This van kept going by our house in Elk Park, Montana. Early morning and late at night, it creeped along the gravel road when most people hauled ass. It was obviously a hunter, but I’m just 12 or 13 years old, and I’d just watched a horror movie, so it freaked me out.
My stepdad and his buddy want to go hunting. We drive then walk 5 miles into Buffalo Gulch, where we spot a 5×5 bull elk. A shot’s taken and the bull drops. We approach, and I‘m like, “How are we hauling this out?”
We bone out the elk and fill my backpack. With the pack on I can barely stand, and now I’m supposed to carry it 5 miles while my stepdad and his buddy stay behind?
As I’m walking, I go to cross this creek. I fall backwards and the pack holds me underwater. I manage to emerge then find the gravel road to continue my trek out.
It’s dark now and I don’t have a flashlight, so I miss the trail leading to the truck. All of the sudden, that f**king van is back. I load my .270 just in case, backtrack along the creek and find my way to the truck.
I drive to the house for flashlights and gear to haul the rest of the elk. I’m in trouble because I left my stepdad and his buddy there so long. But we get the elk out and all it takes is being terrified by a creepy van and almost drowning in a creek.