Into the 'Bob' by horseback

Editor’s note: This is the first part in a series of first-person stories by Daily Inter Lake outdoors reporter Scott Shindledecker which detail his 10-day hunt in the Bob Marshall Wilderness.

By SCOTT SHINDLEDECKER

Daily Inter Lake
I never truly envisioned going on a guided hunt.

I knew some friends in Pennsylvania who took guided hunts in various locales, chasing elk and moose.

But for me, I’ve always been a do-it-yourselfer.

My grandfather on my mom’s side, Clarence Bochert, died when I was 13 and my paternal grandpa, George Leonard Shindledecker, lived until I was 16. But he had given up hunting many years before I came along due to a bad heart.

While my dad, Tim, hunted, he was busy with work, raising two adolescent boys and making sure certain tasks were completed around the home.

So I gladly jumped into the role of hunt organizer. I had already run a small trapline, hunted and explored the woods behind our home and fished wherever Dad would take my brother and I.

The scouting was always the most interesting element of preparing for the hunt. Where are they going, when are they going and why were were some of the answers I tried to uncover. The “they” were usually white-tailed bucks.

Many of those plans went up in smoke because our hunts typically involved heading behind the house. To say the least, it was not wilderness or anything approaching it.

A carefully laid plan for Dad, my brother or I could disappear quickly whenever an ATV rumbled past or a smoking, coughing “hunter” entered the woods sometime after 7:30 a.m.

It particularly annoyed me when we had been on stand since before dawn!

Over the years, I always enjoyed scouting, exploring, finding new places and checking on tips from friends and acquaintances. I was the “guide” for many of those years.

When a good friend got me into hunting rabbits with a beagle, it was as close as I had been guided in 20 years of hunting. It was refreshing. Bob knew the spots, knew how to train dogs and trained me on training “Brandi.”

We even took a great fishing trip to Quebec for the delicious walleye.

After I moved here, I began exploring again. There have been a few close calls with an elk and a white-tailed buck.

I knew it would take time to get to know some good places and adjust my hunting style a bit.

But the thoughts of springing for a guided, wilderness hunt evolved last year as the overtime mounted. I was spending a lot of time working and not much scouting. I was out of shape, but still game for the chase.

As the overtime continued to pile up, I began researching guided outfits in Northwest Montana, particularly on horseback into the Bob Marshall Wilderness.

For adventure seekers, the “Bob” is known internationally. I believe I first became aware of the area in the early 1990s. Dad belonged a book club and in one of the monthly listings, there were a few books about the region.

One was Bud Cheff Sr.’s best seller “Indian Trails and Grizzly Tales.” It was published in 1994. Another was Howard Copenhaver’s “They Left Their Tracks.” It was published in 1990.

I had both in my hands Christmas morning 1994. They weren’t the first publications to peak my interest in wild places, but they sparked a fire which still burns today.

When I began my research, it was a mix of online information and from a few good friends.

I was fortunate to have made the acquaintance of a retired forester from the U.S. Forest Service named Paul. He delivers newspapers in the Hagadone group to Plains, Hot Springs and Polson.

We’ve hunted and hiked together and he’s a wealth of very valuable information as well as a pretty good story teller.

His son works for the Forest Service in the backcountry and he made some recommendations, including Cheff Legacy Outfitters, based in the Mission Valley,

After a lot of thought, I picked the Cheffs. I wonder how many trips the entire has booked after some of Bud’s books were published?

I then found myself on a horse named “Laverne” early Sunday morning, Sept. 13. The ride was 28 miles into Mickey Cheff’s camp where Bartlett Creek flowed into the fabled South Fork of the Flathead River.

With about four of five miles to go, I was questioning my wisdom of choosing a 28-mile ride. I knew it would be arduous, but whew!

Maybe the 20-mile ride would have been plenty, but once you start, there’s no going back.

The saddle sores have healed, but they were a bit touch the first few days. Thank goodness for Neosporin!

I had previous, but limited, horse experience with a good, old guy named Don “Woody” Wood, who lived in the heart of Pennsylvania’s elk range. Woody loved horses and hunting elk in Colorado.

He kept his horses in shape with summer and fall trail rides in Elk and Cameron counties.

But I hadn’t been on a horse for more than 20 years. A trip to Dream Haven Guest Ranch for a short ride a month before the hunt provided a great refresher course on how to ride.

I knew it wouldn’t prepare my gluteus maximus for 28 miles, but it was a start.

Next week: Riding into the Bob, ride recovery and South Fork cutthroats.