type2bowhunter
Lil-Rokslider
I am currently lying in bed several hours post surgery. I am zonked on hydrocodone but unable to sleep, I've got an immobilizing brace on my left leg which has made falling asleep a seemingly laughable proposition. I don't know exactly why I intend on summarizing what happened to me here on rokslide, but I believe it'll help me close the door on the injury and motivate me to attack my rehabilitation. And, if somewhere down the line my story can help someone else, great.
If you couldn't tell by my username I am a huge fan of difficult hunts. I'm a bow only guy and the more difficult the terrain and the animal, the better. I am a fairly experienced ultrarunner and a life long gym rat. Some may call me a glutton for punishment, or perhaps a masochist. Back in May I was so stoked to have drawn an archery ibex tag for the Florida Mountains of New Mexico.
As October was approaching the excitement was growing, my hunting partner Steven was meeting me out there and we intended on giving er hell for at least a week to try and put one of these elusive goats on the ground. Considering that Steven and I hunt deer in Southern California, the fact of low population numbers, heat, and rattlesnakes didn't bother us one bit. We are used to chasing ghosts and our hometown hunt is the most overgrown, hot, dry, snake infested country I've ever hunted.
We spent the first few days trying to understand the animal and the country, neither of us had any experience with ibex and had never been to the Florida's. It was the 4th day of the hunt that we got our first real opportunity.
I was unable to get above this goat given his location but I was able to get below him, about 90 yards. He ended up winding me and taking off, never offering a chance at a shot. But confidence was growing.
The following morning I hiked up to the top of mountain with 3 gallons of water and my camp. The goal was to start at the top and hopefully get lucky. Steven found the biggest ibex we had seen thus far on that day. He was tucked into a cave on a cliff face that seemed impossible to get to.
We waited all day to see if he would move and he literally sat in the cave for 12 hours. The next morning, October 6th, there was about 15 ibex feeding on the mountain about 600 feet below me. Steven and I were in communication and as I peaked over the edge of the cliff, they saw me. They began to move up the mountain and to my right. I knew exactly where they were headed so I busted my ass over there hoping to intercept them. My plan nearly worked, I was able to get to 88 yards from a billy but as I drew back he took off. It was really exciting, but I was feeling dejected knowing that Steven had to leave the following day, I thought that that may have been our last chance.
Not long after, Steven called me to tell me that the big billy was not with the group and was actually back in the same cave from the day before! Unbelievable! We were set on figuring out a way to get as close as possible. I was walking heavy-footed down hill on some loose gravely type of terrain when my left foot slipped out, my knee hyperextended and I felt a pop. The pain was really intense and I hit the ground hard and immediately knew that I was in trouble. I've never had a serious knee injury but I knew that I had just ruptured my patellar tendon.
I called Steven and told him he better start hiking up with an empty pack. It's hard to even explain the roller coaster of emotions that I was going through in that moment. Would I have to hit the SOS button? How the **** am I going to get off of this mountain? I nearly passed out from the shock and the pain, I did some very deep, heavy breathing that I think kept me conscious. Despite the warm weather I got really cold and sweaty to the point where I had to put on my windbreaker (the only layer I had considering the hot temps) and wrap myself in my tarp. I'm not going to lie, that was a tough 2 hours sitting there waiting for Steven. I shed some tears, talked to Jesus, and had a pretty emotional phone call with my girl.
Steven showed up. It was about 10 am now. My leg was completely useless, I couldn't bend my knee at all, but fortunately I could put weight on the leg and the pain was manageable, but only if I kept the leg completely straight. The slightest bit of bend in the knee was 10/10 pain. Steven brought up some gorilla tape with him which ended up being clutch. We taped the knee in a straight position and I was determined to get off that mountain on my own 2 feet.
The route down was awful. It was only 2 miles but it was down 2,000 feet, all off trail and loose as hell. I had to move so slow and given the situation, I actually had to step with my bad leg downhill, anchor my poles and essentially do a pistol squat with my good leg. Rinse and repeat. It took us 8 hours to get back to the truck. What a slog. Steven carried all of my stuff, my camp, my bow, he even strapped my pack to his. I still get emotional thinking about the gratitude I felt that day. He didn't save my life but he sure made a shitty situation much more manageable for me.
To put salt in the wound, the next day I had to drive 14 hours back to southern California. The driving wasn't too bad considering I was able to scoot my seat back and keep my left leg straight. It was getting out to get gas that sucked the most. Well I made it back, saw my doctor, did the mri and eventually consulted with an orthopedic surgeon and he confirmed my suspicion. Ruptured patellar tendon, one of the worst sports injuries there is.
Like I said, surgery was today and the rehab begins asap. I'm looking at 12-18 months for a full recovery, but I should be good to hunt next fall. Everything is a blessing with the right perspective
.
Thanks for reading and if I can give any advice it would be find yourself a hunting partner like Steven.
If you couldn't tell by my username I am a huge fan of difficult hunts. I'm a bow only guy and the more difficult the terrain and the animal, the better. I am a fairly experienced ultrarunner and a life long gym rat. Some may call me a glutton for punishment, or perhaps a masochist. Back in May I was so stoked to have drawn an archery ibex tag for the Florida Mountains of New Mexico.
As October was approaching the excitement was growing, my hunting partner Steven was meeting me out there and we intended on giving er hell for at least a week to try and put one of these elusive goats on the ground. Considering that Steven and I hunt deer in Southern California, the fact of low population numbers, heat, and rattlesnakes didn't bother us one bit. We are used to chasing ghosts and our hometown hunt is the most overgrown, hot, dry, snake infested country I've ever hunted.
We spent the first few days trying to understand the animal and the country, neither of us had any experience with ibex and had never been to the Florida's. It was the 4th day of the hunt that we got our first real opportunity.
I was unable to get above this goat given his location but I was able to get below him, about 90 yards. He ended up winding me and taking off, never offering a chance at a shot. But confidence was growing.
The following morning I hiked up to the top of mountain with 3 gallons of water and my camp. The goal was to start at the top and hopefully get lucky. Steven found the biggest ibex we had seen thus far on that day. He was tucked into a cave on a cliff face that seemed impossible to get to.
We waited all day to see if he would move and he literally sat in the cave for 12 hours. The next morning, October 6th, there was about 15 ibex feeding on the mountain about 600 feet below me. Steven and I were in communication and as I peaked over the edge of the cliff, they saw me. They began to move up the mountain and to my right. I knew exactly where they were headed so I busted my ass over there hoping to intercept them. My plan nearly worked, I was able to get to 88 yards from a billy but as I drew back he took off. It was really exciting, but I was feeling dejected knowing that Steven had to leave the following day, I thought that that may have been our last chance.
Not long after, Steven called me to tell me that the big billy was not with the group and was actually back in the same cave from the day before! Unbelievable! We were set on figuring out a way to get as close as possible. I was walking heavy-footed down hill on some loose gravely type of terrain when my left foot slipped out, my knee hyperextended and I felt a pop. The pain was really intense and I hit the ground hard and immediately knew that I was in trouble. I've never had a serious knee injury but I knew that I had just ruptured my patellar tendon.
I called Steven and told him he better start hiking up with an empty pack. It's hard to even explain the roller coaster of emotions that I was going through in that moment. Would I have to hit the SOS button? How the **** am I going to get off of this mountain? I nearly passed out from the shock and the pain, I did some very deep, heavy breathing that I think kept me conscious. Despite the warm weather I got really cold and sweaty to the point where I had to put on my windbreaker (the only layer I had considering the hot temps) and wrap myself in my tarp. I'm not going to lie, that was a tough 2 hours sitting there waiting for Steven. I shed some tears, talked to Jesus, and had a pretty emotional phone call with my girl.
Steven showed up. It was about 10 am now. My leg was completely useless, I couldn't bend my knee at all, but fortunately I could put weight on the leg and the pain was manageable, but only if I kept the leg completely straight. The slightest bit of bend in the knee was 10/10 pain. Steven brought up some gorilla tape with him which ended up being clutch. We taped the knee in a straight position and I was determined to get off that mountain on my own 2 feet.
The route down was awful. It was only 2 miles but it was down 2,000 feet, all off trail and loose as hell. I had to move so slow and given the situation, I actually had to step with my bad leg downhill, anchor my poles and essentially do a pistol squat with my good leg. Rinse and repeat. It took us 8 hours to get back to the truck. What a slog. Steven carried all of my stuff, my camp, my bow, he even strapped my pack to his. I still get emotional thinking about the gratitude I felt that day. He didn't save my life but he sure made a shitty situation much more manageable for me.
To put salt in the wound, the next day I had to drive 14 hours back to southern California. The driving wasn't too bad considering I was able to scoot my seat back and keep my left leg straight. It was getting out to get gas that sucked the most. Well I made it back, saw my doctor, did the mri and eventually consulted with an orthopedic surgeon and he confirmed my suspicion. Ruptured patellar tendon, one of the worst sports injuries there is.
Like I said, surgery was today and the rehab begins asap. I'm looking at 12-18 months for a full recovery, but I should be good to hunt next fall. Everything is a blessing with the right perspective
.Thanks for reading and if I can give any advice it would be find yourself a hunting partner like Steven.
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