One fine day in Montana. Like many in September, it was in the low 70's and sunny. Few clouds, and a full moon. The elk were rutting well, but cashing it in early. I had bedded a small group that morning and left the truck about 4:30pm to get into a saddle that would give me both a good view and perhaps my best play on the elk.
A mile into the hike half a can of Nalley's chili, 2 Oscar Meyer hotdogs, and 1 Smith's hot dog bun came calling. It was a do or die scenario.
Taking a no survivors approach, gear, clothes and all other items that would impede a successful evacuation of the aforementioned food were jettisoned in a manner that would best be described as immediate random.
I did have the forethought to keep my pack close, and fished out the roll of sphincter polisher. However, due to poor planning, my addled state, and being on a 50% grade, my roll of salvation did what it was made to do. It rolled. About 5 feet to a small juniper.
But I had a trekking pole strapped to my pack. And with that miraculous bridge of aerospace grade aluminum, ergonomic cork, plus carbide tipped foot, I was able to maneuver my platinum precious roll of TP back within reach. I was saved.
At that moment, a ray of sunshine broke through the trees and illuminated me holding that roll of TP like a baby. Which was not good, since the road had a bunch of guys glassing on it. Even a good mile and a half from the road, I did not go unnoticed I later found out. A very good friend recounted the scene, as he saw it through his spotter, to me. At first he thought I got bit by a snake, then it became apparent that was not the case.
Trekking poles are life saving. And I shot the bull and spent the next day packing him out.
Jeremy
