The most dangerous hunt was in 1981. One of our party killed a bull elk at 2pm on the day he had to leave and catch a flight back home in 24 hours. We're ten miles into the West Elk Wilderness in Colorado. Its getting dark by the time the elk and his stuff is attached to two pack horses. We road out of the mountains on horse back in the pitch black. When we weren't in the dark timber I could at least see my horse. I'd remembered how steep the drop offs were as we packed in and had my rifle in my hands across the saddle and my toes barely in the stirrups, I hoped that if I had to de saddle I jumped the right direction.. At times I couldn't see my hand held in front of my face. About two hours into the ride the guy we're packing out pulled out a cigarette and lighter, the horses didn't react well to that, they stopped dead in their tracks and quivered He was threatened with bodily harm if he did it again. Four butt puckering hours later my horse stopped and refused to go another step. I reluctantly stepped off hoping there was ground on the left side of him and not a long slide down. Once I was standing there I pulled out my flashlight and covered it with my hand so only a small amount of light escaped. I'm looking at the gate to the corral. Thank you God.I open the gate and walk the two hundred yards to where the outfitter had a trailer and wall tents.I promised myself I'd never do that again unless it was life or death. The horse was great, and I'm glad the outfitter was right when he said to let the horse lead you out if you get lost. I wouldn't say we were lost because I couldn't see the horse, just hoping the horse wasn't lost.
