50 Miles with Bob
Some time has gone by since this story. As we have continued on our way and had time to reflect back, its impact on us has only continued to increase. There are certain experiences in the mountains that stay with you. Like the Big Guy upstairs pressed the pause button on time and the reality of the moment had full access to settle in on your memory. This story was one of those times.
It was the middle of summer and we were working and living up in the high country. A close friend was in the middle of building a cabin and we went up to help for a couple weeks. We had put in the hours clearing the land, installing trim and getting the wood stove in. We had enjoyed our time immensely, but it was time to move on.
We loaded the pickup and made the voyage to town. An experience in and of itself. Resembling more of a backwoods adventure than a drive down the highway. We rolled into town and celebrated our successful endeavors over cold ones. The way good work should be celebrated. Remembering the challenges, joyfully claiming the victories and doing it all with the men and women who participated in the work.
With full bellies and heavy eyelids, it was decided to stay the night with a friend of my friends a town over, We made the drive and rolled in late. Heading straight to bed, introductions were saved for the morning. The next morning we had the pleasure of meeting our host. A strong burly man, with experience on his face, wisdom on his hands and a confident humbleness in his heart.
We shared stories, discussed plans and experienced new people. We learned that our new friend was a mule man. Preferring the solitude and reverence that comes through packing mules in the high country. We quickly learned that he was a man of few words but lingering presence. A stature that I have come to learn deserves full attention and respect.
As the next couple days went on, we found ourselves in conversation about his frequent pack trips. To stay honest, I can't say the thought of joining on a trip wasn’t on my mind. After voicing interest with my friend, he built the bridge between our eagerness and our new friends ability. The idea of us joining on a trip was met with active openness and a formal invite was delivered.
We gladly and appreciatively agreed and our next adventure was locked in. Climbing back into the cabover that night, we mused between ourselves. We were grateful and surprised at the turn of events. The memory then surfaced of a prayer I had prayed months before. I simply prayed that if possible, sometime on our trip we would be able to go on a pack trip. I had favorable memories from my boyhood of packing with my dad in the backcountry. I wanted to go again and explore the woods from the seat of a saddle and with my gear walking faithfully behind rather than pressing down on my shoulders.
The next day we helped as much as we could someone who is used to going alone. Venturing out alone trains the explorer in ways group ventures can't. There’s a silent planning, communication and confidence that goes on that's hard to teach. It's developed through going out alone and having experience in areas that don't need words, just action. We found areas to assist where we had knowledge. Catching the mules, brushing and saddling were areas of low hanging fruit that we could offer assistance.
The afternoon found us on the road back up into the mountains. Following behind, stock trailer in tow, transporting our companions. Farther and farther we drove as the canyon got tighter and curves sharper. Soon enough we saw the turn signal from the trailer and we approached the trail head. This embarkation point was as they should be. Enough facilities to offer convenience, but only one other trailer.
We kept with our position of part time spectator and part time hand as our gear was loaded onto the pack saddles. Introducing latigo to cinch and tightening up my saddle triggered memories and knowledge wells that had long been forgotten. Similar to pedaling a bike through the neighborhood after having only driven a car for months. The sensation of youthful joy, relaxation and anticipation filled my mind.
Soon enough we heard the invitation to, “step on'', and we were on our way. The first couple hundred yards up the trail brought streaks of fear and awe. It had been years since sitting on a mule and that extended period had made me forget the sensation that it is. The muscle mass, intelligence, radar and partnership amazed me. I had grown accustomed to and familiar with motorized transportation. Internal combustion engines will only perform to the extent that the operator commands. They have no individual breath, knowledge beyond command or ability to up and buck you off and go snack on grass. I was being reintroduced to the partnership between man and beast.
We rode up country through the timber out into a spacious river drainage. All was quiet besides the gentle roar of the river below and the reliable thud of horseshoe meeting mountain dirt. The farther we went into the wild the more ominous and substantial the building storm clouds grew. Making our way to a split in the river, we stepped off to don our slickers before the sky really started to cry.
Now clothed in bright yellow and having stretched the legs out, we reigned our steeds farther up and further in. As the clouds overhead agreed with the wind in its direction, we followed suit and all made our way up the drainage together. It seemed for a while that our going was for similar reasons. The rain clouds were making their appearance to give rain that will nourish and sustain the mountains. We ourselves were there to be nourished and to find sustainment among the mountains.
Riding on under the storm we came to a place where the drainage widened and the grass grew thick. From a trained instinct on finding mule camps, our friend signaled that we had reached camp. We quickly found the tent fly and using a few available pines, erected our shelter. Saddles came off sweaty backs and extra layers were added to ours. Temps in the high country fall fast even in the dog days of summer.
Having secured our tent fly and unloaded our gear under it, we let loose the mules to have their way with the rich mountain grasses. An unbuckling of the lead rope was thanks enough for their effort in getting us into such a place. We took the available moment to let it all sink in. Mountain ridges overhead and good mules grazing nearby. We were on a pack trip.
The freshness and dampness of the air mixed with the chill of the storm clouds seemed to work like a dinner bell. Our friend lit the propane stove and soon had a delectable consumable warming in the pot. We sat under the tent fly gazing at the steam rising from our soon to be dinner. I’m convinced that food tastes better up in the high country. Something about the mountain air or the water up there that makes it better.
The thickness of the valley grass that we pitched our own tent on was like a soft mattress. Zipping up our sleeping bags and nestling in for the night we drifted to sleep to the sound of light rain drops on the tent. The morning afforded a walk over to the stream to fetch a necessary pot of water for our coffee. Returning, I met our four footed companions as they continued to graze and stock up on the plentiful supply of feed.
We followed our friends lead in preparations for the day as the necessary camp tasks were completed. Hurry and rushing was absent from the activities as we sometimes slowly gathered the needed gear and brought in the mules. Frequent pauses were made, looking up at the weather. Our new friend commented to us, “If you don’t put yourself in a hurry the mountain will determine the day for you…”. In the moment, standing there loading lunch into a saddle bag under turning storm clouds, the wisdom of the words was blatantly clear.
The mountain did determine the day for us. We lingered enough that we opted for a different drainage and pursuit for the day. Remaining lower and going farther up and around the storm clouds. With this plan we encouraged our mounts up into a different drainage. We paused trail-side to observe with our binoculars four bull elk lope through the standing timber. It was a reminder that we were the intruders in their country.
Climbing higher, we entered a secondary valley and the trail began to disappear from underneath us. Lack of use and sheer remoteness of our location seemed to make man's marks on the country dissolve. Signaling from the rear to rein left, dropping down across the stream and up the opposing ridge. With frequent leg nudges and pressure from the reins we encouraged our steeds up the other side.
We fell in behind our friends lead when the way got rocky and steep. His trust in his companions' reliable foot work up the ridge awoke my realization of the mule's astonishing sure footedness and their confidence in the mountainous terrain. Their ability to maneuver four hoofed feet through the rocks, downed timber and soft creek bottoms is truly amazing.
Higher we climbed, using our legs to squeeze the ribs of our mounts tighter as they rolled and turned navigating our off trail route. As the elevation ahead was sloping off the wind kicked up signaling we were riding through a terrain change. After cresting another rise our treasure was in plain view. The ridge we had been climbing slopped off and reached out ahead of us into a huge alpine basin.
It was enclosed on all sides by a 1000 foot tall ridge that almost completely encircled itself except for the small drainage we had used to enter. Our friend stepped off and let his mule rest by a small pine. He found a comfortable spot and we pulled out our lunch sacks. We nibbled and gazed as the highlights and particulars of the basin caught our eyes.
Soon enough we hoisted full belly's back on and entered the throne room. We made our way across and up to a rise. Pausing again to let the majesty of the place consume us. There was a reverence in the air, a sense of stillness and peace. As I rode out by myself I couldn't help but realize that we weren’t alone. They say solitude is found in the mountains. I say there’s a consistent companion that is always ready to meet you when you head up to the high country. His companionship is really the reason for our going.
We made a big loop through the basin and then reined our four footed friends toward lower elevations. Descending requires different muscles and technique. Shifting your weight to primarily your stirrups and leaning back in the saddle helps your mount and steadies yourself in the saddle. We became comfortable with this position as there were miles of descending that afternoon.
As we dropped elevation and returned to the wide valley the feeling of accomplishment was strong. The joy you experience when returning to camp from a day hiking was replaced with appreciation for the four strong legs that carried you all day. We again loosened cinches and removed saddles to send our pals out for more high country grass. For us, tin cups of something tasty and appetizers were passed around.
We bedded down for another night in the tent. Allowing memories from the day to sweep through as if we were already dreaming. For the day really had been living a dream. Sunrise found us sharing another pot of coffee and turning our minds to breaking camp. With a little more effort than unloading, we had mules saddled and panniers loaded. We stepped on again and turned down country to find our trail.
We glided down paralleling the stream. A bull moose across the way absorbed our attention and distracted us from the warmth of the quickly rising sun. Position changes, creek crossings and independent minds caused the pack-string lead rope to fall into a new hand. Apprehensive at first, she submitted to her new four footed friend's experience and led on. As minutes turned to hours, her confidence settled in and a smile returned.
Leaving the river split and riding back into the timber I knew this adventure was coming to an end. I took liberty to look back more often than not at the crew following behind. I wanted the visual of what I was living to feel welcomed in my memory. We turned the last corner and our highway home came into view. In that moment I wasn’t sure which one I preferred, paved blacktop or dusty mountain trail.
We reunited with the trailer and unloaded our gear. The joyful satisfaction of going and returning was in the air as we led the mules back into the trailer and shared a cold one by the pickup. Driving away we recounted the memories and the miles. We mused on how making new friends is a fun and rewarding experience. Especially those named Bob who have great talent navigating the mountains with four hoofed feet.