Reminds me of the time my brother and I got a beauty 310 class bull on a steep sidehill. We had to tie it to a tree to gut it, and the guts rolled about 50 yards down the hill after we cut them loose and hung up on a small alder.

I put a 3rd rib hind on my pack, and my brother helped me to my feet on this small ribbon of game trail that ran across the steep hillside.

"You okay?" he asks. "Yup" says I.

I took two steps then slipped on a wet rock and rolled end over end down the hill with that pack on, finally stopping when I crashed into the gut bag in the alders.

Remind me again why I have aches and pains in my old age?