Zac,
Anything within a few hours of the front range is gonna be brutal during rifle season. Craig
A few years ago, a local hunter hired me to pack his and his buddy's camp and supplies in to a fairly remote area within a couple hours of Denver, for the muzzleloading season. It was a spot he had chosen; and one that I knew to be a hotspot for elk, albeit public land. This was in September; the best month to enjoy the beautiful Colorado aspens, to boot.
Winding up across the face of that brutal mountain, that gnarly trail kept getting not only steeper, but rockier and rockier. With bigger and bigger rocks. And the horses were starting to have problems with their footing. And stumbling. At several points on the trail, you had to step up onto a boulder, about a 2 to 3 foot rise in some cases; and I was worried about my horses; not only going up, but then knowing that we had to come back down again. My horses are tried and proven and have packed a ton of gear as well as numerous elk over the past fifteen plus years, but they are not mountain goats. A horse needs and demands good footing; being a prey animal they know that their legs are their life.
And the trail continued to get steeper...and the horses were stumbling more often; it was getting downright scary.
Travis, the horse I was riding and leading with, finally stopped. He knew better. He had decided that was as far as he was going. Although I tried my best, I could not get him to go one step further. I had only one choice: that was to tie him by the trail and leave him until we came back down. NOT a decision that I made lightly. But I knew Travis was level headed; we had been through a lot together, and I told him that I would be back. My clients expected me to finish the job they were paying me for, so from then on I walked and lead the other horses, and my clients (who chose to walk rather than pay for two more horses) brought up the rear. They were younger than me.
We finally made it to the top, and I dropped off their gear just below timberline. It had been a grueling hike for me and my bad knees. I rode Bojo back down, thankfully, and leading Dakota. My heart was elated when as we rounded a bend in the trail, there stood Travis, patiently waiting for us! And very happy to see us also.
The reason for this story? Please stay with me.
As I carefully led my little packstring down the rugged trail and dark was closing in, and we made it safely back to my rig, my thoughts were: I bet those guys will have a great hunt; it is beautiful up there on top. But I am not looking forward to picking them up and packing out their elk!
Well, as it turned out, they did not kill an elk. Opening morning they were up and hunting and thought they had that little piece of God's land to themselves.
But their dream was shattered when a couple of hikers came by their camp around noon. And several more came through later that day and the next.
Because they did not get an elk, and their packs were much lighter with the food eaten, the disappointed hunters chose not to have me come up and get them, much to my relief; and they packed out their gear on their backs.
Again, if hunting public land, the further that you can get away from the front range, the better off you will probably be.