The Trek to Hart Canyon 1996
A Journal Entry by Shaun Bielman
*Written as if it was 1830*
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ay 1 March 30th Thursday
The day
started out fair and sunny, the vehicle was loaded and fueled.
Walked my two young ins down to the school house. As me and my squaw
made our way back to camp, we talked of my trek and the excitement I would
have.
Double Thunder made his appearance around
10:30 am, and we loaded his gear and we will be on our way. The trail was clear and the traveling was
fine, upon reaching the pass to Hart Canyon. There was a message etched into a
log telling us which way to travel. After passing the first deviation to our
trail we had to make another trail change to keep our journey safe.
Arrived at rendezvous around 3:30 pm found a
safe camp site and set up. Be the time camp was up and the ribs were spitted it
was near dark. We sat around waiting for the food to cook. The smell of the
meat made my stomach move in anticipation. The trek was long and I was very
much hungry.
When the meat was ready my knife was the first
to move. I do admit it was fatty with only the smallest amount of meat but my
hunger was satisfied.
The night was cold I made my way to the blankets.
Day 2 March 31st Friday
The morning is much cooler than the night before. The ground was covered
with frost, but the day looked promising.
Double Thunder was already making coffee when
I entered the day. The morning meal was salt pork and coffee, a meal well worth
starting the day with but the noise coming from my partner about how salty it
was and how I was going to die early only made me laff (laugh).
As I was sitting there enjoying my meal the
call came up from the north end of camp calling “Indian Attack! Indian Attack!
Get your guns, move to the east side of your camp!”
Well to say our faces were quiet red, our weapons
were still packed up. By the time I had my gear out, most of the attack was
over. I got off one shot and Double Thunder got two.
On the way back to camp Thunder said he was going to try his hand at
trading. Well, I told him good luck and headed for the walk through. The
soonest I could get through was 1:00 pm. So to fill my time I went shopping.
One trader I met at the Golden Eagle
Mountain Man rendezvous near Lucerne was here. He still had a collection of
pipe stems and were a mere $6.00 American. I had a fine walnut stem; the only
other treasure I found that day was my first new pair of buckskin trousers. $
190.00 is a most fair for that much elk hide. I broke them in on the walk
through.
1:00 pm was at hand I made my way to the start
and met my traveling companions. My group had 6 in number, small but fierce and
ready to fight. I shot 9 out of 25 not real good but not bad for me first walk
through, besides it was the best in the group.
By the time I made it back to camp it was all most dark. Thunder already
had two small fowls on the spit cooking.
I sat a spell and told the tale of my trek. This brings me to the tale
of Squirrel Killer. This is the name of my hawk and all its glory.
Last spring Thunder wanted a large pine squirrel
something fierce. He chased one around the top of the mountain for near 2
hours. Well this year he made plenty a comment to the effect that the need was
still there. Well after settling down next to the fire this Friday night and
having a nice chat on the finer art of hitting the target your shooting at, I
saw a large squirrel some 20 feet away to my right. Not thinking I said to
Thunder, “Look there that must be your squirrel coming to see you”. Next to
Thunder on the ground laid the so to be named “Squirrel Killer”. He grabbed the
handle and with a back handed throw, let the hawk fly. Not to change the story
but to add I must say he could never hit the broad side of a buffalo let alone
stick the hawk. Well, this hawk of mine passed within 2 foot of me on its
deadly journey and found its mark square on the head of that squirrel.
Thunder leapt to his feet and I
making the most controlled talk I could told him to dispose of our kill before someone
saw it and we were kicked out. About that time 3 women from the camp below us
were on their way to camp meeting pass by Thunder admiring his squirrel.
Non to say they were quiet upset at the look
at a squirrel with one ear doing flips at the feet of Thunder. Well, Thunder
told these poor women that the squirrel was sick, may even have the plague and
to stay away. Well the sick mess was caused by a crack in the head from my
hawk. They turned out to be good friend of some of the club members and had one
come down and have a look see for that squirrel.
*Squaw was not always considered a bad term. A hawk is a tomahawk. A walk through is a place to practice your shooting skills much like the courses police use today to hone their skills.