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“First thing, I’d ask them, ‘How many of you guys have heard that there’s no literature general such thing as a stupid question?’ And they’d be so eager, you know, just clawing over each other to get their hands up first. ‘Well, that’s a bunch of bull crap,’ I’d tell them. ‘Your best move for the next two years is to shut up and listen.’” Later, we all weighed in with our hunting plans literature general and ambitions. Steve opined that he was as likely to take a caribou close to camp as not; other factors being equal, he preferred literature general less hauling to more. Sure enough, at about 2 P.M. the next day, he dropped a heavily racked bull just 350 yards from camp. Hearing the shot, I hustled over to help, arriving in about 20 minutes. By that time, Steve was cleaning his fingernails with his knife. At his feet lay four neatly butchered quarters, hide still on to protect the meat, and a small mountain of expertly cut tenderloins, backstraps, neck roasts, and rib meat.
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