Editor’s note: This is the second part in a series of first-person stories by Daily Inter Lake outdoors reporter Scott Shindledecker which detail his 10-day hunt in the Bob Marshall Wilderness.

The ride into the ‘Bob’ began early Sunday morning at Owl Creek Packer’s Roost. It was somewhat smoky as wildfires in Idaho, California, Oregon and Washington deposited the fog into Western Montana.

I met the guides and fellow clients.

Brothers Mickey and Toby Cheff were busy packing gear for the ride to camp. I met Bob, a frequent camp cook for the group, but this time he was a hunter. He is a Mission Valley native who has probably ridden a few thousand miles on horses.

There was a man from southern California named Earl but he went by Butch. He was a geographer who made out well in building online maps. His cell phone with its maps were never far from his hands.

Rhett, a wrangler and guide for the trip, led the way with Earl and myself in the middle with Bob behind me to make sure I didn’t lost.

While the smoke obscured some distant views, it wasn’t bad. There were still nice views of Upper Holland Lake, near peaks and valleys and various rock formations.

“My” horse ‘Laverne’ was as promised, steady and sure-footed. But why did it seem every time we were on an exposed section of trail where one may fall hundreds of feet it felt like she was gonna walk right off the side?!?

It was an interesting sensation, but the more I did it the more comfortable it became as I learned to trust the horse.

Starting before 8 a.m., we took a lunch break at about 1 p.m. We rode a bit more before getting off to lead the horses through an exposed area of loose shale. The trail was good, but I think it was more of a courtesy for a few guys who didn’t have a ton of time in the saddle!

The rest of the way was uneventful, but the soreness grew. The steady gait of the horses created a rocking feeling which made me drowsy, but the way my butt felt kept me from getting more comfortable.

In the last eight miles or so before camp, a great deal of the area included remnants of blackened timber, left from the Bartlett Creek Fire of 2003 which burned several thousand acres.

At about 5:30 p.m., we rode into a large meadow. It was a place where the horses and mules fed when they weren’t working or sleeping.

Before we knew it, we were in camp! The rest of the gang followed later, packing in our gear and their gear.

We met Ron, the camp cook on this trip, and young Ashton, a guide and wrangler.

Ron was a good old boy from Plains while Ashton was from the Mission Valley. They had rode in a few days before and set up camp.

We exchanged stories about who we were and where we were from. We ate a good dinner, although it escapes me just what we had.

It didn’t take long to crawl into bed. The metal frame cots were solid, but I toss and turn a fair amount, so it took some getting used to.

We were up sometime after 7 a.m. and had a breakfast I rarely eat at home. There were flapjacks, eggs over easy (dippy eggs as my mom used to call them).

Monday was a planned off day to allow the clients to recover from the ride. But for Mickey, it was another long day in the saddle, making a round trip of nearly 40 miles to recover a few items from another camp.

Before lunch, I rigged up my pack rod to try for some cutthroat trout in the South Fork. I hadn’t fly fished much since I was in my teens, but the cutts were greedy as promised and they took my less than expertly cast fly.

After more unpacking and napping, we feasted on cheeseburgers, corn on the cob and yellow cake with chocolate icing.

Ron truly knew what he was doing with the limited array of cookware!

We ate well, breakfast, lunch and dinner. I lose weight when hunting, but not on this trip!

Next week: Hot weather, afternoon siestas and the hunt begins!