My earliest recollection of the mountains was a big Rodeo in Mound Valley. Our family went in Dad's "Star Car". It had a little truck bed instead of a Rumble Seat. I remember lying in my bed in the back of that Star Car and listening to the high pitched mooing of the cattle that were being used for the Rodeo. I also remember wondering about the mounds that dotted the valley. I was told that they used to be Ancient Adobe Houses of the people that inhabited this valley. I remember thinking about the book of Morinon people living in that beautiful valley with a clear mountain stream running through it.

Dad loved to go to the mountains to hunt and he went about every Deer Season and every Turkey Season as I remember. When I was about ten years old Dad took me with him on the big fall Deer hunt. I remember traveling forever. it seemed, in the back seat of Dad's car, I was nestled among the bundles of food, camp equipment and bedding. Dad was driving and Uncle Harvey was in the passenger seat. Uncle Harvey greeted me with, "Well Keithy (he always called me Keithy) we're going on a big hunt. I just grinned and was very happy that I had been invited to go along.

I remember that we packed up three Packs on horses and four horses were saddled ready to go. Uncle Steve Farnsworth let me ride a little brown horse and told me that he would take care of me. We road out of Garcia just as the sun was coming over the eastern hills. We rode west over the Continental Divide and down across the Gavilan River. After riding all day through beautiful pine forests and grassy Mesas we came to a little grassy camp by a clear mountain stream. Uncle Steve confided that we were camped on the Bald Mesas just a little north of Bull Peak. We unpacked just before sundown and hobbled the horses out for the night. Dad told me to get a fire going. He was going over to the Rim to watch the big Bucks parade along the Rim after sundown. Uncle Steve came back to camp carrying a two point Buck on his shoulder and immediately began to cut up the liver for a supper of liver and onions. After a long day without eating I really enjoyed that meal of fresh fried liver smothered in onions.

The next morning before daylight I woke up to a busy camp. The horses were being saddled and the Tenderloin of Venison was frying in a big iron skillet. After a hasty breakfast of Venison and bread washed down with hot Postum, we mounted up and rode out into the frosty morning just at daylight. I remember my hands and feet were so cold that I thought they were going to drop off. We rode single file, Uncle Steve in the lead with Uncle Harvey, Dad and me following close behind. The horses seemed to walk silently through the tall grass. Uncle Steve stopped and pointed ahead of us. There on the trail that wound up and around Bull Peak was a sight that made my heart pound. Nine big White Tailed Bucks were lined up along the trail. The three men dismounted with their guns in their hands discussing, in whispers, which Deer each would take. Dad handed me the bridle reigns of his horse to hold. They all got ready and at the count of three the shots rang out as one. Two big Bucks jumped and fell rolling down the steep hillside. One just humped up and ran slowly down the hill and lay down about fifty yards from where we were. Dad pumped another bullet in his 30-30 Rifle and took careful airn and fired. The Deer flopped over and lay as if he were dead. Dad walked down to where the Deer lay with me following close behind with the horses. He straddled the Deer, took a firm hold on one Hom and began to cut the Deer's throat. Suddenly that Deer came to life and began to jump and thrash around and paw Dad with his sharp hoofs. Dad tenaciously held on and continued to saw on the Deer's throat. Finally the Deer kicked it's last spasm and Dad stood up he was bruised and bloody from head to foot and the front of his shirt and pants were tom and bloody. Dad was grinning triumphantly but Uncle Harvey and Uncle Steve were really laughing. They each cleaned his Deer and tied it on his saddle and we went back to Camp to hang up the Deer and relax while Dad got cleaned up and changed his clothes. 

One day as we were riding along on a high ridge covered with giant pine trees, our horses hoofs began to make a booming sound on the ground. I turned to Uncle Steve and asked if it was hollow underneath us. He answered that he thought that it was a clay ridge and that was why it made that booming sound. In my imagination I was not convinced and I could imagine a deep cavern directly under us. At the end of this wonderful hunt we hung up nine big Bucks in the trees west of Garcia. We had finished eating the Two Point Buck for camp meat. Later that night after dark we went back in the car and retrieved the Meat in the car and distributed it around the town for people to cat.

I remember when Dad was Stake President he had as his Counselors Brother Wilford Farnsworth and Brother Moroni Abegg. They would visit the different wards in the Stake including the Mountain Colonies. They were Colonia Pacheco, Colonia Garcia and Colonia Chuhuichupa. I accompanied Dad many times on these trips. One time I went with Dad and Brother Farnsworth to Colonia Garcia. We left early Saturday morning and arrived in Garcia in mid afternoon. On the way Dad told Brother Farnsworth that he would like to take him Turkey hunting that evening. Brother Farnsworth said that he would like that since he had never hunted Turkey. When we arrived in Garcia Dad went to see Albert Beecroft and asked him to take us Turkey hunting since he was a very good Turkey Caller. We went in the Car up on the Continental Divide West of Garcia and walked to the edge of a deep canyon. Here Dad gave Brother Farnsworth the Shot gun with instructions how to operate it. Albert began to chirp on his Wing Bone and we all listened intently. Soon we heard a lusty Gobble that came from across the canyon. The big Gobbler came into view strutting and gobbling. Albert told Brother Farnsworth to get ready because the Turkey was going to fly across the canyon. That beautiu bird took off with strong beating of his wings and sailed across the canyon straight toward us. In the excitement of that moment Brother Farnsworth stood up and began pumping the mechanism of the Shot gun. When the Turkey saw us and heard the chuck, chuck of the gun, he banked steeply and sailed back down the canyon and was lost to sight. Brother Farnsworth asked excitedly, "What! What! Happened"? Dad answered saying, " Wilford! you never did shoot". We all looked down to see all five unfired shells lying on the ground. That Turkey flying directly at us was exciting!

I can remember many successful  Turkey hunts with Dad, In Chuhuichupa with Cliff Whetten and in Garcia with Uncle SteveFarnsworth. When I was eleven years old Uncle Steve gave me a Wing Bone out of a Turkey Hen and taught me how to use it, I began to practice diligently and learned to use it well. That started me on my long career as a Turkey Caller. On our scout hikes at twelve yeas old I called Turkey for my fellow scouts but those are other stories.