Bio: Daughter of Frank and Inge Galey grew up on the ranch, 1940s to mid 1960s. Descriptor: The adventures of Hunting Camp with dad.
Cynthia’s Story: HUNTNG CAMP with FRANK GALEY, Cynthia Galey Peck. For many years Dad had a hunting camp up Pilgrim Creek north of Jackson Hole toward Yellowstone National Park. He could drive to his base camp where there was a big tent for storage and corrals for the stock. From the base camp he would pack everything into the main camp several miles up Pilgrim Creek. At the main camp there was a large canvas wall cook tent, several small wall tents for the hunters and guides, corrals for the stock and poles tied high up between trees for hanging meat out of predators way. The cook’s tent was dominated by a central long table and benches. It had a big wood stove with an oven, and wooden pack boxes stacked on their sides for food and dish shelves. One corner had a folding cot for the cook. I loved to visit hunting camp. I was eight and nine years old when I spent time at camp. Dad had some bear hunters coming for a week. It was common practice to leave a carcass or guts to bring the bear in. It preparation he had bought an old sickly mare who wasn’t expected to live through the winter. With her came a foal. He was named Bearbait since that was to be his fate as well as the mare’s. Dad did take the mare out and shot her to put her out of her misery and bait the bear. The first hunters got their bear, but when another group came in everyone had fallen in love with the cute rolly polly Bearbait and his fate was changed; he became the mascot of the camp and a nuisance. He feared no one and nothing. He would wander into the cook tent as readily as the corral to eat. I think he learned from watching Coon get handouts of cookies or pie from the cook or took further liberties. Coon was a big strong friendly horse that took very good care of his load, so he was used for large hunters or packing out the game. Bearbait had a long and useful life at White Grass as a favorite riding horse and excellent pack horse. Sometimes Dad would take me to pack out an elk that a hunter had shot the previous day. One time we rode all day trying to find the kill up the side of Wildcat Peak. It was cold and the sun was getting low in the west. Dad finally found the kill half way up an impossibly steep slope. We tied our riding horses near the bottom where there were some dwarfed pine trees and led the pack horse next to the kill on the down hill side. I held the horse while Dad lifted the quarter on the off side. I lead the horse around trying to get his other side towards Dad. The slope was so steep I could hardly stand so I had to take the pack horse to a flatter spot to turn him around. He was off balance because of the one loaded quarter, but I managed to get into the position Dad wanted. Dad loaded another quarter and I took the first pack horse to the bottom and came back to the kill with the second pack horse to repeat the procedure. The antlers were put on top of the second pack points hanging down on each side of the elk’s front quarters. It was dark before we got back on a trail, no less back to camp. We unpacked and unsaddled and fed the stock, then hung the elk before we went into the cook tent. The cook tent was always warm from the wood cook stove. The cook gave us some warm food and hot coffee to warm our innards. I hated coffee, but with lots of sugar and canned cream it was good to have a hot drink. I slept on the ground in the cook tent with Dad and the cook. Another time Dad and I were bringing an elk off a mountain. It got dark. Dad whistled as he rode along. There was no moon, only his whistle and sometimes I could see a whit tarp on top of a pack horse. I would get slapped by branches I didn’t see. Suddenly the whistle and the packs disappeared. Soon my horse and I were airborne. With a splash and jerk we landed with the horses feet under him and Dad rode on pack horses in tow. As I looked back I dimly saw the small cliff off of which we had jumped. Cindy Galey Peck.