Lies And Lions On The Wapiti

The Zoilus and Aristarchus Debate

Barbwire Johnny and I had two hunters on the Wapiti. We were much closer to Alberta than we were to a road to anywhere in BC. We were in excellent Elk, Moose, Grizzly, and Mountain Lion country. Normally, we would be having a good time, but our hunters were intent on impressing us with their importance down in the Lower 48 and how they didn’t really need the two of us, since they were accomplished hunters and outdoors men. The funny thing about accomplished hunters and outdoors men, they would never try to impress us. They always displayed their abilities by helping pack the horses, pitching in to set up camp, and helping us field dress and skin animals. These two were more than content to watch us do everything. That’s what they pay for, but don’t tell us how good you are at this stuff if you can’t back up the brag.

After a few days my hunter shot a nice elk. He just wanted the rack and the head for a trophy and was quite put out when I told him I had to pack the meat out for the camp and for my freezer at home. I wasn’t supposed to leave him alone, and I knew if I did, he would wander off on his own and shoot something else. We walked back to our camp and I saddled up two saddle horses and three pack horses and we headed back to the kill site. By this time he was in a quiet rage. He had insisted on staying at base camp, but if he wandered off to do some hunting and got lost, I would be held responsible. I just didn’t trust him.

Back at the kill site, the carcass had stiffened enough that I could quarter the animal and lace the front quarters on the biggest pack horse and the hind quarters on the second biggest pack horse and the tenderloin and back meat in a pair of panniers with the cape head and rack on the smallest of the horses. Surprisingly, the front quarters are heavier than the hind quarters, I think it is because of the bone structure, because the front has less meat.

I wrapped the quarters in cheese cloth and then in a tarp, my hunter asked with a sarcastic tone if I was going to use a One Man or Two Man Diamond Hitch to lace the quarters on the horses. I told him I’d use a basket hitch and since there was just the rack and cape on the panniers I’d use a deviated Diamond on that horse.

He seemed put out that I wasn’t using his advice on how to do the hitches, but packing is something I knew well and he only seemed to know the terminology and never displayed any real interest in helping. I was 15 or 16 years old and this was a man in his 30’s or 40’s who was acting like a child, but I was in charge and that bothered him a great deal. He coud wander off, but there was a good chance he would die out here alone and that was the slim margin of authority I used to keep him under control.

Finally, in desperation at the self-imposed humiliating situation, he said, “hubris will bring you down one day, you should look it up, when you get home.”

Elk quarters are not as heavy as moose quarters, but at the time I weighed a 185 pounds and the quarters weren’t that much lighter than me. When he told me about my hubris, I was holding a quarter in place with one hand and lacing it on with the other. I didn’t really have the age or experience to insult someone, especially someone older than me, but I couldn’t resist joining in the game of ancient Greek. “Do you compare me to Homer’s Odysseus?

I waited for an answer, but he was looking at me cautiously now. Would he take the bait? I had to hurry to get the other quarter on the other side to keep the pack saddle from slipping and to relieve the uneven pressure on the horse, as I finished the basket hitch and prepared to load the next horse. I decided to play the game without him. “You sir, with your carping criticism, remind me of Zoilus and his hair splitting animadversions of Homer’s invention and grammar, he managed to make himself extremely unpopular for his efforts as well.”

I had the man in a state of shock. He considered himself superior to me in every way, yet couldn’t get me to act subservient or as a suppliant to him, a powerful and rich man. He had tried to impress me with a bit of Greek culture from a class he probably took in college and it looked like he stayed with his pathetic aphorisms, I just might be able to pin his ears to a wall. Now, I have become his antagonist and he fears what I might be able to do with his phony protasis

“I prefer to think of myself as a critic in the tradition of Aristarchus, criticism can be very productive and useful.”

“Do you speak of the Aristarchus of the second or fourth century BC?” Again there was only silence from the Greek scholar.

I paused while letting him hide in false humility. “One was an astronomer who developed the helio-centric theory and measured the distance to the moon and sun using calculus, sadly his sine was off several degrees; causing his measurements to be short by twenty times the real distances; yet, I still consider him to be one of the outstanding men of science. The other was the founder scientific scholarship and was head of the Alexandrian Library, his textual and literary systems of criticism are still held in high regard today. Now Sir, to which man and which century are you referring to?”

Silence was the answer to my question, and it was obvious my victory could have only been more complete with my sharp knife between his ribs, for he had just been defeated by a mere lad of the wilderness and his spirit was broken.

As we rode back to camp, the sun set on our day and on our relationship. He no doubt had an education, but it served only to build upon his heightened vision and awareness of himself. To meet a young lad in the bush, who was unpretentious, yet prepared to battle him intellectually was a rude awakening, one that he was ill-prepared to deal with. His personal, social, and business life was surely spent abusing others with his abrasive and bullying personality; unfortunately, he was now faced with a young lad whose lack of education and social graces had been supplemented by his father’s vast library and a dedication to home schooling education in the classics. He had stepped in deep manure and knew his boot would be left in the mire if he struggled on with his superior attitude.

Barbwire Johnny And Skook Define Love And Lust

We pitched a wall tent for the hunters and pitched a wickiup for ourselves a distance away. Normally, we stayed with the hunters, but being with this pair during the day was more than we could handle.

The horses were tied in a perimeter around the camp and my beloved Cathoulas slept under the three sided canvas wickiup with us. El Tigre or Tiger still was waiting for his scars to finish healing from the confrontation with the Grizzly the previous winter, he was the best bear and lion fighter, but the dogs were all seasoned hunters and would protect us with their very lives. It was unlikely a lion would come into a camp, with this many humans and dogs, to try to steal a horse or human, but you can never predict a starving predator. We were more likely to have a two year old or a 30 year old Grizzly wander into camp looking for a fast cheap meal. The youngsters that have just been kicked off the sow are having a hard time keeping their bellies full and can be very dangerous: the older bears are usually feeling their age by 30 and are having trouble running down game, their teeth and claws are usually broken and infected and they are feeling miserable. A human or horse seems like an easy meal and they are often willing to resist the obvious danger of walking into the “man” camp to score an easy meal.

The horses wont make a sound unless the Grizzly or lion gets too close to one of them. They will then scream like a woman; although, I am a sound sleeper, that is one sound that will have me up and running with a round in the chamber, it doesn’t matter whether it is 20 below with deep snow or whether I am barefoot and in my underwear or less, I am up and moving toward that sound. I have only lost one horse to a bear and never plan to lose another one.

After a subdued dinner, Johnny and I declined their whiskey and went to work cleaning up the dinner dishes and cooking utensils outside the wall tent. This was a sure sign that Johnny was as disgusted with his hunter as I was with mine, for Johnny is a dedicated drinker and he had only turned down a drink a few times in his life.

We retired to our wickiup and had a typical conversation about life before drifting into the dream world. Johnny asked me if I had ever been in love. Now Johnny, like me, had never been to school, but sadly, he could neither read nor write, however he was indeed a deep thinker.

“Johnny, I am only 15 and I’ve only known a few girls in my life.”

“I know, I just don’t think I have ever been in love”, he offered this bit of information to begin the night’s conversation.

“Well Johnny, you seem to have a lot of women in love with you: they must have worn out several sets of door hinges at your cabin.”

“Ah, they come and go. I can’t even remember them all, but I never missed any of them and it was never long before a new one would soon be knocking at the door.”

“That’s a real problem Johnny, a problem that about half the men in Canada wish they had.”

We both had a good laugh over that one. Then Johnny asked me a more serious question in his qualifying manner, “Skook, you know about them ancient Greeks and the bible and all that…”, he paused, waiting for me to confirm his statement, but I just left him hanging there in suspenders. Now, perhaps the real question will come forth, “I figure you know the difference between love and lust.”

That really wasn’t a question. It was my turn, so I prodded him with a question, “Why are you wondering about love and lust Johnny?”

“You knew my mother, she was a real Christian woman, always praying for my soul and its redemption and praying that I would get off this road to perdition.”

“Yes Johnny, I knew your mother well, she helped my mother when she was getting ready to cross over.”

“I can’t help but wonder if my mother is peeking at me and my wayward life from above those pearly gates. If she is, I think she might be upset with all my lusting and drinking.”

“That’s one reason why we try to lead a halfway decent life, so as not to disappoint our ancestors. First off Johnny, we should all try to drink less rather than more. You look pretty bad traveling around on your hands and knees, when you are too drunk to walk; besides, you never now when some clumsy fool will step on your hand by accident and break one of your fingers.”

“I know I shouldn’t drink so much and I am trying to drink less. I was just wondering whether my mother will consider those women that move in with me to be love or lust.”

Now, we are at the real question and the reason for this whole conversation.

I considered the question carefully before giving Johnny my answer. “Johnny, you remember me telling you about visiting my uncle down in Virginia.”

“You betcha, that was good old fashioned lust down there.”

“Now Johnny, if you are so damned sure you know what lust is all about, why are you asking me?” Johnny reluctantly stopped smiling and settled back to listen. “Down there they have a bug they call the lightening bug, it flies around at night and gives of this blue green light.”

“Skook, bugs that light up at night, come on now, be serious.”

“Johnny, I am as serious as a heart attack. They give off a bright light. I went around and caught some in a Mason jar and they all lit up real nice and bright, but the next day they were all dead. I think those bugs are like lust, they light up nice and bright that first night, but the next day they are all dead. Now, I need some sleep, morning will be here in no time.”

Johnny was still thinking hard about the bugs and lust when I left for the dream world.

The Moment Of Truth

Just before day break, Tigre, Nelson, and Samantha, my Catahouls all let out a huge bellering bawl, yipped a couple of times and took off like they meant business, a killing kind of business. I yelled at Johnny to get the hunters up and moving. The dogs were on a hot trail and I didn’t want to get one of them hurt waiting on a couple of slow risers. I threw some clothes on grabbed my rifle and was on the trail listening to hear the dogs. They wouldn’t make a sound now until they had the animal treed or cornered, that’s the way Catahoulas hunt.

About an hour after daylight, the dogs were at bay. I was only about a half mile to the base of Black Tooth Mountain and ran there in nothing flat, the dogs were about three quarters of the way up a small but steep mountain called Black Tooth. They had a big Mountain Lion cornered, but the mountain was so steep they couldn’t get in close to the cat; actually, it was so steep, I was surprised the dogs could even climb the mountain without falling. The cat definitely had an advantage.

I paced and paced waiting for Johnny and the hunters. I should climb the mountain and kill the damn cat before one or more of my dogs was injured or killed, but as a professional guide, I was supposed to wait for a hunter and hope that he could climb the mountain and shoot the cat without hitting one of my dogs. Finally they showed up, on three horses. The two hunters were breathing harder than the horses, just from the gallop. I’m sure Johnny had no sympathy for the hunters and rode to get here as fast as possible once he heard the dogs baying. There was no time for small talk or excuses, I took the hunter that was with Johnny yesterday. He looked a little fitter and I knew the other one was still mad at me because I had shamed him. We could hear the dogs and the cat engaged in a real argument up higher and I wanted to get this deal over with as soon as possible. I told Johnny to start climbing with his hunter, while me and my hunter would run to the left flank and start up just in case the rhubarb spilled over to the other side of the mountain. I told them not to shoot unless they had a clear shot and not to hit any of the dogs. With that we took off up the mountain, while Johnny and his Greek scholar started up their area of the mountain.

We found a good place to start the ascent and started climbing. The hunter did a good job of keeping up, he was climbing without fear and I developed a little respect for this guy. We about half way to the top when I heard a loud yelp and a couple of softer yelps. One of the dogs had been cut and was either dead or bleeding. I was cursing myself for not starting up sooner. How long can you expect the dogs to stay with a lion fighting that is fighting for its life.

Just before I was able to see the fight, I heard a rifle fire, the dogs were still growling and baying. Then there was a second shot and everything got quiet. I hurried over to the right and saw that the lion was sliding down the mountain with the dogs in half-hearted pursuit. The cat looked dead and the dogs were following the cat down a rock slide because it was the thing to do. Nelson was bleeding, but was unconcerned with his injuries. The hunter and I sat down and laid back to catch our air before starting back down.

We were tired, but there was no water, so we had a long walk until we could refresh ourselves with water. I needed to check on my dogs, so we started back down the mountain in a few minutes.

I helped Johnny finish skinning the cat and we walked back down to the horses. There was no way the horses were going to let us put the cat hide on their back, so I carried the hide on my back, while the others rode. It probably weighed 75 pounds are more, it wasn’t light, but it weighed almost as much as Johnny, there was no way that he could have carried it more than a few feet.

Johnny held Nelson while I sewed up the gashes on the side of his head and his ear. The dog was brave, but we could tell the area was sore. I’d hold ice against the cut and then put in anther stitch. It took over 30 stitches, but it looked pretty good when I was done.

Johnny’s Catharsis

Aristotle used “Catharsis” in Chapter VI of Poetics, there is still debate as to his meaning; however, he used it within this sentence, “Tragedy through pity and fear effects a purgation of such emotions.” Thus powerful feelings produce a therapeutic sensation, for after the tragedy there is a release from tension and a calmness develops.

That night, Johnny and I were having another philosophical discussion. Suddenly from out of nowhere Johnny said, “Skook, I shot the cat.”

I looked at him in disbelief, “Did you say, you shot the cat?”

“The hunter was afraid to climb and I thought we might lose the dogs if I didn’t go ahead and shoot; you know me, I only shoot for a good reason. You aren’t mad are you Skook.” It was a rule of outfitting that a guide could help finish an animal, but the initial shot had to be taken by the hunter. We never crossed that line, but this was a different case.

“No, you did the right thing. It is just kind of hard to swallow. This jerk head is going home and brag to everyone about his hunting skills and in reality, he was afraid to climb the mountain.”

“He was afraid to get close to the cat when I started skinning it. He’s lucky he has a job in the city, because he would starve out here.”

“Johnny, I think some guys are just natural four flushers; their whole life is spent trying to impress people, because they aren’t happy with who they really are, or maybe they aren’t even sure who they really are, kind of like those fireflies, their stories and lies burn bright for awhile, but eventually, they are all used up.”

During the next two days, I helped the other hunter get a nice mule deer and Johnny led the lion killer around in circles and made sure he didn’t get another shot for the rest of the trip.

I’m sure the lion killer has passed on by now; hopefully, the lion mount is located in someone’s house that appreciates the animal and the desperation of the situation that took place on Black Tooth, rather than the lies of the four flusher who claimed to have shot the lion. And I am still left with the internal polemic of why I didn’t take the initiative for the sake of my dogs.