I thought I’d tell you the story of our first pack trip. After haying, as a reward, Dad and Mom promised Melvin and me that we could take our first pack trip; we could go up and spend a few days up in the mountains at sheep camp. Just us boys. I was 12 at the time; Melvin was 10. Our friend, Robert Kellin, joined us. Robert was 11.
Of course, I was riding Ginger. We had a pinto mare we called Babe that we planned on using for our pack horse. I don’t recall where she had come from, but I remember she was not a good stock horse. We were hoping she’d do better as a pack horse.
To start with, we didn’t have a pack saddle. Instead, we used an old double rig riding saddle. Then, we had no panniers. Instead, we put our gear in a couple gunny sacks, which we hung on each side of the riding saddle. All we took with us was some food and our bedrolls. We didn’t have sleeping bags; the bedrolls were made of wool blankets rolled up in bed tarps.
Well, we got up early that morning, and saddled the horses before sun up. Dad wouldn’t help us on this one; this was our trip.
By the time the three of us and our “sort of” pack horse got to the Gun Barrel Road, only mile away from home, we had to stop and repack.
From there, we headed to the neighbors ranch, across the canal, and onto BLM land. We followed the Rock Creek road to the end, taking a few short cuts across where the old horse trail followed
It was noon, and about 6 re-packs later, when we reached the end of the road and stopped to eat lunch.
After a quick lunch break, we went along the trail up South Rock Creek to Blow Out Pass, then followed the horse trail to the sheep driveway. Mind you, we were still stopping every 30 minutes to repack or readjust.
Three miles up the sheep trail, we entered the neighbors sheep range. There, we ran into the sheep herder, who of course, we knew. Well, we were stopped to repack when he rode up. He offered to help, and repacked our little mare. Tightened up the cinch and lash rope good and snug.
Onward we rode, the 5 miles into Campo Benito. Rode straight through the afternoon; thanks to the sheepherder, we didn’t have to repack once. However, when we go there, the little pinto mare was sick. She lied down and was acting miserable. We’re pretty sure now that the sheepherder had made the lash rope so tight she got sick.
Part of the deal of our being allowed to go by ourselves was that when we got to our sheep range, we had to ride into Summitville to call Mom and let her know were we OK. It wasn’t until about 6 when we got to the range. I rode into Summitville alone, and called Mom while the other two boys stayed back to care for the sick mare.
By the time I got back, the mare was feeling better. We repacked and headed onward to the sheep camp, which was located at the head of Beaver Creek. I had never been over there, but I had good directions and was pretty sure I could figure it out how to get there.
However, by the time we got up on Greyback and started on the pass into Beaver Creek, it was getting dark. As you can imagine, going across the top above treeline in the dark, it was getting harder and harder to find trail. Finally, we came out on little cliff. You could see sheep camp below. The herder was expecting us, and had hung a lantern to help guide us. But unsure of how to get off that cliff, we hollered down. The sheepherder heard us and yelled back up to us, telling us to wait where we were. He rode up and showed us the steep switch back trail down. Good thing. We got down to camp, pulled the bedrolls off the pinto mare, and that’s about all I remember that night. The sheepherder took care of our horses. I don’t even remember having supper. We were three tired kids.
Well, we spent a couple days at sheep camp. Then Dad came up in his truck and hauled us and our horses back home. That was our first pack trip.
Of course, I was riding Ginger. We had a pinto mare we called Babe that we planned on using for our pack horse. I don’t recall where she had come from, but I remember she was not a good stock horse. We were hoping she’d do better as a pack horse.
To start with, we didn’t have a pack saddle. Instead, we used an old double rig riding saddle. Then, we had no panniers. Instead, we put our gear in a couple gunny sacks, which we hung on each side of the riding saddle. All we took with us was some food and our bedrolls. We didn’t have sleeping bags; the bedrolls were made of wool blankets rolled up in bed tarps.
Well, we got up early that morning, and saddled the horses before sun up. Dad wouldn’t help us on this one; this was our trip.
By the time the three of us and our “sort of” pack horse got to the Gun Barrel Road, only mile away from home, we had to stop and repack.
From there, we headed to the neighbors ranch, across the canal, and onto BLM land. We followed the Rock Creek road to the end, taking a few short cuts across where the old horse trail followed
It was noon, and about 6 re-packs later, when we reached the end of the road and stopped to eat lunch.
After a quick lunch break, we went along the trail up South Rock Creek to Blow Out Pass, then followed the horse trail to the sheep driveway. Mind you, we were still stopping every 30 minutes to repack or readjust.
Three miles up the sheep trail, we entered the neighbors sheep range. There, we ran into the sheep herder, who of course, we knew. Well, we were stopped to repack when he rode up. He offered to help, and repacked our little mare. Tightened up the cinch and lash rope good and snug.
Onward we rode, the 5 miles into Campo Benito. Rode straight through the afternoon; thanks to the sheepherder, we didn’t have to repack once. However, when we go there, the little pinto mare was sick. She lied down and was acting miserable. We’re pretty sure now that the sheepherder had made the lash rope so tight she got sick.
Part of the deal of our being allowed to go by ourselves was that when we got to our sheep range, we had to ride into Summitville to call Mom and let her know were we OK. It wasn’t until about 6 when we got to the range. I rode into Summitville alone, and called Mom while the other two boys stayed back to care for the sick mare.
By the time I got back, the mare was feeling better. We repacked and headed onward to the sheep camp, which was located at the head of Beaver Creek. I had never been over there, but I had good directions and was pretty sure I could figure it out how to get there.
However, by the time we got up on Greyback and started on the pass into Beaver Creek, it was getting dark. As you can imagine, going across the top above treeline in the dark, it was getting harder and harder to find trail. Finally, we came out on little cliff. You could see sheep camp below. The herder was expecting us, and had hung a lantern to help guide us. But unsure of how to get off that cliff, we hollered down. The sheepherder heard us and yelled back up to us, telling us to wait where we were. He rode up and showed us the steep switch back trail down. Good thing. We got down to camp, pulled the bedrolls off the pinto mare, and that’s about all I remember that night. The sheepherder took care of our horses. I don’t even remember having supper. We were three tired kids.
Well, we spent a couple days at sheep camp. Then Dad came up in his truck and hauled us and our horses back home. That was our first pack trip.
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