Insights & Observations

By Joe Stuver

A lot of folks are wondering how the heck I managed to shoot myself.

I’ve also noted, though, that my stupid causes a lot of anxiety for those who care for me. We Stuver “boys” have indeed kept our Guardian Angels pretty dang busy. Come to think of it though, that also transcends into the Patten side of the family.

As in most stories, I have to start at the beginning. (You didn’t really think you were going to get off that easy, did you?)

With the last back surgery, the installation of an electronic spinal therapy device, I’m actually experiencing a bit of relief. After months of playing on the medical merry-go-round, I was ready for a non-doctor related adventure. I wanted someplace quiet, and someplace pretty. Finding pretty in Montana is pretty much a given, but in this day and age, quiet is a gift. Of course we have some of the prettiest country here at home, especially this year of bountiful moisture, but it’s nice to see something different.

Seeking quiet, I looked into various lakes on the Rocky Mountain Front. While the west side is pretty much a cluster of people, the Save the Front Coalition has succeeded in keeping the real estate agents out of their country, preserving the beautiful area for future generations. I found Bean Lake on my map, and goggled it: very quiet, pretty, and fair fishing.

The lake is south of the small town of Augusta, and I was soon to meet some of its finest and most dedicated citizens.

My plan, then, was to go to Billings and eat supper with pals Jerry LaPierre and Danny Maes; continue on to Helena where I would meet another old friend whose college acquaintance had just been renewed for a supper at the Marysville Steak House (he was buying). Then, I’d head up to Augusta, supply myself a bit, and spend a couple days jeep camping at Bean.

The best laid plans….

In Billings, my trouble started. I ran a few errands upon arrival, and was still early to check in at my motel. I decided simply to stop at South Park, which was handy, and read and relax for a bit.

No sooner than I had set my seat back and began drifting into the story, a few seedy looking individuals approached. Their “leader” approached my window and asked what I wanted and if I had a few dollars: “to be left alone, and no.” He and his buddies didn’t take that too well, and began acting a bit aggressive.

So, I took out my Walther .380, showed it, and chambered a round. This led to a remarkable transition in the grubbies’ attitudes, and they quickly backed off.

I then set the pistol down, and forgot to take the round out of the chamber. Dang!

After a fine supper and visiting, I was off across Central Montana towards my destination. There was still plenty of snow in the high mountains I passed, but the bottomlands were a glory of hay, grass, and sweet clover. Fat, sleek, cow critters were happily grazing, with just their backs showing in the splendor of the sweet clover.

I arrived in Helena, and met another old friend, Ron Moody of Butte, for supper at the famous Marysville steak house. It was expensive, and I was happy he was buying.

I arose bright and early the next morning, and continued my drive north. I stopped at the charming little town of Augusta to get a few groceries, and then headed south towards my destination.

I arrived at Bean Lake, a beautiful, quiet place of birds and waterfowl, all competing to be heard in the quiet mountain air. I set up camp, and then headed down to the lake to fish, read, and to simply enjoy the beauty of the looming Front and the quiet serenity of the place.

I fished with no luck, with good reason as I was to find out later, but most importantly, let the beauty and solitude sink into my soul.

As dusk approached, I cooked a burger supper, cleaned up, filled up my air mattress and prepared for bed, looking forward to both the beauty of night while anticipating the arrival of a new day. I grabbed the pistol in one hand and my camera in the other, wanting to get a few photos of the sun setting over the lake.

As I swung out, BANG! Dang!

I looked down. There was a bit of a ragged hole in my pants, in my upper inner thigh. Again, dang!

I could not get cell service either. With blood flowing but not squirting, my panicked mind thought of only one thing: get someplace as fast as I could to call 9-1-1. Plus, it hurt like heck.

I thought I was a goner.

I skidded and slid down the curvy, gravel road for what seemed like an eternity, and finally noticed a single bar. I called 9-1-1 and got through! Yes!

By that time though, I was starting to go into a bit of shock. To keep my mind busy, I first called John and Dee to tell them of the situation, and to also tell them that I was in doubt as to whether I’d make it. Then, as misery loves company, I called Jerry and told him if I didn’t make it, it had been a dang good ride and thanked him for all of the good times.

What I succeeded in doing, was to spread my anxiety to people I love dearly.

After another eternity, I could see the ambulance top the hill a mile or so away.

The volunteer ambulance crew was out of Augusta, and they quickly took control of the situation. I could put weight on the leg, which was a relief to both myself and the crew that would have struggled to get my fat carcass out of my Cherokee and onto the waiting gurney. They also told me a helicopter flight was en route.

They put me in the back of the ambulance, and we were off to the hospital. The fire chief was Charlie Taylor. I learned the names of the other two crew members inside, but as I did not learn the names of all who were involved, I hate to name them. Among them was a very pretty, very sweet young lady, who immediately began to hold my hand and started visiting. It’s pretty hard to go into shock with a pretty girl holding your hand and expressing great concern.

I was super impressed by the crew. Charlie attempted to start an iv, but couldn’t get the needle in on the bumpy road. I’m a hard stick anyway, after all my previous experience with needles.

Charlie also gently told me that due to a fight with the Fish and Game over water rights, there was no longer any fish in Bean Lake!

I googled the fire and ambulance at first chance. Like small towns everywhere, they have trouble recruiting enough members; my thoughts flashed to the grand crew at home. The Augusta crew has the bonus of having to respond to people doing stupid things, or simply getting lost or injured in the surrounding mountains. In some cases, they have to lug some pretty heavy folks down steep mountain slopes and trails.

My heart will always remain with this little band of heroes, who took such great care of me.

Our little volunteer fire and rescue crews are the heart and soul of their communities.

I was soon aboard the helicopter, and could see the splendor of the Front at sunset, from the air. When the EMT decided I wasn’t critical, he propped me up so I could get a better view. I had asked for a window seat, but this was above and beyond.

In a few minutes, I was under the care of the emergency staff at Great Falls Benefis. They finished cutting off my pants, and took x-rays. The doctor shook his head in amazement. I’d missed everything vital. He said I could probably go home in the morning!

A few minutes later, nephew Jule Stuver showed up, face expressing first his concern, and then his relief. An Architect in Great Falls, Jule returned bright and early in the morning.

Soon, my older brother Dave showed up from Lewistown; he looked tired and haggard after spending a lot of time on the phone rather than sleeping.

Upon my release on the day after the shooting, our plans were for Dave to drive me on to Augusta, pick up my camping stuff and Cherokee, and drive back to Lewistown. I had kind offers of course from both he and Jule to stay at their homes, but both had stairs and I feared putting extra pressure on my torn muscles. Besides, I simply wanted to go home and sulk for a few days.

When we arrived at the Jeep, I quickly noticed that the Deputy Sheriff out of Lincoln, Tony Galahan, had picked up my camping stuff from the lake, and had kindly put it in the back of the jeep. All that remained was to meet the good deputy and get my gun and extra set of keys back.

I met him at Wolf Creek, and thanked him several times for his “above and beyond” the call kindness.

I then drove back to Helena, got a cheap room, and slept for 12 hours.

The following morning, it was back to Billings where I again stayed, and drafted Jerry into nursing duties.

Then it was back home, where in my shame I kind of hid out for a couple of days, thankful to be alive, and especially thankful for all of the good, kind people who had helped, or expressed their concern.

Thanks all.