Grand JunctionGrand Junction — The spoiler version of Matt and Darryl’s 2016 Colorado hunting trip goes like this: — The spoiler version of Matt and Darryl’s 2016 Colorado hunting trip goes like this:
Grand Junction — The spoiler version of Matt and Darryl’s 2016 Colorado hunting trip goes like this:
Darryl spots deer, Matt shoots deer, time to celebrate.
That, however, is just the large print in the ongoing story of two long-time friends and their outdoor adventures.
The fact that Air Force veteran Matt Teasdale of Lake Gaston, N.C., this fall bagged his second blackpowder Colorado mule deer in three years is interesting enough, as is his ability matching the boundless optimism voiced by hunting buddy and Grand Junction taxidermist Darryl Powell.
For Teasdale to do this while strapped to a wheelchair and facing an uncertain future kicks it up several notches.
These two, buddies since attending Bethel High School in Hampton, Virginia (class of 1976), have shared many exploits, from deer hunting to fishing on Lake Gaston and Teasdale’s first Colorado mule in 2014 after those many years of going oh-fer.
But nothing prepared them for their latest adventure.
Powell hunts with Teasdale for several reasons, but especially because “He’s about the only guy I know who can keep up with me,” Powell said.
Then, things changed in 2013.
“We had about 18 inches of snow and he had been a bit slow, so I sent him out on his own,” Powell recalled. “But when I got back to camp, he was already there.”
Teasdale admitted he hadn’t made it very far.
“I just couldn’t get my feet to feel right,” Teasdale said. “I kept tripping and falling down – I fell like seven times that week — and I’d have to crawl to a tree and pull myself up.”
Thinking it was a weak ankle, Teasdale, 55, went home to Lake Gaston and called the Durham (N.C.) VA medical center.
On Jan. 22, 2014, after three weeks of prodding and poking, Teasdale met Dr. Stanley Belknap, professor of neurology at Duke University and one of the world’s experts in amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS) research, doing his monthly round at the VA hospital.
“He looked at me and said, ‘Mr. Teasdale, I can tell you exactly what’s wrong, you have ALS,’ ” Matt remembered. “I didn’t know what he was talking about and then he said, ‘Did you ever hear about Lou Gehrig’s disease?’”
That was the only appointment that his wife Becky had not attended.
“After I gave her the news, she was crying more because she didn’t go with me,” Matt said. Once they told their family, Teasdale called Powell.
“I didn’t know anything about ALS and told him to take care of himself and not worry about coming out to hunt,” Powell said. “But then he started asking about the (license application) dates.”
In October, 2014, Teasdale, using a special off-road wheelchair, shot his first mule deer, a decent 4×3, on land near Collbran owned by Ron and Judy Galloway.
Teasdale showed up again in 2015 and saw plenty of deer, but had only a cow elk tag.
“I didn’t know what ALS meant or Lou Gehrig’s disease and there’s no family history of it,” Teasdale remembers. “Becky had been reading about it but I remember him (Belknap) saying life expectancy is two to five years.”
This year, Matt, Becky, and Matt’s brother, Miles, showed up with a motorized all-terrain wheelchair, a tripod to support the rifle and a camouflaged portable blind.
The first night, our hunters went bumping along with Matt in his chair inside the blind, Miles carrying the tripod and Powell half lifting, half pushing the blind.
“You ever see the Three Stooges movie where they’re moving haystacks?” Teasdale laughed. “That’s what it was like.”
That night, after the hunters leave, a wind carried the unattended blind to, well, Kansas was one guess.
“When we walked out into the field Tuesday, it’s like, ‘Where’s the blind?’ It was gone,” Teasdale said.
That second night, Teasdale’s 500-pound motorized wheelchair hit an irrigation ditch and tipped over with him strapped in it.
Miles freed Matt from the chair, but by now they were 10 yards from the chair.
“No way they could pick me up and drag me, so I suggested they roll me, like a hot dog,” Matt said. “It took about a dozen rolls, I figure, but they finally got me to the chair.”
The third night everything worked and Powell got Teasdale to within 80-plus yards of an apparently unconcerned 5×5 buck lying in some tall grass.
“Remember I’m sitting down and can only see the buck’s antlers,” Teasdale said. “Three horses walk between us and the deer and once the horses leave, the deer stands up.”
He shot, and Miles scoffed. “You missed.”
“Nah, be patient, you hit him,” counseled Powell, watching through binoculars. “He’ll go down, he just doesn’t know it yet.”
But Teasdale wasn’t sure and took a shot with his second rifle.
This time, the deer took two steps and fell over.
“Darryl walks up to the buck and finds two holes, about 4 inches apart, right behind the shoulder,” Matt said, justifiably proud of his marksmanship.
The usual post-hunt party at Powell’s tricked-out man-cave had Teasdale regaling listeners about the hunt, next year’s possibilities and talking openly about his disease.
He wasn’t ready to admit this was his final trip out West.
“I’m 2 ½ years (into his diagnosis) and I plan to keep coming out as long as I can,” he said, grinning.
Powell’s grin was just as big.
“He’s already talking about next year’s license deadline,” Powell said. “The dude won’t quit.”