Excerpt from Voices in the Wilderness
Sunday, April 13, 2014When the snow melted in the high country, much of my business and social life took a backseat. Nothing was more exciting for me and Bill than to load our horses and mules and head out to our wilderness camp where something really big was lurking. And that unseen ‘something’ walked on two feet, vocalized with the amplitude of an 800 pound gorilla on steroids, and still remained an enigma.
It was the spring of 1972 and the high country snow was giving way to dry ground. My wife was not too thrilled about the whole bigfoot/monster goings-on, but understood how eager I was to be a part of this unusual adventure. I had become proficient with my guns, liked eating venison, and was ready to join the others. Bill had bought a couple of well-seasoned pack mules, and I had a well-trained half Arabian horse, JR, along with a young inexperienced mule.
A good well trained horse will usually do what his master wants but that’s not necessarily true with young head-strong mules. They seem to consider issues before making their move. But, I thought I was ready and nothing could have stopped me from riding up that mountain with Bill.
Riding a horse was not just fun, but I could also see a lot more from high up in the saddle; for sure I’d have time to look for a hairy beast. Plus, I didn’t smell as sweaty after getting to camp. For many domesticated animals this imposing trail is difficult to negotiate. It would also prove to be especially challenging for this new rider. Leading a young and vigorous pack mule was also new for me. My future of wrangling in and out of that mountainous area was to be filled with high-level adventure and packed with lots of backwoods education.
Because of the need for our animals to acclimate to the elevation, and also the time required making the trip into camp, we slept the first night at the trailhead. As previously mentioned, the first couple of miles are very steep with mostly switchbacks and lots of large boulders to negotiate. I was wrangling Rabbit, my semi-perverted, three-year-old mule. This mule would soon establish his personal boundaries and definitely not live up to his name. It’s common knowledge that rabbits can hop, jump or leap. Rabbit was carrying a lot of our camping supplies on his back. He was also carrying all my stuff, including a new, top-of-the-line, portable stereo tape recorder. I don’t think he liked any of it.
Halfway up the switchbacks there is a spot where the animals need to lunge onto a boulder in order to not get hung-up on some exposed cedar roots. I figured I’d let JR have his nose and just hang on. He knew what to do and I was pretty sure he didn’t want to fall. So I tied the rope, by which I was wrangling Rabbit, securely around my saddle horn, or so I thought. I grabbed JR’s mane and kicked him, which wasn’t the smartest thing I’d ever done. Rabbit held his ground when JR lunged. I guess he wanted to think about his part of that jump a little longer (or maybe he’d just been waiting for this chance to get even for all that stuff I put on his back). Rabbit dug in his hooves and with an unfamiliar little spin, JR and I went tumbling over the edge. Rabbit’s lead rope conveniently came off JR’s saddle horn.
As my life flashed before me, all I remember seeing was leather and horse hooves as we plummeted down this almost vertical embankment. I came out of the saddle but continued to roll on down with JR, stopping myself about halfway. I somehow escaped getting any broken bones, but make no mistake, it hurt. I was laying there stunned as I watched my horse continue to tumble on down. It seemed like slow-motion, until he finally crashed into a huge cedar tree. Heck, the lower switchback was only a few more feet away. The mountainside became really quiet then. As I looked down at JR laying there motionless, an awful thought ran through my mind. I may have to shoot the horse and carry the saddle. But, as I looked up at Rabbit it occurred to me, if I had to shoot my horse he was going to carry the saddle – a real John Wayne moment. I worked my way down to the very motionless JR, but saw he was still breathing. I thought surely he would have at least a broken leg, but somehow he, too, had escaped without serious injury.
To say the least JR was shaken, but with my help was able to get up. So I led him to the lower switch-back, checked out his skinned-up hide and limped back up to meet with Bill. Eagle and the mules were calmly standing there, nibbling on whatever greenery they found appealing. I didn’t even want to look at Rabbit. The saddle’s rigging was badly torn, but thanks to some really strong nylon string and a leather punch that Bill convinced me to bring, I was able to patch it back together. After completing all the repairs, I gave Rabbit a dirty look, quietly mumbled a couple choice words, and while he wasn’t paying attention, gave a quick jerk on his cinch. I took a deep breath, found my hat and got back on JR.