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| Hunt English Crest |
Deer hunting was a tradition in my dad’s family. With a
surname like Hunt, it’s a no brainer. Go back far enough, and I’m sure we would
find that our Hunt ancestors in England were hunters or had something to do
with hunting.
Of course, camping goes with hunting. I have fond memories
of the times spent camping as a child with my family as far back as I can
remember, including Fathers & Sons overnighters up Big Cottonwood Canyon
below Silver Lake. The stake would provide a great dinner, usually sloppy joes
and homemade “Mormon beer”—dry ice, root beer extract and a 10-pound bag of
sugar. Loved that root beer. Have you ever had home-made root beer made with
dry ice?
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| Clifford, Warren, Doris, Lee (on edge) and Grandpa Butt playing cards at our favorite primitive campsite up canyon. |
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| Generic photo of porcupine from Catnapin's Mammal Gallery. |
Our campsite had a perfect spot for a tent, snugly
surrounded by several large pine trees. We had shade inside the tent for
virtually the whole day. I still can recall the smell of that heavy canvas
tent. Taking an afternoon nap was Mom’s favorite part of camping up there.
One outing, I remember Merrill and I found a small cave –
more like two granite rocks tilted toward each other forming a V-shape. One
time, we found a porcupine hiding inside. Merrill took a branch and kept poking
at it. The end of the stick ended up with quills all over it. I don’t know how
we escaped getting hit with some quills. We finally got bored and left it
alone.
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| Generic photo of Cottonwood Canyons summer glaciers. |
Several times during our campouts, Merrill and I – along with
cousins and friends – hiked way above camp until we came to a couple of glacier
fields below the mountain summit. Most of the others had a blast climbing to
nearly the top of the fields and sliding all the way down. I enjoyed watching
them, but I didn’t venture more than a few feet up the snow. My slide was more
like 10 feet because I couldn’t imagine losing control while sliding down that
huge patch of ice.
The air near the glacier was much cooler – and refreshing. I
remember watching the water drip off the edge of the glacier, which by that
time of the summer was more directly exposed to the sun.
The glaciers probably were the ones feeding the small stream
that was just 20 yards away from our camp.
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| Doris and Vivian Butt, not long after their marriage, with Lee Troyleen and Merrill at our Big Cottonwood Canyon camp. |
One of the first things Dad would ask us to do after
arriving at camp was to place the watermelon and cantaloupes (Mom and I
preferred cantaloupes to watermelon) in the cool stream. I remember the stream
was downhill, maybe at a 20- to 25- degree slope down from camp. Mom often
yelled at us to stop running down the trail to the creek. This one time, I was
already near the bottom of the trail when Merrill came flying down. He must
have stumbled over a root or rock, because he went soaring head first, landing
on or near some rocks at the bottom of the trail near the stream. I remember
Merrill or me shouting “Superman” as he flew past me. Maybe “Superman” was just
what I was thinking, because he made the exact pose – so spread-out and
horizontal in his unauthorized mountain flight. Pretty impressive until he sat
up and I saw all the blood gushing out of a cut on his forehead. I must have
screamed or yelled, because he reached up, felt the blood, looked at it and
then started wailing and running back to camp. Dad had to take him down into
the valley and get stitches in his forehead.
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| Warren & Cal Hunt, with Merrill & Lee behind them, after a good day of fishing at lake in Spokane, Washington. |
Another time, Mom had to take Dad down the canyon after Dad
had a different type of accident. As any good camper knows, gasoline is a great
way to get a fire going, right!? NOT!
Well, I don’t remember exactly how it all happened, but
basically Dad was pouring gas on a camp fire when flames flared and caught his
sleeve on fire. I don’t remember how he got the flames out, but he returned
from the hospital down in the valley with his arm all wrapped in gauze.
Some of my less-traumatic camping memories come from the
times when Grandma, Grandpa and several of mom’s brothers and their families joined
us at “our” campsite. I remember several family members playing softball out in
the field opposite of our primitive campground (There was no paved road, trails
or campsites, no running water, no installed grills or firepits – and no toilet
facilities, not even a smelly outhouse! Yes, we had to go down into the thicket
a ways from camp where Dad had dug a latrine – a hole in the ground for our
deposits. The flies swarmed mercilessly as we did our thing!)
Grandma and Grandpa Butt were real troopers to come up and join
the fun. I think their thing was enjoying the cool outdoors with all the family.
They basically just hung out, visited and sometimes played cards.
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| Merrill, left; Wayne Hunt, next to Merrill; Ray Hunt, second from right, at Lloyd's home in Sevier. Lee was left behind. |
Camping as part of deer hunting came into my life when I was
probably 10 or 11 years old. Every year from then on, we would head to the
hills in October to join the army of men and boys attired in their red hats and
vests. I was always a hunter in training – until clear after my mission.
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| Shauna, Lloyd, Golda, Wayne, Ray and Robert Hunt at Aunt Myrl's home after Ray Lavender's funeral in 1964. |
One year, Dad, Merrill and I went down to Lloyd’s home in
Sevier for the deer hunt. I was excited for the chance to go out with so many
of my cousins on the Hunt side of the family. But, guess what, they decided I
was too young, too small, too fragile to go on the hunt with them. Besides,
they expected a snowstorm and freezing weather. Still, I was devastated – left home
with the women and my younger cousin Robert. He was a good kid – but two years
younger than me. So, in comparison, I was sure I was going to die of boredom.
But, guess what!? Aunt Golda or Shauna or Robert found me a
BB rifle, which I decided would be my hunting tool that Saturday of the opening
hunt. Back behind the house beyond the patch of grass was Golda's small orchard. I
positioned myself on the grass next to a log or something and stalked the fearsome critters
– which were pretty much a bunch of sparrows and a robin! Wow, a robin! I might
be able to hit that one with a good rifle – if it shoots straight.
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| Generic photo of a robin. |
“You shot a robin!? Aunt Golda yelled. Up until this point
in life I had never heard Aunt Golda raise her voice, but now she was yelling at
me and really upset. “How could I kill such an innocent creature as a robin or
any bird?” I think that’s what she said – or something like that.
Her words stung me to the core. I was disgusted with myself
– I had purposely killed a poor little robin that sings beautiful melodies for
us all. Aunt Golda told me I was grounded or something similar. I don’t
remember the punishment because I was punishing myself already. I do recall
that she made me go out and bury the poor innocent thing.
I don’t think I ever got over that. My relationship with
Aunt Golda was strained from that point on. I couldn’t seem to talk to her
without remembering that tragic episode. How could I have ever thought killing a robin would be a good hunting trophy?!
Hunting has always been part of our culture – but I’m not
exactly a master of the trade.
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| Merrill, Troyleen and Lee at Tooele camp. |
One year when Merrill was probably 16 and able to hunt, Dad
took the whole family up past Tooele to a place he had heard about that was supposed
to be a great deer location. We found a nice camping spot and had a good time,
though I don’t remember whether we were successful in the hunt itself. I
believe if I recall correctly that both Dad and Merrill took shots at some
deer, but they were realistically too far away to hit them. I was 14 and still
a tagalong hunter in training.
It was on this trip that I had a moment of devilish fright. After
hunting in the morning, Merrill and I went hiking not far from camp. We found a
steep mountain side that was covered with a huge rock slide. We started
climbing up – from one boulder to another – higher and higher. The climb was
invigorating. But about two-thirds of the way up, I started getting panicky as
I looked behind me. How was I going to get back down? Climbing up wasn’t near
as hard as the prospect of inching my way down that steep boulder-strewn
hillside. Merrill quickly left me in the dust as he climbed out of sight. I
tried to gingerly make my way down over the boulders, but I became very awkward
in my attempt. I was afraid I was going to slip and fall headfirst.
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| Generic photo of rocky hillside. |
Finally, I stopped and started to consider my predicament as
I stared down at the precipice below me – which I could imagine was a giant
monster with jagged teeth just waiting for me to fall into its mouth. I actually don’t like
heights – so this was a scary situation. Thoughts of doom swirled in
my head – even that Bible story about the Devil tempting Jesus to throw himself
down off the mountain.
Climbing higher wasn’t an option, and descending wasn’t
going to work either. As I looked for some way out of this mess, I realized
that the hillside far to my right was not so scary looking, just a normal
hillside without all those rocks.
There’s hope at last!
I slowly moved parallel across the boulders and finally
reached the edge of the rockslide. Soon I found a deer trail, which led me away
from that jagged-toothed monster. Finally, I found my way back to camp and all
was well.
I love the outdoors, but I’m not too keen on all the
“dangerous” climbing.
I think I skipped the deer hunt in my senior year of high school because I was so busy
in madrigals and choir – plus I had other interests at the time -- a girlfriend. Then
during my first year at college, I was a football manager under Coach Hudspeth
and Edwards, which meant we were busy with football during October.
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| Generic photo of Winchester 30-30. Where has it gone? |
After my mission, deer hunting became a lot more
challenging -- I was now on a leg prosthetic. What a pain in the butt, literally! Several times I tagged along with Merrill on some deer hunts. I
even bought myself a Winchester 30-30, which I actually could tote and fire
without too much pain. Dad had given Merrill his old WWII rifle – a 30-40 Craig
without scope, but the few times I fired it in target practice, the recoil really got to me – felt like my shoulder was going to come apart!
I never had much luck hunting. I saw does now and then, but
we weren’t allowed to shoot them – only bucks.
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| Merrill and Lee playing cards on hunt after Lee was married. |
Later, when my son Jason was old enough, he went hunting with me a
couple of times. I remember one time when Merrill, his boys, me and Jason went
hunting up on the back slope of the mountain range above Ogden. I had a small haul
trailer at the time, which we dragged behind Merrill's truck up the rugged mountain dirt trail – the
trailer bouncing madly behind us. We ended up high on the
mountain. Early the next morning, Jason and I headed to a spot a couple hundred
yards south of camp. I picked a spot on the higher edge of a gulley, hoping
some buck would be flushed down to us by all the hunters up above. Well, all we
accomplished was almost freezing to death. We just sat there for several hours
because it was such a joke trying to get around on my prosthetic on the mountain trails. I think Jason had to have been bored
out of his mind – but we were together. I’m pretty sure we had some good treats
to eat while the sun slowly rose behind us but eventually started shining directly into our
eyes. No deer – no hunters --- no critters. Just loads of quiet solitude.
I’m pretty sure that it was the next year when I was victorious
in my quest to bring home some venison for my wife and children.
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| Nancy's photo of mule deer above Bear Lake, Utah, in 2006. |
After several years of failed hunts, I had given up hope of even seeing a buck, let alone getting a
shot at one, so I applied in 1989 and received a lottery license to hunt a western mule doe. Utah Wildlife
was trying to manage the herds and realized the does were doing a lot of damage
to farm crops in certain parts of the state. I remember heading out with Jason,
Merrill, Rendall and several others down to an area in central Utah where my
license was valid. We hunted together most of the day. I even rode with Rendall
on the back of his mountain bike. They had to tie my prosthetic to the bike to
keep it from falling off – or torn off. Actually, that little trick was pretty
dangerous and scary, but I did survive.
When it was nearly time to head home and I still hadn’t seen
a deer that I could shoot, Merrill suggested we go hunt down in the valley near
some grain fields were the doe are likely to show up before dusk. We found a
good spot, so it seemed, and Jason and I headed down the edge of a harvested grain
field about 150 yards away from where Merrill was waiting in his pickup truck.
I’m pretty sure that I had left my left leg back in the truck and headed out on
my crutches, with Jason carrying my 30-30 Winchester over his back and lugging
a lawn chair for me to sit in. Jason sat on the ground next to me in my lawn chair for what seemed like a long
Just when Merrill was getting antsy about leaving, he saw
through his rifle’s scope a deer in a small opening across the field from where
Jason and I were sitting. He was having a hard time not shooting the doe for
me, waiting for me to take my shot. Then BAM, a rifle shot rings out and the
doe collapses. But Merrill didn’t fire his rifle – I did! From somewhere around
250 yards, I hit that deer right in the neck and it bled out on the spot.
Fortunately, Merrill did all the hard work after that, gutting the deer and
hauling it back to his trick. Then when we arrived back at his house, he did
all the butchering.
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| There's nothing like a good fresh piece of cooked deer venison. |
Nancy and the kids were at Merrill’s home when we arrived. I
had returned victorious – the great white hunter. Having felled the beast with
a single shot from an amazing distance. I was putting venison on the table for
my growing family! But wait – not is all well here! When Nancy and the girls saw
the doe dragged out of the truck and hoisted up with a rope from a joist in
Merrill’s garage, there was pain in their eyes. I had actually shot Bambi’s
mother. The proof was right there in front of them. I was now a dishonored
warrior, banished to my own thoughts of glory and honor. My one moment of deer hunting glory was
ruined because I shot Bambi’s mother!
That was the last time I went hunting – too much trouble,
too much money and not enough satisfaction.
I know, I know! You’re wondering about my near-death
experience while hunting! Maybe you thought I had an accident with my rifle.
Nope! But my grandfather Levi Alderman Hunt was killed as he crossed a fence and
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| Campfire photo taken by Nancy Hunt. |
My life-threatening ordeal happened way early in my deer-hunting
days.
I was eleven years old – just months away from graduating
from Primary. Dad, Merrill and I were up in one of the Cottonwood canyons at a
campfire site on opening day of deer hunt – just the three of us. We must have
been out hunting earlier and had returned to camp. Merrill and I were restless,
so Dad told us to go over that hill crest just south of the camp and then go
over east a couple hundred yards and then come back up over the hill toward
camp. Maybe we could flush out some deer toward Dad who would be waiting in the
shade down in camp. Merrill and I headed over the hill and went down a ways
before going east the required 200 yards or so. Then Merrill started up and
told me to go over another little ways and head back up over. Of course, we
need to be very very quiet, because we were hunting a very smart critter (ala
Elmer Fudd and Bugs Bunny).
When I came up over the crest of the hill and look down
where the campfire and Dad were supposed to be, neither was there. Where did
Dad go? I’m wondering if I went too far and ended up in the wrong place – or maybe
I didn’t go far enough. So I started to backtrack down the hill and then went
further east and – got really lost. I wandered for a couple of minutes, trying
to get my bearings or find someone – anyone! Finally, I realized I was hopelessly
lost – and in danger. I was totally aware of the tales of kids wandering off
from their families and dying in the mountains. I started yelling for Dad and
Merrill, hoping they would hear me. At that point I wasn’t worried about
spooking those critters!! There were no yells back from Dad or Merrill, and I
didn’t have anything on me to get their attention – no whistle, no gun to fire to
alert them to the lost runt!
Then I remembered what we had recently been studying in
Primary about prayer and faith – if we truly have faith and pray, our Father in
Heaven will help us.
I knew I really needed his help, and the time to pray was
right then and not later. So I got down on my knees up against the side of the deer
trail and prayed to my Father in Heaven. I prayed that I could find Dad and
Merrill or that I could just find someone – anyone.
When I stood back up and started down the deer trail, I
again started yelling for help. Suddenly in the distance, I could hear (that’s when
I had good hearing!) someone yelling back at me. I followed the trail, which
was headed toward the person who was hollering back at me. I soon came upon a
group of hunters sitting around a fire.
I was finally safe!
One of the men fired his rifle several times in quick
succession – which was a signal to other hunters that someone was in distress
or danger. A few minutes later, Dad and Merrill showed up! The little runt was
safe.
As we headed back to camp, Dad explained that after Merrill
and I had originally left camp, he had put out the campfire and headed over to
meet up with us. So, in fact, I did come up over the hill correctly, but the
site looked different because Dad had left – and the fire was out.
Was it coincidence that I came upon those other hunters? Was
it just luck that I didn’t panic more than I did and wander way out of the way?
Was it just a coincidence that I prayed and almost immediately found help?
What would you do?
I’ve always attributed my rescue to providence – my Father
in Heaven answering a young boy’s prayer.
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| Rendall, Merrill, Heather, Jason, Lee, Kenneth in front of Lee's station wagon and camp trailer. |
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| Nancy and Lee with family outside camper trailer and car. |
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| Nancy caught some trout on camping trip in High Uintas in 2008. |
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| Evie Wentz with Grandpa Hunt on camping trip in High Uintas in 2008. |
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| Eric Westwood coming out of our tent trailer on Bear Lake trip in 2005. |
One time we had sort of a family gathering with Bruce, Chris
and their family, one of Chris’ brother’s family and Phil Scarbrough’s family
down in a campground just outside Zions National Park. Most were in tents, but
we were in our 16-foot trailer; and Phil and his family, including their two
boys Jason and Jared, were in a 30-foot-plus motorhome. Pretty fancy.
Later, we sold our trailer and bought Joann and Dave’s tent
trailer.
We only had it for about four years. After that, we bought a two-room
large tent, which we used at Red Fish Lake in Idaho and another time when we
camped in a Cottonwood Canyon with Brian, Jody Smith and their kids.
OK, kids! Now ask your parents about their memories of camping
when they were kids!
