It had already been a long morning, with a more than a mile-long unsuccessful stalk on a big aoudad ram. The noon sun was pressing down hard, as we navigated a high mountain road in the West Texas mountains not too far from Mexico. Rounding a curve, our guide glanced over his shoulder to make sure the film crew was behind us. He immediately slammed on the brakes of the Polaris and said, “Oh my God, they rolled the truck!”
The big, four-door GMC was on its side, wedged against a tree about 100 feet below the road. Camera gear was scattered about, and steam was bellowing from the engine. When the guide, the other hunter, and I arrived at the truck, three of the film crew were staggering around in a daze. Two were still inside. It was clear one of the crew members was seriously hurt. Problem was, we were way the hell west of nowhere and with no cell service.