The fall of 1970, I was 19 yrs old, and was invited on a deer hunt to Montana with a friend and his father. I had a new Remington 700 in 6mm caliber along with a new pair of leather boots and not much knowledge of mule deer. For my age I could navigate pretty well anywhere I went in the deer woods of Wisconsin as long as I had a compass. This would be my first trip out west and one of the questions I asked was were there any rattlesnakes in that part of Montana. My friend laughed and said yes but it was to late in the year for them to be out.
We camped out in a valley off a narrow dirt road in the foothills of the Rockies.
Each day we would each go our own way and still hunt through the hills.
The second morning i shot a fat doe for camp meat. Leaving my pack by the carcass I confidently headed for camp only about a mile away to get help retrieving the meat. After walking much further than I thought I should have I realized my compass was
still in my pack by the dead deer. All the hills and valleys were starting to look the same. Trying to gauge direction by the sun I headed in the direction I thought would bring me to the dirt road. I walked a couple more hrs. before
finding it and had seen a small pine snake in the process. So much for it being too cold for snakes to be out!!
Glad to have found the road I started to walk to camp. After walking what seemed like several miles my new boots
had given me blisters bad enough I took them off and proceeded along the dusty trail. I was just about to put a foot down when the branch I was stepping over in the road moved. The size and color made my mind instantly think rattlesnake! The 6mm went into survival mode and it wasn't until after it was dead I realized it wasn't a rattler but being only in my stocking feet no chances were taken.
Continuing on, my dilemma ended when a couple cowboys came down the road and give me a ride in the back of an old pickup as they knew the area we were camping in. Got the doe out with my friend and had fresh venison
all week. I managed to miss a gimme shot at a giant mule buck a day later. My friend and his dad each shot a big one. We still laugh about that trip and my misfortunes 55 years later.
