I don't know if you have heard but this year I shot the biggest bull anyone has ever seen on Tobbogan hill in the last 30 years. I went to a spot, it was there, I shot it. An old timer on a quad gave us a ride back to the truck and ended up back at our camp to see the horns. Once word spread, other hunters stopped by and verified that this bull was epic. The most awsome part of the event was when dad was asked, on more than one occasion, if we were were related to Roy or Lee, who haven't been seen in over a decade on Tobbogan Hill, besides ghost stories. Hunters on that hill still remember those characters.
Belive it or not, Dad would restrain his response. I think it's because his heart was speaking way louder than what his voice could deliver. "Yeah, Roy's my dad and this here's my son, named after Lee, who's my mom's brother". That's all he would say.
Belive it or not, Dad would restrain his response. I think it's because his heart was speaking way louder than what his voice could deliver. "Yeah, Roy's my dad and this here's my son, named after Lee, who's my mom's brother". That's all he would say.
Dad showed up a day after I shot it. We went to where it was. I was worried about the logistics of getting it out and taking care of the meat. He said, ya done good, we'll gitter out. He was flawless in getting it boned in no time while I packed. Once the boning was done he packed what meat was left until it was done. We got this monumental bull back to camp within two days. That fat old sunofagun can still cut meat for six hours, on a hillside, put 60 punds on his back, and walk 2 miles... three times.