beating out a guy from Texas. He couldn’t afford to go to the national event, where, the guy from Texas won. I guess he’s a pretty good shot (and former Army infantry). We were able to compare stories with me being in the Marines. It was good, clean, “man-fun” out in the pasture.
My second buffalo proved to be a bit of a challenge. The herd was on the move, and waiting for an animal to separate itself out was time consuming. But, it’s the way it is. We would follow the herd, stop when we thought the herd would stop, get out and wait for a shot. Then none would stop. We did this 3 times. Finally one stopped, looked at me, and lowered her snout into the snow covered grass, waiting to be taken. Of course, others were moving in and behind her, again and again, fouling the sight picture. Eventually I had a clear shot and she fell with a single squeeze of the trigger.
We surrounded her and set about with tobacco and prayers. While we processed the buffalo, Eric took the opportunity to take some pictures. Snow had begun to fall heavily, and with the fog, Pryor Mountain in the background, he tried to capture the magic of the land. That worked well until the buffalo started taking interest in him and they were slowly working their way over to where Eric was shooting pics. He was about 100 feet from the trucks and I mentioned to him that he probably would want to make his way back to the truck. Eric’s a smart guy and communicated that he was watching them watching him and started to move back toward the safety of the trucks, taking pics as he walked. Then Don reiterated it, and, perhaps he picked up on the urgency in Don’s voice or maybe it was the, “Eric, their tails are rising. Rising tails is not a good thing.” As Eric had never been around the buffalo before, and has never seen them riled up, it’s easy to take them for granted, or not to take enough precaution when out and among them. In Eric’s case, his angle of view did not show the rising tails of an aggressive animal. He learned the lesson that Matt experienced, too.
That night we had some buffalo chuck steak and made preparation to leave. The next morning as Eric and I prepared to leave, packing bags and gathering our gear, I took a moment to jump up on the bed, butt-first. It collapsed. Ironically, this is the same bed that Audrey and I had slept in during our visit to the ranch previously, and as the fates would have it, I broke it then as well. I asked Joe to help me repair it and he was kind enough to not give me too hard of a time about it. Tana laughed when the story was revealed, having remembered the last visit, too. We had breakfast, cleaned up, loaded up, and bade goodbye to Tana, Joe, Denise, and the dogs Sadie and Lobo. Crossing the reservation, we saw some ditch parrots (pheasants) and stopped to take pictures. Then, outside of Sheridan, we saw a flock of turkeys. We also stopped to take pictures of bald eagles, deer, antelope, rock formations, and state signs.
The Trailer of Tribulation
Between the time that the second buffalo were completely done with processing and going to pick them up, my grandmother Hanson made her transition from this world to the next. Audrey and I made preparations to attend the funeral in Mitchell, SD and, on the way back, we would dog-leg through Billings to pick up the buffalo. That meant hauling 14 150- and 120-quart coolers behind us on our trip, in my dad’s 4x8-foot trailer. It made for a bit of wind resistance, but at least it was a relatively light load heading northeast from Highlands Ranch.
After spending time with family, and offering blessings and prayers for my Grandmother’s continued journey, we made our way to Billings via Rapid City, Sturgis, then northwest through Broadus and Lame Deer, across the Northern Cheyenne reservation. We settled in Billings for the night.
Early the next morning we met Tana and Joe for breakfast. As Audrey and Tana continued to chat, Joe and I went to pick up the buffalo. The trailer was slowly loaded up. Returning to the restaurant, I picked up Audrey and said goodbye to Tana and Joe. We gassed up and I checked the tires. The passenger-side tire was low so I filled it. With the weight of four buffalo, you don’t want anything going wrong with your tires.
If I had actually spoken that, they would now be famous last words. Instead, I remained silent and south of Casper, I noticed that my trailer was lilting to one side. I pulled over to check it out and sure enough, the passenger-side tire was shredded. Being prepared, I took the spare off the side of the trailer, got out my high-lift jack, and changed the tire. We were on our happy way again before too long.
Not to be completely done, just south of Chugwater, Wyoming, I again looked and noticed that my trailer was lilting to one side. I pulled over to check it out; the passenger-side tire was shredded.
“Okay – who did I piss off?” I thought, “What karma am I balancing?” In being prepared, I may carry one spare tire for the trailer, but not two! Who does that? I drove to the next exit as my plan was to dump the trailer. I didn’t want to set it alongside the highway – not with that much buffalo. I drove to Exit 40 and pulled off. Audrey got on the cell phone and started calling around to tire shops in Cheyenne. As it was close to 8:00 PM, no tire shops were open. Sam’s Club indicated they had a tire close to the size so we drove as fast as the snow/ice on the highway would allow us in an attempt to get there. Although the store itself closed at 9:00 PM, the tire section closed at 8:30. Yeah – we were too late.
My buffalo delivery plan included dropping off a half-buffalo on the way back to two people. One of the guys, Linc, I had never met; he was a friend of a friend. I called to tell him that I wasn’t going to be able to drop it off that evening. He said “OK” and asked if there was anything he could do. I said I’d get back with him and called my Dad. Back in Denver, I had a 4x6 trailer and it might have the same-sized tires on it. If so, I was going to see if he could perform a rescue mission – bring me a spare tire or two. He was still on his way back from South Dakota and wasn’t even home yet. After I got off the phone with him, Audrey called and made hotel reservations in Cheyenne. Even with the tire from my other trailer, I wanted to get the two tires repaired before heading back to Denver. But, synchronistically, Linc called and said he was on his way! Wow – right on! Help unlooked for is thrice blessed. I asked if he drove a pickup and by his response, “I do,” he sounded as if I’d asked an obvious question.
I called my dad to tell him that he didn’t need to initiate the rescue plan. It was a miserable night but Linc was on his way. I’d given him directions to the Flying-J gas station and told him to look for a white F150. Audrey and I grabbed a bite to eat. At the gas station I busied myself rearranging the luggage in my back seat in case I needed to put a cooler back there. My plan, at the time, was to load up as many coolers in the back of his truck as possible and put the rest in the back of my truck (I already had two coolers, and, a couple boxes of bones, in the bed of my truck). Linc showed up and after quick introductions, we drove the ice-road 33-miles north to Exit 40. I backed up to the trailer and he pulled in behind it to shine the headlights of his Dodge Diesel 2500 into the trailer.
It was a bitter wind that blew that night, mixed with icy snow, quickly making any exposed skin frighteningly cold. No moon was to be had and the only light was from the headlights. We moved one row of coolers and then sat in his cab to warm up. Heading back into the storm, we moved the rest. All but two coolers fit in the back of his truck, double-stacked. I had a large brown tarp, which, barely being able to hold onto it (it was quite sail-like) we covered the coolers. I used my cargo-straps to hold the tarp down and keep the coolers in place. The last two coolers we were able to fit into his back seat (he flipped the seat up). “Cool,” I thought, “an empty trailer.” No one would be able to come along and help themselves to some Grade-A buffalo that night.
Linc then helped me remove the second shredded tire and it went in the back of the truck. It was nice to finally be in the warm cab and out of the bitter cold. I followed Linc back to Cheyenne – making sure his load wasn’t shifting. All was well, so, I bade him good night and safe travels and we headed to the hotel.
Wounded Knee – No, really…
The next morning we made our way over to the tire shop and I handed them both rims. As Audrey and I breakfasted at the local Village Inn, they put new tires on and we were on our way back north. It wasn’t nearly as bad as the night before. It was windy, sure enough, but not snowing and the sun was out. I jacked up the trailer to get the tire back on and heard the clang of metal on concrete. “What the…” I looked under the trailer and saw a piece of the leaf-spring that clattered on the ground. I deduced that the clip holding the leaf-springs together had broken when I initially loaded up the trailer, or shortly thereafter. Where the clip broke, the spring had also partially broken at an angle and was rubbing the inside of the tire, thus shortening the life of it - significantly.
I put both tires back on the trailer and we headed to Linc’s house on the North side of Denver. Along the way, I called the other person (Martina) who ordered a half-buffalo. I then called my Dad to formulate a plan. We would all meet at Linc’s house. My dad would bring my 4x6 trailer and we would offload all the coolers between my dad’s Isuzu, my F150, and my trailer. I didn’t want to put any weight in the 4x8 trailer with the broken leaf-spring.
When we arrived at Linc’s, I parked the 4x8 trailer on the street and backed into the driveway next to his big black truck. Then Martina showed up while I made room in the bed of my F150. Linc and I then climbed into the back of Linc’s truck to offload the first cooler. I’m guessing that these coolers weighed about 150+ lbs apiece and I couldn’t move them by myself. We drug the 1st cooler to the edge of the tailgate and I stepped to the edge of the tailgate to jump down.
When my ankle rolled out from under me, gravity took over. On the way to the ground, my knee caught the metal edge of the tailgate. Then the skin under my kneecap ripped open for a nice, pleasant three-inch gash. Maybe it was four. I’m not quite sure. I hit the ground, one leg up on the tailgate, one leg on the driveway. I hopped away and pulled my leg down and stumbled to the side of the house to steady myself. I was hoping beyond hope that maybe I just banged it, kind of like a ‘funny bone’ for the leg. Then I saw blood. I pulled up my pant leg and saw my sock already soaked. I looked at the gash and thought, “Huh… that’s gonna need stitches.”
Linc came over with some disposable shop towels and duct tape. He pressed the shop towels against the wound and I held them in place while he wrapped the duct tape around my leg. It wasn’t pretty by any stretch of the imagination, but it worked. I asked where the closest hospital was and off we went.
I called my Dad along the way. He answered his cell and had to tell me all about where he was in relation to Linc’s house, and how he checked Google maps, etc. I patiently waited until he was done to tell him that I wouldn’t be there (I could see the look on his face) and instead I would be in the local ER. Then I had to explain what happened. I asked him to continue to Linc’s and grab as many coolers as he could load and drop them off at my house. By the time that conversation was done we had arrived and I hobbled my way into the Platte Valley Medical Center ER.
I carefully removed the duct-tape (you think I should start shaving my legs with the number of times I end up in the emergency room with leg injuries) and received a whole mess of stitches in the muscle below my knee. They had to sew the muscle up first (buried stitches) and then sew the surface (running stitches). I’ve forgotten the count – but I think it was somewhere around 30-36 stitches. Linc called while the nurse was spraying a concoction of water and baby-shampoo into my open wound. Ah, the joy of pain. Linc heard all about it.
After I was all stitched up, we went back to Linc’s to load up the rest of the coolers and the frozen bones in the back of my truck, and reattach the trailer. On the way home, I thought about the fact that I still had to sort all of the buffalo! I called a bunch of buddies and begged them to come assist me. There was no way I could do this all myself – it’s difficult to sort 1500 lbs of buffalo meat even when you’re feeling 100%!
Luckily I have plenty of great friends who were happy to assist at a moment’s notice. It also helped that most of them were getting portions of buffalo! For those who weren’t, I was sure to give them a few packages of buffalo burger. Well worth the cost for their assistance!
Thus ends the tale of the 2010 Buffalo Harvest.
For more information about doing a Sacred Hunt yourself, please visit
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