Coyote stew and other foods

Rerun from March 26, 1992:

I had an old friend, a gifted artist and fine raconteur, who used to always say, “Come on over to my cabin one of these days and we’ll stew up a coyote.” Hank Taylor has gone to the big corral in the sky now. Thankfully I have some wonderful paintings to remember him by; but because of his oft-repeated invitation, I may be cursed to forever wonder what a stewed coyote tastes like.

Under current Montana law, hunters must eat all reasonable parts “above the hock” of game animals, and they are also told to eat all meaty parts of  game birds and fish. A fella down in Missoula didn’t follow those rules after bagging a mountain goat in 1989. He was arrested by game wardens for just taking the head, horns and cape. The trophy seeker was eventually found guilty and given a six month suspended jail sentence, fined $2,000, had the trophy taken away, and lost hunting and fishing privileges for 30 months. He appealed all this to the State Supreme court and early this month that group of jurists said the man had violated a perfectly valid law, “you shoot a goat, you’d better eat a goat.”

The Montana law exempts three “game animals” from the list you have to consume. They are the mountain lion, the grizzly and the black bears. Thankfully, hunters and trappers do not have to eat any of the varmints or fur bearing species. If Hank Taylor ever actually stewed a coyote, he did so without force or pressure from the State Fish and Game Department.

Famed outdoor writer, Colonel Townsend Whelen, once wrote about eating a grizzly steak and didn’t elaborate about the taste or consistency. He only said, “Thar is meat for a man.” Noted retired game warden Louis Kis recalls the time his family accidentally served grizzly hamburgers to some guests, including his brother’s wife (wrong freezer). Lou said it took a couple of years to get his sister-in-law back to visit them and it was probably four or five years more before that poor woman would eat even one bite of meat at his house. Blood being thicker than water, Lou’s brother forgave them after just a few months.

I’ve never shot a mountain goat because I have no trouble believing those who say the meat is tougher than fried tractor tires. One night after sitting around the table drinking tea and telling yarns up at the Sperry Chalet in Glacier Park, I headed out from the kitchen to my room in the upper chalet. It was dark and my flashlight soon revealed a large mountain goat blocking the wooden walkway. His rear end was toward me and without thinking, I hauled off and gave him a good hard slap, right on the behind.

Two things happened mighty fast, (1) the surprised goat did a complete one-eighty so that old George was instantly staring at two very long, sharp horns, and (2) I let out a screech of agony, because that goat’s butt was of the same hardness as the rocks he spent his life on. My hand ached for a week.

I asked Lou if he ever ate some mountain lion and he said, “one bite.” Someone over in Helena one time had shot a lion and then made smoked jerky sticks. I could tell it was difficult and painful for Lou to recall tasting one of those tidbits. We both agreed that after all, “A cat is a cat.”

Not so with “Wild Bill,” the colorful fellow who was our caretaker at Moose City for many years. Bill first asked me if he could move into a cabin up there in the late fall and I pointed out to him that it was remote and there was not much time to lay in supplies of either vegetables or meat, “Living off the land is one thing in the summer and fall but living off the land when the snow is four feet deep is another matter.” Bill said he had made it through the war in Vietnam, and he could make it through the winter at Moose City.

Bill had been up there maybe two months when the county plowed the road and I went up to see if he was still alive. My brother and I had flown over the place a couple of weeks before that in a plane and did see smoke coming out of the chimney. Pulling into the yard I saw about half the carcass of a mountain lion hanging from a tree. When Bill stepped out I asked him what had been chewing on that lion carcass. He said, “I’ve been eatin’ on that. It’s the only thing I’ve been able to shoot. By the time it’s gone I’ll probably get to likin’ it.” He was up there for almost ten years and never ate another lion. That told me everything I needed to know about panther pot roast.

Bill also tried beaver, ground squirrels, black bear, and whatever. Several times when I flew or drove into Moose City he invited me to eat with him but I always found some excuse to get out of that adventure.

Looking back now, I wished that about 20 years ago I’d have got Bill Atkinson and Louis Kis together and taken them up to Hank Taylor’s cabin in the Bull River Valley.

Do you suppose four guys could eat a whole coyote in one sitting?

G. George Ostrom is a national award-winning columnist for Hungry Horse News. He lives in Kalispell.