Work Party (Finally!)

Well, I think I've delayed the final part of the tale long enough. The work party was, well, a work party. A lot of trail clearing and rerouting. Two bridges were rebuilt, and some logs were cut out of the trail.

One of the highlights was the christening of the Waterpark on Thursday morning. The group I was in was headed to work on the lower part of the Arch Rock Trail. Our crew was headed up by RD. RD has been riding and packing for more years than I've been standing on the earth. He's been there, done that, and has the worn out cowboy hat to prove it.

To reach the trail, we had to ride over a puncheon bridge which crosses the Greenwater River where it feeds into Echo Lake. RD was riding in the lead, with two pack horses in tow. His saddle horse started across the bridge, and the first pack horse followed. The second pack horse, however, decided that it would be easier to bypass the bridge and ford the river. As the bridge is low, and the water shallow, this wouldn't have been a problem, except for one thing. There was a log in the river, which caused the horse to stop.

When pack horses are tied to each other, the lead rope of the following animal is tied to the pack saddle of the one in front via a "pigging string". This is nothing more than a few light strands of bailing twine. The idea being that should any pressure be placed against it, it will break.

Well, bailing twine must be of stronger stuff these days, because the pigging string didn't break. As the horse in the water pulled back, the horse on the bridge pulled forward and to the left.

Then the pigging string broke, and the crash unfolded before our eyes.

With the sudden release of pressure, the pack horse on the bridge crashed sideways into RD's saddle horse. Two horses and one rider tumbled sideways off the bridge, and into the water. The horses were thrashing around in the river, and RD was no where to be seen. The horses were struggling to get their feet underneath them when RD's head popped up out of the churning water.

There was no doubt in my mind that he and at least one horse must be seriously injured.

Incredulously, RD came out with a scrape on his nose. One horse had a minor scratch on one leg. Beyond that, the worst problem was that the pack bags were full of water. To RD, it was all in a days work, and hardly the worst wreck he'd every experienced.

As for me, I don't ever want to experience anything approaching it.

When we arrived back at camp that night, I unsaddled Smokey, and, to my dismay, he had a nasty saddle sore on his back.


There was no question that he was now unrideable. While he had not given any indication of a problem, I was not going to risk further injury. He would spend the rest of the week resting and eating. I'm going to visit this injury in a later post.

My friend Mark had brought extra stock animals with him, so, for the rest of the weekend, I rode a Mule. Well, a horse named Mule, anyway.


Mule is a 7 year old Saddlebred mare. She's a big, stout horse, and was an absolute pleasure to ride. She looks good in my saddle doesn't she?

Smokey and Company on the highline.

Our living accommodations.

The Rock Slide, at the top of the Arch Rock Trail.

The view from the top of the Arch Rock Trail.

Kenny's mule was more than a little interested in my lunch.

Hard at work...err, lunch break.

I couldn't get a picture that captures how steep this trail really is.

Your's truly after cutting this log out of the trail. Chainsaws are strictly forbidden in the wilderness, so it has to be done the old fashioned way. That saw is amazingly sharp, and it took me less than ten minutes to make both cuts.

Big Al is King of the Mountain

Oh, by the way, Mule is for sale. Did I mention how much I enjoyed riding her, and that she looks really good in my saddle?

Never a Dull Moment

As mentioned in the previous post, Smokey and I, as well as a cast of others (for a total of 4 riders, 5 horses, and 1 mule), went out for a brief trip in the Norse Peak Wilderness. My job being to guide the party to the location of the Old Tin Shack.

We arrived at the Government Meadows Horse Camp early Saturday. While were engaged in tacking up the animals, from the other side of the trailer I heard Steve L. say "we've got a horse and mule here."

Admittedly, my first thought was, "no kidding, we brought them." Then I looked over behind the trailer, and discovered that the horse and mule to which he referred had not arrived in our party. These two miscreants were standing there looking expectantly at us:



They both had halters on, and the horse had the remains of a set of hobbles on his right leg. As they were both clean, and obviously well fed, we concluded that they had escaped from their camp. Since there were no other trucks or trailers at the horse camp, we decided that they had come in off the Pacific Crest Trail after hearing our horses.

After some discussion as to what to do, we decided to leave them tied to one of our trailers. We filled a hay bag with alfalfa and hung it between them. Our thought being that either the owner would find and claim them, or, if they were still there when we returned on the morrow, we would take them with us, and advertise that they had been found via the Backcountry Horsemen and Craigslist.

When we returned Sunday afternoon, they were gone. On the windshield of the pickup was a note that stated "Please call Russ", with phone number and smiley face. We were relieved that their owner had claimed them, as we certainly knew how we would feel if our stock were missing on the trail.

As it would turn out, I know Russ, as well as the other members of his party. Talk about a greater sense that we had done the right thing. The group had ridden in from Sand Flats Horse Camp, which is south of where we were. The pair had vanished sometime in the early morning. After searching all day on the trails, Russ had, on a whim, driven to Government Meadows, where he found his wayward horse and mule.

It's a small world, folks.

Intermission Should Be Over, But...

The Fair ended on Sunday, but it's been a hella week.

Besides, Smokey and I, plus a few others are headed up for a weekend in the Wilderness. I'll get back to you next week to finish the tales of the work party.

Have a good weekend, folks!

Intermission

It's County Fair time.

Pack Trip: Day Last

After a hearty breakfast of sausage and eggs, we began breaking camp. Today we were headed to Corral pass to meet up with other members of the Backcountry Horsemen of Washington for the annual Tr-Chapter work party.

I know that some will be quick to point out that the words "work" and "party" do not belong in the same sentence. For myself, coming from a Naval background, it is very natural to hear those words together. And this particular work party happens to be a great time. We do work hard, but we benefit from the work, both from the standpoint of well maintained trails, and our relationship with the United States Forest Service and the Pacific Crest Trail Association.

The camera never does justice to the view.

We had to work our way around this fallen tree. This tree would meet its match in a few days.

We turned west off the Pacific Crest Trail, onto the Arch Rock Trail headed for Echo Lake. This is actually the sign at the bottom of the trail. According to my Green Trails Map, their trail is 3 miles long, with a 2000ft elevation change. What the map fails to convey is that this trail is almost entirely devoid of switchbacks, and seems to go almost straight down at times. It was extremely slow going, as the horses and mules had to pick their way down the trail. At times it seemed as though it it would never end.

But it did end, and after what seemed an eternity, we found ourselves on the East side of Echo Lake.

This wood had been dropped by helicopter a few days prior, and would be used by our group to rebuild the bridge in the next photo.

The bridge had collapsed, and was shaped like a "W". Despite this, the animals had little difficulty negotiating it.

Echo Lake appears through the trees.

The Greenwater River runs from the North into Echo Lake.

We walked the animals through the river to allow them to drink, bypassing this bridge, which would become christened as a Water Park the next day. Stay tuned...

We were up there two hours ago...

This tree is rather large, probably a good 3+ feet in diameter. The trail is rerouted to the left around the root ball.

Castle Mountain

It was still another two hours ride to Corral Pass. We arrived mid-afternoon, and found that about half the folks had already made it. Corral Pass is not a horse camp, and the road up is a bit shaky for horse trailers. As a result, most of the people had parked their rigs at the Greenwater Lakes Trailhead, which is a 12 mile ride to the North.

To facilitate our work, the USFS had made the campground at Corral Pass available for our use. I'm sure that the presence of our group of ruffians with their horse and mules caught the Suburu and Birkenstock campers off guard. However, the more gregarious personalities in our party went to great lengths to invite said campers to our cook tent and campfire, for to establish goodwill, and make said campers aware of our purpose or being there.

Work assignments were handed out that evening, and I think camp was dead silent by 9pm.

Why You Should Never Put Your Saddle in the Dryer

Pack Trip: Day 4

Tuesday was yet another beautiful day. Pancakes, sausage, and coffee for breakfast. As we would be leaving the next day for Corral Pass, to meet other members of the Backcountry Horsemen for the annual Tri-Chapter work party, we opted for a day of rest for the animals. We tidied up camp in preparation for packing up on the morrow, and let the boys graze to their hearts content.


Smokey, Dempsey, and Potter on the highline. The animals spend their nights tied to this line as a precaution. These three are tied up in the early afternoon, for, after hours of grazing, they had begun to show a propensity for mischief (see Day 2).

Smokey has an itch. Smokey always has an itch.

Potter

Dempsey

Sunny D was minding his P's and Q's, so he was allowed to continue grazing.

Mountain pond.

I would have never guessed that frogs lived at 6000 feet. This one is as big as my hand.

In the early evening, a warm rain blew in from the East, which was unusual, as clouds use come out of the West in these parts. It lasted for about an hour, and disappeared as though it had never happened.

One of the highlights of this day was bathing. Solar Showers just may be the best thing since sliced bread. They claim that the water can reach 120F. The water in my bag didn't get nearly that warm, but it was warm enough to take a pain free shower. After removing the dirt, grime, sweat, and stink, I also treated myself to clean clothes. Fresh as a daisy.

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.