I guess I've been pretty lucky. Never had to draw, thus far (knock on wood).
But I did have a situation where the sight of my Ruger Blackhawk .45 Colt caused an immediate evaporation of a pretty rough, seedy-looking character way back in the mountains. I can't remember, but I may have shared this before. If so, forgive me. Heck, I mean, nowadays, I have a tough time remembering what I had for breakfast, much less what stories I've shared!
Anyway, I was spot-camping three guys one summer back in the Marble Mountain Wilderness Area of Northern California. For those who are unfamiliar with the term "spot-camping," it's when a packer will take his pack string and haul equipment, food, and supplies into an area for a group of individuals, drop it off, and then come back in a week or so and haul their gear out for them. That way, all they have to carry on their backs is a light day pack with a few snacks, water bottle, and maybe some personal items.
The folks I was packing for were taking a different route than I was to the designated camp area back in one of the wilderness lakes. They were hiking in from the opposite side of the wilderness area and had hauled all of their gear over to my place a few days before the big trip so I could weigh it, sort it out, and load it into the pack boxes. We were supposed to meet at this particular lake at around 2:00 in the afternoon. I had been in the saddle for a good six or seven hours when I arrived at the previously agreed upon spot a little before two and found that they hadn't arrived yet.
These three guys had a lot of gear. As I was loading the pack boxes a couple days before, I could readily see that they were planning on having a heckuva good time during the week they were in the mountains. They had an inflatable raft, fishing gear, and enough booze to make them almost forget the good time they were going to be having.
They had chosen a place that was way off the beaten path, and even though you don't normally see a
lot of people in that part of the wilderness area, I hadn't seen a single soul the whole time I had been in the saddle.
I unpacked the mules, strung up a high line, and proceeded to arrange the pack boxes so things were readily available to my clients when they arrived.
All of the sudden, my little stock dog that went with me on every trip, let out a soft growl. I turned around and saw a pretty rough-looking character come slithering out of the woods...no pack...just a dirty, grimy, greasy-looking fellow who, upon looking at him closer, seemed to be a "half bubble off plumb."
In a gravelly voice, he growled, "Yuh got any whiskey?" Those were his first words.
I told him I didn't. Then he wanted to know what was in the packs. Told him I didn't know...I was just the packer spot-camping a bunch of clients. All this time, by the way, the .45 Colt that I carried on my hip on almost every pack trip for the past thirty years, was turned away from him while I was busy arranging the pack boxes.
I managed to get out of him, however, that he'd been living back in the wilderness area for a few months now. A few
months??? I had to admit, he sure looked it. When I asked him where he was camped, he just waved his arm and mumbled, "Aw, back there someplace."
Anyway, he started walking closer, eyeing the packs when I happened to nonchalantly turn sideways, exposing the .45 on my hip.
Shazzam!! It was almost like magic! I heard him mumbling something about, "Uh, I gotta go now," as he beat a hasty retreat through the bushes.
I stayed with the gear until the hikers arrived about three hours later. They hadn't realized just how long it was going to take them to get back in there. By that time, it was too late for me to make the trip out. Fortunately, I always packed a sleeping bag in those situations, along with a little food for my dog and some grain for my saddle horse and pack mules, just in case I had to spend the night.
I told the hikers about the "visitor" and they were grateful that one of them had packed a handgun. Have to admit, he was an interesting fellow.
Don't know if anything would've happened. Probably not, but it was amazing to see how fast that guy retreated when he saw that old revolver of mine.
