Pack Trip: Day 3 (Or...Mules on the Lam)

Monday dawned dawned cool and clear. The boys were turned out to graze early. Breakfast for the two legged contingent consisted of coffee and cinnamon oatmeal. Simple, yet satisfying.

Today we were off in search of a good lake to fish. As with yesterday, I ponied Potter, who traveled empty, while Dempsey packed the small handful of gear we needed for fishing.

These meadows pop up everywhere in the timber. They are frequented by elk, and while we did not see any, there was no shortage of elk tracks. Often, areas of grass were still flattened from where the elk had slept.



We headed off the Pacific Crest Trail to an area dotted with lakes. Only one of these lakes is named, that being Crescent Lake. As a result, the group of lakes is referred to by most as the Crescent Lakes. As they are off the beaten path, they are unspoiled by humans, save for the occasional small rock fire rings near the shore.











Fishing resulted in fat little trout such as this one. We were fishing catch and release this day, but would have each reached our daily limit (6) in less than hour had we been fishing for food.

After a few hours, it was time to head back to camp. Once we were back on the PCT, Double C decided he wanted to tie Potter off to Dempsey to provide training as part of a pack string. While trying to lead him past Smokey, something spooked him, and he bolted back the way we had come. He only ran about a hundred yards up the trail, and stopped. We could see him standing behind a tree watching us.

The initial tactic was to ignore him, in the hopes he would tire of being alone and return to the group. After this proved ineffective, Double C decided it was time go get him. Handing me Dempsey's lead rope, he turned and led his horse, Sunny D, up the trail to retrieve the miscreant mule.

It was at this point, Dempsey came to the conclusion that he was being abandoned by his herd, and he bolted. Unlike a horse, jerking on a lead rope to get a mule's attention is futile. Faced with the choice of letting go or being jerked out of the saddle and drug down the trail, I opened my hand and released the rope. Dempsey overtook and passed Double C and Sunny D at a double time, headed straight for Potter. Thus teamed up, the mules hightailed it North on the PCT, and in a flash, they were out of sight.

Just as quickly, Double C hopped in the saddle, kicked Sunny D in the ribs, and the Thoroughbred did what he was born to do...run. They were gone within seconds.

Smokey and I now found ourselves alone on the trail. I expected him to have an aneurysm at the prospect of being separated from the other animals, but, to my surprise, he was calm and standing still. He looked back and me as I asked "well, what do we do now?" My concern was to not complicate matters further. I was not concerned for my own well being, as I knew where I was, where camp was, and how to get to the truck and trailer if need be.

I decided to test out my tracking skills. I dismounted, and led Smokey down the trail, scanning for signs of the traveling circus. I found it easy to follow, as the running horse had left clear tracks. After about ten minutes, the tracks became less clear, which led me to believe they had slowed down. Soon, I reached the junction of the Arch Rock Trail. I paused, scanning the ground closely so as to choose the correct path. The trail was dusty here, and hoof prints were not so obvious. Had they veered off the trail entirely?

Then I noticed a set of parallel lines in the dirt. They were about six inches apart, and 1 to 2 inches wide. Had some mountain bikers defied the rules and gone riding in the Wilderness? Looking closer, I decided they were not bike tracks, as they were smooth, with no knobby marks. Lead rope tracks! The mules were each dragging a lead rope that was clipped under their chin to the halter. We started walking again. At about the point that I was going to stop and remove my spurs (the left one was digging into the side of my foot), I came across a pair of mules tied to a tree. Double C and his horse were nearby.

He relayed the other half of the story to me. He had caught up to them in short order, but the trail was too narrow to safely pass. Rather than stop, the mules viewed this as a great game. Rather than continuing to push them down the trail, he checked Sunny's speed and fell back a ways. The mules slowed down to a trot. Then, recalling Dempsey's affinity for granola bars, he reached into his saddle bag, pulled out a bar, and rustled the wrapper.

The mule's big ears picked up the sound, he grunted, and the show was over. As soon as Dempsey stopped and turned, so did Potter. Double C had them in hand in short order.

The remainder of the trip back to camp was uneventful, thankfully.

Pack Trip: Day 2

Sunday morning dawned cool and clear. We turned the boys out for breakfast at 6am, and set the coffee to brewing. Breakfast consisted of eggs, taters, and sausage, none of which was freeze dried, I might add.

Morning sun over the ridge.

Breakfast of Champions

If you look real close at the center of the photo, you will see a Blacktail Deer.

After the animals had been given adequate time to graze, we saddled up for a short ride. I ponied Potter this time, which meant we were following Dempsey. Given his choice, Smokey will have his nose in the tail of the horse/mule in front of him. As it turned out, Dempsey does not particularly care for this habit. Which meant that on a couple of occasions Smokey and I got a clear view of a pair mule shoes. Fortunately, he wasn't firing for effect. Just the occasional warning shot.

Mt. Rainier, again. (You were warned)

This smaller peak is known as Little Tahoma.

We rode to a small meadow that was once the site of The Tin Shack, which was a hunting cabin. Due to the efforts of environmentalists and assorted other Dudley Do Rights, cabins are now strictly forbidden in the wilderness. The USFS has gone to great lengths to find all such structures, and burn them to the ground. Seems a shame to me.

Home in time for a long lunch and dinner.

Steak and baked potatoes cooking on the fire. I will never backpack again.

Beer in the fridge. Buck's favorite, Bud Light (NOT!!) The water flowing in these mountain creeks is bitter, make your hands hurt cold. Perfect for refrigerated items.

While cooking the steaks, I looked up to see this scene. All is well. Or is it?

A few minutes later, I looked up again, only the scene was much different. Smokey and the mules were gone! Sunny D was looking up between the trees you see in the above photo. Ever the master of understatement, I looked at Double C and said "the horses or headed up the hill. Is that a bad thing?" He looked at me, and, in an equally understated tone, said "yes".

I took off running across the meadow, all the while thinking "if I lose my horse, Mrs. BR is gonna kill me". Double C paused long enough to move the steaks off the fire (mustn't ruin dinner), and, as he later relayed to me, by the time he looked up, I was already out of sight.

I caught up to and passed Sunny D, who was still standing looking up the hill between those trees. I caught a glimpse of Potter's butt disappearing through the trees, so I kept going. Now, while the animals were hobbled, for seasoned backcountry stock, hobbles are but a minor inconvenience, which, at best, will only slow them down a touch.

I fully expected to find Dempsey the mule to be the ringleader of this outfit, as he had already proven to be quite mischievous. Imagine my surprise, upon breaking out of the trees, to find 'Ol Smokey Joe leading the charge. I'll be dipped...I called his name. He paused, and looked at me with an expression that left little doubt as to what he was thinking. "The hell with you cowboy, we're bustin' out of this joint". Fortunately for me, the hill he had chosen for the Great Escape was rather steep. After a few bounds I caught up to him, and pounced on the end of his lead rope.

Show over. By this time, Double C had joined the party. He gathered up the mules, and we towed the miscreants back down to the meadow.

The steak, baked potatoes, and beer made for a fine dinner.

I don't know, but I think he looks just a tad guilty.

Pack Trip: Day 1

Double C and I had the horses and mules packed into the trailer by 6am, and we were off to the Government Meadows horse camp, where we would be leaving the truck and trailer. The weather was perfect, not a cloud in the sky, with perfect temperature.

This was my first experience with pack animals, let alone mules. I could only imagine what adventure might lay ahead with the addition of these steeds.

As the saying goes "a picture speaks a thousand words, so I will let the photos tell the tale as we ventured into the Norse Peak Wilderness on the Pacific Crest Trail:

As you can see, I actually took this photo a week after we started, but I felt it to be a good starter for the story.

Smokey saddled up and ready go. He looks thrilled, doesn't he?

Dempsey (left) and Potter, the mules.

Double C and his saddle horse, Sunny D. Jessica will be glad to know that Sunny is an Off The Track Thoroughbred.

On the trail. The view ahead.

The view behind.

Watering the animals. I believe that this creek eventually becomes the South Fork of the Little Naches River.

Note how the branches on the trees do not grow very long. This is how they survive at this altitude (5000ft) against the heavy winter snowfall.

Mt. Rainier

Meadows like this spring up out of the timber frequently. While we didn't see any elk, there was an abundance of sign.

Smokey is none too thrilled about posing for a picture. So much grass to be eaten.

Airplane Meadows, at the top of the Arch Rock Trail (#1187)

The reason Airplane Meadows is so named. I can find surprisingly little info on this crash site, beyond the fact that it occurred in 1939. All that remains is the radial engine, and some pieces of the frame.

I never tire of looking at Mt. Rainier, so you will have to bear with me.

End of the first day. The boys hobbled out and dining on the lush green grass.

The day was uneventful. We only encountered two groups of hikers. One was a couple out for a day hike, the other group about 8 backpackers headed for the cabin at Government Meadows. We exchanged pleasantries and trail info with both groups, and headed on our merry ways.

It didn't begin getting dark until after 9pm, at which point we put the horses and mules on the highline, and turned in ourselves.

We're Back

No time to write at the moment, so I'll just leave a little teaser for now.

The Great Adventure is About to Begin.

I'll be setting out on my nine day adventure at 0500 tomorrow.

The good news is that Smokey's abscess healed quicker than expected, and he didn't lose any of his conditioning. So he's back up to first string. Which is a big relief. While Bailey is a good horse, she is a bit of an unknown quantity with respect to a trip of this nature. I've never had her out on an overnight trip, let alone nine days.

Smokey, on the other hand, has spent his fair share of nights on the highline, cowbell chiming with his movements. He isn't phased by deer, elk, or bears. (Although he is deathly afraid of blue tarps).

I'm bringing along a small notebook so that I may record any adventures, and I promise to return with as many photos of the Norse Peak Wilderness as the memory card will hold.

Plans, Setbacks, and Backup Plans

I will soon be headed off to spend nine days traveling via saddle in the Norse Peak Wilderness. The first four and half days a friend and I will spend camping and fishing. For the latter half of the trip, we will head over to camp at Corral Pass for the purpose of participating in the annual work party with Pierce County Chapter of the Backcountry Horsemen of Washington. When not enjoying good food and good company, we will ride daily to Echo Lake and the Arch Rock Trail for bridge and trail repair.

To say that I have been looking forward to this would be a bit of an understatement.

Just as you and I could not get off the couch and then go hiking in the hills for days on end without some prior conditioning, neither can a horse be pulled out of the pasture for the same. Therefore, Smokey has been on a steady exercise program consisting of a great deal of trotting and loping to firm up muscle and restore aerobic capacity.

And then he pulls up lame two weeks ago. While much of the country is enjoying summer, the damp, cold, miserable weather has been hanging on her in the Pacific Northwest. This wet is the mortal enemy of Smokey's feet. He has an abscess in his left front hoof. While the hoof may heal prior to the start of the trip, the break from training means, quite simply, that he will not be ready to go by the scheduled start date.

While disappointing, all is not lost. I will be taking our ten year old mare Bailey. Until this year, she was DN3's show and all purpose horse. Bailey is burned out on the show ring, which is why we picked up Petey earlier this year.

Bailey is, to be honest, better suited for a long trip than Smokey is. We call her the "Energizer Bunny" because she rarely sweats or breathes hard no matter how hard she works. And, provided she isn't the lead horse, she enjoys the trail, as much as a horse enjoys anything beyond eating, sleeping, and pooping.

DN3 is helping me "learn" how to ride her. While riding Smokey involves legs and use of the bit, Bailey has different, more subtle cues, and all of them involve leg pressure and torso positions. So I'm having to learn not to use my hands. It isn't that she doesn't respond to pressure on the bit, it just isn't necessary. No point in complicating matters.

While she isn't a big flashy buckskin, she is still an excellent horse, and I'm still looking forward to the trip.

I Can't Think of a Title for this Post

I heard this song for the first time the other day. Now, I can't quite put my finger on the reason, but every time I hear this song, I can't help but think of Buck.

Clean Run!

Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. Work has kept me busier than a one legged man in an ass kicking contest, and with a stint of good weather I've been honing my riding skills. Coupled with a general lack of fodder, I've been a bit absent. My apologies.

This past weekend our zone of the Washington State Horsemen hosted a two day gaming event. Good fun, and met many new people from around the state.

DN2 assembled this video compilation of my Saturday rides, and set it to one of my favorite songs.



Not every run was textbook, but as you can see, I remained in the saddle. Smokey ran his heart out, and I could not be happier with his performance.

A Taste of Dirt

I’ve heard it said that the size of a wreck is directly proportional to the number of people watching. Smokey set out to prove that theory in front of well over a hundred people at Meridian Riding Club on Sunday, with me serving as the token crash test dummy. The event was Keyhole, which consists of a chalk outline on the ground in the shape of a keyhole. The object is to cross the start/finish line, enter the keyhole at the narrow end, turn around in the circle, and ride back to the start/finish line.

Horses do not like to step on anything that, to them, provides unsure footing. See this post for more background. Chalk is one such surface that Smokey finds suspect. We often sail, quite literally, across the start/finish line. We’ve run keyhole before, however, without incident, so I wasn’t concerned.

Getting the green light, we started off at close to a run. Halfway down the course, noting that we were off to the right, I applied gentle leg pressure to nudge Smokey to the left. Closing in on the target, all was well. Then Smokey spotted the chalk outline, and in the bat of an eyelash, he dropped his head to look at this new found danger, and jumped to the right.

I didn’t.

In the next instant I was lying in the dirt on my back. Good and fine, with one exception. My left foot was caught in the stirrup. Referring back to the paragraph regarding unsure footing, it should be noted that humans also represent said footing. In the effort to avoid stepping on me, Smokey kept moving away. Except that I kept following. So he kept moving.

The functional purpose behind cowboy boots, so I’ve been told, is to allow you foot to slide out in just such an event. Paint me skeptical. As I was touring the arena, trying to wiggle my foot free, the only thought in my head was “why isn’t this damn boot coming off?”

Being rather occupied at the time, I was completely unaware of the fact that, over in the other lane, the horse had been spooked by the show Smokey and I were putting on. He set to rearing and bucking, sending the other rider into the dirt as well. Luckily she was unharmed.

Fortunately, Smokey was only trotting, not running. After what seemed an eternity, my boot broke free of the stirrup. Spitting out dirt, I leaped to my feet, and started walking over to Smokey. I heard shouts of “are you all right?” “Well, of course, why wouldn’t I be?” I thought. Then it occurred to me that things may have appeared different from a spectator’s point of view. I gave everyone the thumbs up.

Taking Smokey’s reins, I looked him in the eye and quietly asked “what was that all about?” His look seemed to say “I have no idea what you’re talking about”. Mounting back up, I was asked if I wanted a re-ride. Absolutely! We only trotted to the keyhole this time around, however. Once inside the key, we turned, and I kicked him into a run for the trip home.

We, of course, sailed over the finish line, giving everyone a good laugh.