The Worst (and Best) Hunters I’ve Ever Guided

This story, “How Your Guide Sees You,” appeared in the August 1973 issue of Outdoor Life.

I’ve been outfitting and guiding big-game hunters in Wyoming since 1948. Some of my clients rank among the finest men and best hunters I’ve ever known. Many others would have had better hunts if they had understood what a guide expects of his hunter and what a hunter should expect of his guide. A few of my clients were screwballs who had no business trying to pass themselves off as outdoorsmen. So it was with Teddy. I refer to him as Teddy because he looked like Teddy Roosevelt.

When he showed up at my ranch he seemed likeable, but he monopolized the conversation right from the start. He continually talked about his hunting ability, what a good shot he was, all the game he had killed, and the records he held at the time. He brought along five custom-made rifles and told me many times that he could hit the bull at 250 yards with any one of the five.

He was one of the first hunters I ever guided, so I didn’t know what to think for a while. Teddy’s son had come along, and he told me right away that he’d never hunted big game before. He was in his 30’s, a real quiet guy. He said he hoped he wouldn’t get in the way.

“I’ll do as you say,” he told me. “I’ve never hunted with my new rifle, but I’ve shot it at a lot of targets. With luck, I think I could hit something.”

First we hunted for antelope in the dry country south of Pinedale. We went out there in my four-wheel-drive vehicle and scouted ridges, gullies, and flats covered with sand and sagebrush. We’d drive the vehicle partway up a ridge, and then we’d walk to the top and glass the country ahead. We wanted to spot a herd, pick out a good head, and then make a careful stalk. I know that country well, and I knew where the antelope were that season, so we were able to make our first stalk early the first morning.

Teddy’s son took the first shot. We stalked one of the finest antelope bucks I’ve ever seen. The man did exactly what I told him to do, and he killed his trophy pronghorn with one shot.

Teddy got his chance a short time later, and he blew it. He missed a buck at 150 yards, and then he emptied his rifle at the running animal. He blamed his firearm for all those misses. On the next stalk he used a different rifle. It misfired. By then Teddy was so mad he wouldn’t speak. His son didn’t say much — he apparently was used to the old man’s temper tantrums.

Teddy missed another buck later in the day in one of the worst shooting exhibitions I’ve ever seen. His bullets puffed the sand above, below, and behind the running animal. I think a couple of them went into the sky because I didn’t see them hit the ground. It was obvious that the guy had no idea where his rifles put their bullets. Once, I got the distinct impression that he was about to ask me to shoot a buck for him. He didn’t quite have the nerve to do it, because we were seeing plenty of game.

He finally got a buck. It was a long shot at a standing target. Teddy was shooting a .270, and he dropped the animal with one shot. Suddenly his “sulls” were gone, and everything was okay again. But that didn’t last long.

Teddy wanted to sleep in the open that night and enjoy nature. It wasn’t long after dark when he began complaining again. He said the stars were so bright they kept him awake.

Mule deer were next on our schedule. We went back to the ranch and outfitted for a packtrip into the back country. Then we rode our horses to one of my spike camps near timberline in the southern part of the Gros Ventre Mountains.

As luck would have it, we had to camp in rain that night. The next day we couldn’t hunt, because the clouds were down over the peaks. During the second day the clouds lifted. We found and stalked a fine buck. Teddy had an easy shot, but he missed. Then the clouds lowered again, and it poured. When we got back to camp Teddy demanded that I take him and his gear back to the ranch immediately. When we got there he glowered at me and said: “Mr. Mack, you have just finished taking me on the worst hunt I’ve ever had!”

I’ve guided other blowhards, but Teddy was the worst. That kind defeat themselves. They think they’re going to impress their guides if they pass themselves off as veteran outdoorsmen. That always backfires because they can’t produce. Their egos suffer, and then they blame the guide because they won’t or can’t blame failures on themselves.

It’s foolish for a man to misrepresent himself at the beginning of a hunt; a good guide can make allowances for any degree of inexperience. There’s no way for a hunter to have a good time if he is constantly trying to exercise skills he doesn’t have.

Hunters in Teddy’s category almost always want to have had a good hunt, but they don’t enjoy living the experience, and they don’t want to work at it. What they really want is to get the hunt over with as soon as possible and then hurry home with a pile of trophies to prove what great hunters they are. It’s impossible to enjoy the back country with an attitude like that.

Sometimes the client is a fine hunter but can’t enjoy the hunt even when he’s successful. That kind of man attacks hunting as if it were another business or professional problem. Maybe he has lost the ability to enjoy true excitement. I remember one guy who had so many thrilling experiences on our hunt that I still consider it one of the highlights of my entire life. That man never smiled once during our entire trip.

He was one of a party of four hunters who hired my outfit for a deer and elk hunt. On the first morning this big guy (I’ll call him Never Smile) and I heard a bull elk bugle in the timber far below us. I bugled back several times. The bull would answer, but he wouldn’t come closer. I figured he had a herd of cows with him and that he would probably stay close to his harem. We had a good chance to make a successful stalk.

Everything went perfectly. We sneaked to within 200 yards of the bull. My client made a perfect shot at the broadside target, and I saw hair puff from the animal’s shoulder when the bullet from the .300 Weatherby Magnum hit. The bull was a big six-pointer.

The next day the three other members of the party all got their elk. While we were field-dressing the last one Never Smile caused an uproar when he said:

“There’s a bear on the hill.”

I looked up and spotted the big black bear peering down at us. He wasn’t more than 150 yards away, and he was almost straight above us. Never Smile made a grab for his Weatherby but got hold of somebody else’s rifle by mistake. Nevertheless he fired almost before any of the rest of us realized what was going on. The bullet hit home, and the bear began tumbling downhill toward us.

Our packhorses were tied to trees. Neither horses nor men knew if the bruin was alive or dead, but we all knew that he was coming straight at us. We stared at the unbelievable sight for a split second, and then men and horses scrambled frenziedly to get out of the way. About the time the horses were jerked backward by their tethers, the bear crashed into a big pine. He hit that tree dead center and slumped like a sack of potatoes. I knew then that he was dead. Even with all that excitement, Never Smile didn’t have much to say.

On the third day my clients all filled their licenses with good mule-deer bucks. We were done hunting in record time. Even though Never Smile had taken a trophy bull elk, a fair bear, and a trophy mule deer, he looked and acted unhappy. I don’t know why a guy wastes his time and money hunting if he doesn’t get a thrill out of it. He sure didn’t.

There’s another side to that story. Two of those four hunters were in their 60’s, the other two in their 30’s. Never Smile was one of the younger men. His sour attitude failed to spoil the hunt for the others because game was plentiful, the weather was ideal, and the terrain was breathtakingly beautiful. If everything had gone badly instead of perfectly, Never Smile would probably have ruined the trip for everyone. I’ve seen it happen several times.

It seems to me that some hunters must select their partners because they’re good company at cocktail parties. Glasses in hand, the casual acquaintances talk about hunting. One guy says, “Why don’t we plan a deer hunt in Wyoming? I’ll bet Jack and Pete would go. We’ll have a great time.” They don’t know Jack and Pete any better than they know each other, of course.

Well, a man may act a lot differently on a hunt than he does at home. You don’t know how a man really feels about hunting till you’ve been out with him a few times when the going is rough and the game doesn’t cooperate. Going on an expensive hunting trip is a foolish way to find that your pal is really a game hog, a sorehead, a complainer, or a fool.

Before you plan a big hunt, you should know your partner well enough to be sure that he enjoys the outdoors the same way you do.

A man wants to take game, but he should also be able to relax and enjoy himself. I recall two doctors who were both fine examples of what I have in mind.

Dale Larson and Skip Larcom engaged me for a spring bear hunt. The hunting didn’t last long, because both men got their bears on the second day. They weren’t about to go home, even though the hunting was over. They told me they’d been working long hours every day with few days off for months. They wanted to enjoy themselves.

Fishing season was open, so they spent a week in the mountains. They relaxed, caught native trout, and did about what the Tom Sawyer in all of us yearns to do. They both told me that the trip was one of the best they’d ever made.

I’ve been enjoying myself in the mountains most of my life. I was born in a log house in Big Sandy, Wyoming, in July 1926 and spent my boyhood on a ranch near the New Fork River below Boulder, Wyoming. I’ve hunted and fished since I was big enough. I joined the Navy in 1944. When I returned in 1946 my folks had moved to Bondurant in the Hoback Basin. That’s been home to me ever since. My wife Jo loves the mountains too, and so do our two children.

The first fall after I came back from the Navy, many friends and relatives hunted out of the ranch. The next year Dad and I decided to get into the outfitting and guiding business. I had first paying client in 1948, and turned out to be one of the best.

Harold Pottle was from Boston, Massachusetts. We hit it off. Harold wanted a long hunt. I didn’t have any family responsibilities then, so we hunted from the middle of September to the end of October. We hunted all over the mountainous terrain known as the Upper Hoback and the Lower Hoback-Snake River areas. I’m still outfitting in that area of western Wyoming.

Harold finally scored on a big six-point bull elk. It wasn’t the best we’d seen, but my client had gone down to the wire by holding out for an exceptional trophy. That month and a half was a real education for me. I had a lot of time to polish my hunting skills and learn the best ways of packing equipment and doing the many different chores of an outfitter and guide.

To me, the real thrill of hunting is outwitting the game no matter how difficult it is. If you can’t enjoy that, you shouldn’t hunt. I’ve had a lot of clients who really savored the thrill of hunting. Some incidents stand out in my memory.

Bear hunting over bait really gets to some men. It may sound dull, but few men fail to get excited when a bear appears. Part of the reason is that bears often come to a bait during the eerie hours of early morning or late evening. The bait is usually a horse or a cow that has died. Sitting over a bait often calls for hours of silence and motionless waiting. That can be tense, and all sorts of thoughts race through your mind.

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Maybe the birds are singing, and a nearby squirrel scolds and drops things noisily. Perhaps a ruffed grouse is drumming. Then the sounds cease abruptly, and it seems that every living thing has left the forest. That happens when a bear approaches the bait. Then I put my hand on the hunter’s arm and whisper, “Get ready.” Some men just naturally come apart right then.

One client watched in awe as a huge black bear strolled out of the thickets, grabbed the 1,000-pound dead cow, stood up with it, and moved the carcass around to suit his convenience. It was moments before that man settled down enough even to think about shooting, but he got himself under control and killed the bruin.

Elk hunters are especially susceptible to the shakes because the bulls are so large and so difficult to outsmart. One time I was guiding two men and we spotted three bulls across a small but deep canyon. The older man took the first shot, and he nailed his elk. I was watching the animals through binoculars, and I got pretty excited when one of the remaining bulls stood still in his tracks and offered an easy shot. The third animal jumped into timber. My younger client had a fine chance to score.

“You’d better shoot right now,” I said.

Long silence.

“Damn, I wish you’d take him!” I pleaded. “He won’t stand there much longer.”

Silence. The bull walked out of sight. I lowered my binoculars, looked at the man, and said, “Why didn’t you shoot?”

“You mean me?” he said, still staring across the canyon.

Buck fever had a tight hold on that fellow. I think most big-game hunters have had the feeling of not being able to shoot — or shoot straight — because of buck fever. The malady is nothing to be ashamed of. Good guides expect it and don’t hold it against their hunters. Bad guides give the afflicted client hell if he freezes up or misses. You can’t make a hunter out of a man by demeaning him.

Hunters who understand what big-game hunting is all about and what it takes to play the game bring joy to the heart of the guide. They may not be veteran hunters, but they appreciate what they experience. I guided two mule-deer hunters last fall who made the whole hunt a real pleasure.

Jim Ball and Larry Olson work as airline mechanics in Kansas City, Missouri. They are in their 30’s, are in good physical shape, and are gentlemen. They had done enough horseback riding to know how to get on and off a mount. They had camped before, so they didn’t expect many conveniences in a tent camp in the back country. When it snowed, that was taken good-naturedly. Around camp there was a laugh a minute, and everybody helped with chores.

Jim and Larry got their bucks, but what they appreciated most was the beauty of the hunting country. They enjoyed every inch of the mountains. Such clients know how to unbend, leave their tensions behind, and get the most out of an entirely different way of life. When they go back home, they are better able to handle everyday problems.

One of the biggest mistakes clients make is expecting too much. Many newcomers, especially those from Eastern states, have the idea that they’ll see game all over the mountains. It doesn’t work that way. Big-game animals aren’t stupid, and they get smarter each year as hunting pressure increases. As each season progresses the animals also spend more time hiding in remote timber.

Hunters should realize that it usually takes a lot of work and a lot of luck to get a shot at a trophy-class big-game animal. Most of my hunts involve plenty of riding up and down hills to get into good game country. Then comes a lot of walking, and you have to go without regularly scheduled meals and normal hours of sleep. On top of that, the weather may be cold, wet, and miserable. To a true outdoorsman there is no bad weather — it’s just that some days are more enjoyable than others.

Hunters shouldn’t expect to score unless they’re in good enough physical shape to meet the demands of a hunt in rough country. Prehunt physical conditioning at home is one of the smartest things a big-game hunter can do.

Many hunters expect the outfitter to pack half their worldly goods into the back country. There’s no sense in bogging down a hunt with equipment that won’t be used. How can a hunter make good use of a month’s supply of clothing, six pairs of boots, and a lot of unnecessary things such as tape players?

A change of clothes for warm weather and another change for cold, and the necessary personal items, are all a man requires. Two pairs of boots, one for dry weather and one for wet, will do the job. The important thing is that the boots be comfortable. New boots can cause blisters the first day out and make the entire hunt a real misery.

Good raingear is all-important, but don’t bring a big, flappy poncho made of stiff plastic. Flapping raingear scares horses, often when a man is mounting or dismounting. A horse that bolts then is bad trouble. Most plastics are noisy too, an obvious disadvantage when you’re stalking wary big-game animals.

Many hunters bring a lot of useless gear. You won’t make that mistake if you check with your outfitter by mail or telephone before the hunt. He’ll tell what to bring and what not to bring.  

Just about every letter I get from potential clients asks about my hunter-success ratio. I feel there’s entirely too much emphasis on kill ratios. Too many things beyond anyone’s control can ruin a hunt. The most important are: bad weather, a bad year when the game cycle is at a low point, sudden excess hunting pressure, and plain bad luck.

The most a guide can do is to get his client a shot at game within good range. The rest is up to the man with the rifle. Just imagine how vastly my yearly kill ratios would vary if my clients were excellent marksmen one year and lousy shots the next. Poor marksmanship spoils a great many hunts. During a seven-day trip you may have just one chance to take a trophy. If you make that shot it can turn your hunt into the highlight of a lifetime. Successful hunters know their rifles and know how to use them.

During a week’s hunt game is stalked and shot at for only a short time, and that’s just the time when some clients become overanxious, ignore their guides, and do foolish things. They forget that a good guide knows the country, the habits of local game, and how the animals should be hunted. During those few supreme moments of the hunt it pays to do what a competent guide tells you to do.

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I love hunting in the mountains. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be in the outfitting and guiding business. I often get pretty close to clients who love the outdoors as much as I do. Good outdoorsmen almost invariably have consideration for others, a positive attitude when hunting, a feeling for nature, a willingness to follow intelligent instructions, and the ability to relax and enjoy life when the pressure is off.

About the author: Victor Mack was born in a log house in Big Sandy, Wyoming, in 1926. He began hunting and fishing just as soon as he was big enough, and has been at it ever since except for an enlistment in the Navy that began in 1944. When he returned in 1956, many friends and relatives hunted out of the Mack family’s ranch, and he turned to outfitting and guiding hunters and fishermen. He had his first paying client in 1948.

He operates out of Bondurant in western Wyoming and is a member of the Jackson Hole Outfitters and Guides Association. One of his chief satisfactions results from the fact that many of his clients return year after year. Three generations of one family have hunted with him for 15 years.