A Tale of Old

        Cogito ergo spud. I think, therefore I yam.

                                                                 Numbfoot Saying

 

 In the old days, before espresso & wine bars. I'm talking way back even before Kochevars & Tony's Conoco, there lived in the valley an odd but spirited tribe of Indians called the Numbfeet.

 On cold winter nights, when the bitter north wind whistled down from Oh-Be-Joyful, (then called Oh-Be-Juan-Kan-Obbie) or place of the bitter north wind, the tribe would gather in the chiefs tee-pee or 'skin-d-minium' to swap Tupperware & tales. Legends passed down from generations, like bad genes, spoke of strange comings, & weird goings. Stories of oddities such as White Buffalo, Black Yaks, & Woolly Llamas fell on the shocked ears of intent children. Now remember, this was before Teenage Mutant Ninga Turtles, & Pearl Jam when children's ears were easily shocked.                                    There were some astonishing yarns spun about that flickering firelight but none more engrossing than the popular account of the beast simply called, 'He-Who-Falls-Alot', or the 'Side Hill Gouger'.

 Now as legend had it, the creature was part deer, part elk, & part mountain goat with the ears of a Jack rabbit, the eyes of an eagle & the temperament of a jilted bear. It was a fearsome beast with only one structural drawback, one genetic flaw, & that was the Side Hill Gouger after generations of life on the steep slopes of the Rockies had developed legs shorter on the up-hill side than the down-hill side.                                                                                   That's right, if one was to look straight on at a Gouger you would clearly see it's legs on the left side were over a foot longer than those on the right. In other words the Side Hill Gouger was doomed to circle the mountains one way. He could neither reverse his course nor navigate on the flats, without simply falling over.

 Alas, 'He-Who-Falls-ALot, or the Side Hill Gouger seemed certainly doomed to extinction, & the Numbfeet saw less & less of the animal until finally it seemed no more than a myth told around that crackling fire.

 In time the Numbfeet moved to Santa Fe & opened Curio Shops & the legend of the elegant but miss-matched Gouger only lived on in the bitter north wind.

 Or was it just legend?

 

 Ten miles due west of Crested Butte lies the huge Elk Mountain Wilderness Area. Although deemed the largest, wildest wilderness area in the state few people have ever heard of it & even fewer yet have actually gone there. Why have few people been there? Because you can't drive there, that's why.

No motorized vehicles allowed...you gotta....(now this is true)...you gotta WALK in the Elk Mountain Wilderness Area.

I know, I know, this is CRAZY, absolutely nuts, & in this day & age certainly un-fashionable. However, due to the obvious lack of car's, & consequently the accompanying lack of people, the place is literally amuck with wildlife.

  At every step Grouse, like feathered land mines, exploded beneath your feet.

The coyotes at night rival the Philharmonic.

 You can literally walk across the streams, on the backs of trout, never getting wet.

 Beavers conduct massive logging operations while mighty herds of deer & elk churn enough dust into the air to turn the sunsets red.

 Ear plugs are a must in the Elk mountains for any sleep at all. The roars, screams, howls & cries are enough to unnerve Tarzan.

 

 So why was I there? Good question.

  Well, I'll tell you why on one condition....you don't tell anybody else. I don't want this getting out. Promise? OK then...

 I was there searching for the infamous 'Golden Trout.'

 That's right, that seldom seen legend, the rare, the wily, "Golden Trout."

 Now any fisherman can tell you the Golden is rarer than snake hips, scarcer than hens teeth, but I had pried the secret one late & inebriated evening from my old fishing buddy Al Leonetti, The last of the Goldens, he whispered , were to be found at the foot of that foreboding rock formation known as The Castles, in a seldom visited body of water called Sheep Lake, in the very center of the enormous Elk Mountain Wilderness Area.

 "The fish were as big as Subarus, If I told anyone else he would kill me." said Al.

 So with more than a little difficulty, I & my faithful malamutant  'The Sofa', (part wolf part living room furniture,) had drug our portly selves across miles of untracked wildness to the sparkling shores of Sheep lake.

 Now Sheep Lake, nestled at the foot of those foreboding formations know as the Castles, is one of the more mystical places on earth. According to Henrieta this is where the mother-ship of all Aliens hangs out. I, of course scoff at this ridiculous fantasy. It was, however, a weird night at best & at one point I'm almost positive I saw a Pterodactyl soar from the rocks.

  The sun was a welcome site next morning, & as I brushed my tooth in the lake my one good eye caught a slight movement across the water.

 There, peering from the brush, was the oddest creature I'd ever seen. The thing had the body of an elk, but with stripes on it's back. It had the hump of a camel, a giraffes neck, the head of a deer, the ears of a rabbit.

 But the strangest thing about the creature was its legs. It stood perfectly level on the steep slope. The up-hill legs were a good 16 inches shorter than the down-hill legs!

 No kidding. The infamous, seldom seen, mythological Side Hill Gouger.

 I quickly realized some people may not be inclined to take my word for it , so I inched for the camera & fired off a quick shot from the hip.

 Unfortunately the click of the shutter sent the great beast bounding into the forest, but fortunately I had the picture.

 Unfortunately the picture as it turns out doesn't show the Gougers legs but fortunately you can take my word for it.

 The Side Hill Gouger is alive & well.