The value of the wild

We are blessed to live adjacent to the Weminuche Wilderness. Yes, that’s Wilderness with a capital W. A designated location, almost a half a million acres of what we otherwise may find a more productive use for. There is little value in peace and solitude. Can you place a price tag on “wild?” What is the value of the wild, except something deep and dark within us all? Something we often prefer to overlook.

Out here, out this far, there are fewer willing to find this place, find that space within themselves. As outfitters, we see that business is less and less in the back country. Far away is even further. Being out of touch is out of mind. Uncomfortable is not a chosen state. So fewer come. Beyond the trailheads easy to the masses to access, there is a reduction of use, especially in use beyond a short day’s hike.

Why should we care? I once received the response, “Gee, great, more for me.” That’s not the answer I hoped to hear.

Why aren’t we out there enjoying the wild more? Why don’t we care? Have we forgotten what it feels like, and what it can do for us deep down inside, and what it really means in the big picture?
Us back country users/enjoyers are getting greyer, and the younger generations aren’t going out there. Why not? If we can blame someone, do we blame ourselves, the parents and elders, who don’t make the time to take the kids on a pack trip, a camping weekend, or even a long Sunday hike? If they aren’t given the chance to be out there, how will they learn to appreciate the wild? How will they ever know how incredible it feels, smells, sounds, looks? There are some things that can not be replaced by the TV, the Game Boy, and Instant Messenger. Are we teaching our kids to sit and listen to stories, to walk in nature, to stop and listen and look and feel the beauty of the world around them? Is it too late?

Years ago, I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to take small groups of kids from a summer camp out on pack trips. I truly believe each and every child who participated was touched in a way that would effect them forever – touched by nature, by wildlife, by the responsibility of caring for their horse and in turn, trusting the horse to care for them, by the camaraderie of such simple but true friendships that are built around camp fires and out gathering horses in the early morning dew. I wish more kids could have this experience. Children’s camp like that is usually limited in its scope and available only to an “elite few,” but as Forrest says, at least we had the chance to open this world up to those few.

Much of my outfitting work now is day rides with people who have never been on horse, or at least, never taught how to be on a horse. I am given the opportunity to share this with my guests, and then take them out to show them something even more: the mountains and trails and wild places all around us. Still, every time I take riders out, I am so excited when I return and tell Bob all about how wonderful this person did, how I watched him or her do so well with their horse, what a beautiful time I know they had, and most important, how special a day I was able to provide for them, what a world out there they got to experience that they didn’t know existed before that ride, or at least forgot, and needed this simple time in the saddle out there to remember. And yet, still, they remained so close to the comfort of the ranch, the road, the cabins. It is hard to venture far.

Less and less people know what it feels like. Being out in the wild just does something for a person. We touch the wild, and something wild within us stirs.

You know the old saying of “there is nothing better for the inside of a man than the outside of horse.” That’s a lot of it. But there’s more. There is nothing like waking in the morning to the crisp mountain air, and listening to the cow elk call her calf as you sit on the hillside and sip your coffee, to make you think about what really matters in this world. There is nothing like arriving at camp after a long day of hiking or in the saddle, and feel so at home, having “earned” your place relaxing by the campfire, to remind you of the simple pleasures in life. There’s nothing like seeing the stars out there, so far away, when you step away from the heat of the fire to feel your true place in this very big picture.

Nature is so important. And if we don’t use it, we could lose it. We will lose a part of ourselves if we forget or never know what it feels like. And we’ll risk losing the wild places. Will we then lose the wild part within us?

Man seems to feel that everything needs a purpose. If the purpose of the wilds is no longer valued for the irreplaceable goodness it provides for our body, mind and soul, then Man will probably put it to another use. Yes, our trails will be the first to go (we already have an ongoing struggle to keep them maintained). But then the wild places themselves may go – be sold off, sectioned off, a “better” use may be found.

I’m on my high horse here once again. OK, enough.

originally published February 2009 at highmountainmuse.com

Why do we go there?

Why do we go there?
Out there with our horses?

I was giving some thought to this question, considering the feeling of being out there at camp with our horses in the high country. I lost myself in the reverie of sitting in the warm sun, my back against a large, smooth rock with a book in hand as my horses graze contentedly in the tall grass around me at the end of a long day in the saddle. Together, dreamily, we watch the shadow of the sun slowly falling behind the mountain, inching its way across the valley towards us.

It is far away now, that picture, as our world is white and frozen, our horses still shaggy, and morning temperatures still sinking below zero. But the feeling is very close. It is inside me, something I cherish, something I will always have with me.

I’ve discussed the “how to” of horse camping quite often and in details here, but more important to me, I consider the “why.”

The “how” enables us. The “why” drives us.

That “why” is a clear picture to me. It is the picture of traversing a narrow cliff on a surefooted horse and descending the rocky slope into a lush green valley, my horse and I, worn and tired but elated to be there. We pause, look about to notice the elk scatter before us under the shadows of red tail hawk circling high above. Then my horse lowers his head to taste the high mountain grass, and I dig into my saddle bag to pull out a snack. We remain there a moment before moving on. We savor the mountain together.

“Why” is much more than a picture. “Why” is a feeling. It is the feeling of camaraderie, of connection with our horses. We remain with them, partners, a team. Out there, we don’t leave them behind, put them back in the barn or turn them out to pasture until we need them next. We stick together, work together, get tired together, rest together, stop and enjoy the view together. We face challenges together not so different than the knight in shining armor heading into battle on his trusty steed. There is the essential element of trust. Neither of us would be there if not for the other. Together, we can conquer. The mountain. Our fears.

We return a different team, together, closer, more compassionate, more efficient, clearer in our communication and understanding with and of each other. And don’t tell me the horse doesn’t see that view. And feel the fresh air and dewy grass and comfort of the woods at night and warmth of the sun in the early morning and the coolness of the clear mountain stream, and the gentleness of my cheek as I rest my head across the low of his bare back in the evening sun as he stands out in the open field, very much at home with our horse and human herd, together in these wild open mountains.

They feel it too. I’ve had my horses run jubilantly, kicking up their heels in an uncontained joy if allowed, when then know they are almost to “their” favorite camp.

For most of us, horses are no longer a means to an end, a mode of transportation. Those that still treat their horses that way get what they ask for.

The trip is but the excuse. An excuse to be with our horses in a more intimate environment than anything we can find or create back home, at the barn or in the arena. Being out there, together. It’s as much, perhaps more, about the relationship with horse than it is about the journey. The horse therefore becomes the journey, more so than the places we pass through and the camp we arrive at together.

That is why we go there. To be out there with them. Out there with our horses. Enjoying the mountain, enjoying our horses, building trust, learning a quiet communication, creating a camaraderie and building companionship.

And of course, all along the way out there we can share the view and the wideness of our hearts and minds as we stop and stare at it... together.

An extreme sport

What do you call it? I call it an extreme sport.

No, it’s not rock climbing or sky diving or heli-skiing. But horse packing in the back country is nothing less than… extreme. Think of what you’re up against: unpredictable elements and untamed nature, trails unmanaged and/or unknown, solitude and/or stuck working with some less than ideal companions, managing horses who may have their own mind and agenda, the wilds and the wilderness, within us as well as about us. At best, you return cold and sore. You give up comforts for... for... for what, you might ask?

For a sunrise over the magnificent mountains while sipping hot coffee and watching contented horses graze. Meals which taste so much better cooked over the open fire. A view you become a part of, something no photos could possibly capture. A bonding with our horses which does not come from a little ride in the arena. Lying snuggled in a tent between my family, there together safe and warm, hearing the gentle snorting of the nearby horses. I am wanting for nothing more.

It all creates a picture that for those of us who long for it, makes it all worth while.

Back country riding is not to be taken lightly. And consequences are possible. We do all we can do minimize risk and maximize enjoyment. It’s an awesome experience. That’s why we’re out there. But no matter how careful we are, accidents may happen.

And yet, I love it. I imagine most folks who do it, love it. We’re out there for that feeling of adventure, of life, of living, of such an intense reality that only comes when we are ever so slightly out of our element an into a factor of the unknown. We become more alert, more alive, more attuned to our environment, to ourselves. It’s a Zen state. We live each moment in the here and now.

Be here now.

That’s about the best advice I read recently for preventing accidents, or if you find yourself in the middle of one, getting through it and helping others through to the best of our abilities.

Riding is risky. Back country riding adds a whole new element to the risk of riding known as environment. Slipping, sliding, falling, getting hit by branches or caught out in the elements… or lost. These are just a few of the risks. All accidents can not be prevented, of course. Not everything in life is within our control. But quite a bit is. And those things that are, we should know how to control. How? Knowledge. That and remaining here and now, so that our knowledge doesn’t fail us when we need it most.

We do our best to go out there with knowledge.

Know your horse. I trust my horses. They are not perfect. None of us are. But I understand them, and they trust me. We work together. If we are training and working with an inexperienced horse, we know it is best not to go alone, or at least, are certain someone back home knows our route and is looking out for our return. The return of a horse without a rider is never a good sign. Neither is the return of a rider without a horse.

Know your environment. Where are you going and what could you possibly encounter? Are you prepared? Will you be warm enough? Dry? Have shelter? Find food for your horses? Do your horses know how to walk on granite slopes and slide down steep muddy trails with a rider or pack? Will they keep their cool when surprised by the unknown – because there is simply no way to prepare a horse for everything that they might encounter? All we can do is prepare them to safely react to the unknown.

Know your survival skills, including wilderness or back country survival skills and a basic knowledge of first aid. Up here one of the most useful skills is that of building a fire. Hypothermia happens. Don’t let it happen to you. Go out there prepared.

So at the end of the riding season, when I reflect back on my wounds and injuries and the worst of it was a split on the bridge of my nose, I consider myself lucky. I’m hoping it’s more than dumb luck. I’d like to say it’s because I was careful. I paid attention to my horses, my environment, my skills, the weather, the route, what was going on around me at all times… but no, I’m not always here and now. My mind wanders faster than my horses’ footprints. I daydream. I get scared. I get excited. I learn too often how little I still know, how much more I need and want to learn. I’m afraid I am just plain lucky. At least I was this year. And I’m mighty glad for that.

Obstacles along the trail

I learned the hard way about solo horse packing. However, the best thing I learned was that it’s really not so hard.

The biggest obstacle is, of course, fear.

Fear of runaways. What if my horses leave me, run for home, and I get stranded out miles from a road on a trail I probably won’t see anyone on for a day or so? What I found out was that after the first night of being tied up next to my tent and being let out to graze at first light, just the two of them quietly eating next to me sitting on a log with my hot coffee in hand, was that only through trials and traumas like this do we really bond. My horses were there with me, in body and mind. Perhaps it was survival. They were going to stick with me. By the second night, in a new camp, I allowed one to graze untethered. When he became frightened, he ran back to me. I learned to trust them. They were trusting me.

Fear of bears. Probably the most common question folks ask. And truth be known, I slept with a weapon by my sleeping bag, just because of the fears others have instilled in me with these questions. Around these parts, a loud noise (and I can be loud) is enough to scare a bear away. I have done that. I have lived in bear country for years, know how rare they choose a human confrontation, and have even chased a bear away by myself. I should know better than to be afraid of wildlife. Respectful and understanding, yes. Paranoid, no thank you.

Fear of being lonely or bored. Well, I’m a solitary sort. I don’t know if I’ve been bored for more than a fleeting moment in my entire adult life. And loneliness is a state of mind. Alone need not be lonely. I had a loving husband and son back home. That is a security blanket to wrap around any time loneliness may poke its ugly face in the “alone” picture. In the meanwhile, I cherish time alone. And besides: when you’re with horses, you are never alone.

Fear of getting lost. Perhaps this could be a true fear if I was in unknown territory. But I had been on this trail twice in my life. It was not entirely new. More important, I know these mountains well enough from years of working and exploring with my boys. And most important, after spending enough time off the beaten trail with my husband and son, I’ve learned enough about survival that “lost” I suppose is a “more or less” deal, kind of like alone/loneliness. Taking an alternate or indirect route might be a better way to call it. But lost? By now I better be able to find my way around. I suppose this is where preparation, planning, and experience come in. Believe me, I’m not trying to brag here. My experience is still minimal compared to many. But I was not heading out unprepared. I knew what I was doing, and where I was going. More or less.

Fear of people. The stereotypical back country crazy man? My fear of people is tested enough back home with my neighbors. On the trail, however, folks are pretty awesome and friendly. As a rule, I stop and talk to everyone I see. There are some neat folks out there. I try to be “an ambassador for the sport” at each opportunity which arises. I think we all should be. However, the opportunity didn’t arise much. I ran into one man on a motorbike on the first day, and a couple backpacking on the third day. They were, as I expected, great encounters.

Now, what did turn out to be the hardest part above and beyond the fear in my own mind was the physical work. Doing the work that I am used to sharing with three: me, my husband, and our son. Going alone in this respect was HARD. Setting up and breaking down camp, lifting the load on the pack horse, lashing down the load alone, preparing meals and cleaning, gathering water... Riding was easy. This other stuff was hard. I learned a few tricks, and a few things I’d do different next time. First, I want a small pack horse! My days of lifting a fully loaded pannier onto a 15.2 hand horse are OVER. Well, truly, I don’t think I could ever lift 60 pounds alone that high. So, I have these fantasies of a couple of little horses or mules… no more than 13 hands high. In the meanwhile, I learned I could load just a fraction of the panniers first. Then lift that small load on the pack saddle. And then stuff the rest of my load into the panniers in place on the saddle, standing on my tippie toes, or on a stump or rock if available. I didn’t bring a scale, but weighed my contents before leaving the ranch, and kept track of what went in each pannier. I actually kept a list, and this worked well for repacking evenly each time.

Setting up and breaking down camp, including pitching tent, stringing up a tarp, gathering fire wood and water, covering the saddles and gear, etc. took one hour in the evening and one hour in the morning. I reckon next time I’d try an easier tent. Simplify! But I don’t know how to save much time there… except share the work load!

And tending the horses takes about a total of ½ hour in the evening and ½ hour in the morning. I wouldn’t skimp on their care. As they’d graze in the evening, I’d brush them out and double check for any wounds or sores (of which there were none). My one mistake here was that I didn’t pack them any treats. There is plenty of good high mountain grass out there; they did not go hungry. But the extra treat also represents extra care and loving, and my horses would have appreciated that. Goodness knows they deserved it.

See? It was not so hard, and will be even easier… next time!

The first of summer

So much I wish I had time to share. Yet like with so many of you, suddenly we find ourselves so busy this time of year. Where did this rush come from? Catching us unprepared once again, caught up in the whirlwind of the season, but enjoying most every moment.

We’re up at our “ditch camp” with our horses four days a week, then taking day rides and giving lessons and visiting with guests two days a week, and cabin cleaning on the seventh day…

And yes, I love summer.

However, there is also so much I’ve been anxious to share – especially specifics on horse camping now that we’re out there with our horses again. (Wendy – I took many pictures of the high line and horses at camp I look forward to sharing.)

The next couple weeks are jam-packed, but I’ll look forward to catching back up and sharing much more as time allows.

In the meanwhile, here’s one thing to think about…

As I sit at camp in the early morning hours, bundled in front of the crackling fire sipping my steaming coffee, with my boys still sleeping in the tent and the horses peacefully grazing about me on the high mountain grass, I can imagine no place I would rather be, no life I would rather have.

There is a closeness to oneself one finds out there, perhaps because one has fewer distractions, only seeing if we choose to look and hearing if we choose to listen. There is a universal understanding which comes to us, however we prefer to spend time out in nature. We begin to see the Big Picture, and realize our small but blessed place within that circle of life. And there is a closeness that comes with our horses when we are out there living and working with them, day in and day out, side by side, that can not be achieved back home on the ranch or in the stables.

And so, off to the high country we head with our horses today….we’ll return Thursday evening. May you all have a wonderful week!

On camping: Keeping it clean

I grew up with a dad that would pick up trash, even along the streets of New York City, in attempt to keep his world beautiful. How can you not respect that? So… how does it make you feel when you see trash? And what do you do about it?

To this day it remains a great upset of mine. And never more disturbing than trash in the wilds. You’d think the back country, the wilderness and Wilderness are no place to leave trash behind… but still you’ll find it. Perhaps it’s an accident at times; I’d like to hope it is. Perhaps something fell or blew away unnoticed, or the drag rider (for me, usually my son Forrest who is well trained in the art of trash spotting) did not see.

Does anyone else remember that commercial from the 70’s with the wise old Native American man riding his pony, a single tear falling down his cheek as he looks upon the litter spread out before him on this beautiful land? That was powerful stuff.

What can we do as we ride by except stop our horses, get off, and pick it up? I will every time. Fortunately, where I live, we are lucky enough to have trash be an exception, not a rule. But still, my horses no longer fear plastic bags (those things always seem to fly away from folks, I guess), and my saddle bags often come home full.

Trash is anything we humans left behind that does not belong. Including fire rings. How campers came to believe that stones had to be gathered and stacked in order to build a temporary fire is a mystery to me, and how one can leave a fire pit and think that the next folks by won’t notice… Stones don’t “grow” in a ring with a burned out center. We notice. Perhaps those campers are trying to be “thoughtful” by leaving it there for the next camper to use. No. The next camper hopefully knows how to follow Leave No Trace ethics.

This week I came across two such rings filled with trash. Hmmm. I’m thinking that either the campers didn’t know beer cans don’t burn and must have left the fire before it was dead out. Or else the campers thought their trash was… OK? Either way, I just don’t get it. You took such great efforts to pack your gear and get this far out. Did you find trash here when you arrived which spoiled your impression?

I’m far from perfect. I am certain I have lost and left things behind out there. Hopefully the next rider after me is caring enough to stop and pick up my mess. On the other hand, I do my best to clean up after others if need be. I just don’t think I’ll ever understand why it needs to be, if you know what I mean. There are few places remaining unspoiled by mans heavy hands. I’ll do what I can to keep the wild and the wilderness pristine

Wild Places

I was recently involved in an ongoing and open discussion with some horse people and outdoors folks about the reduction of horse traffic on back country trails. What seemed like a strange and unfortunate phenomenon around our neck of the woods apparently is an ongoing concern throughout our country. The one exception noted was on those trails closer to and more easily accessible by major urban centers. That’s certainly not us.

Anyway, the back country, and in particular, riding in the back country, is my passion and my life. It’s been my business for the past dozen years. We’re not getting rich doing this, but the richness of our life is incomparable. Sharing this knowledge, and therefore starting this blog, is my way of at least trying to preserve the experience, both simple and extraordinary, of riding the back country, be it trail riding or packing and camping.

My love of the wilds is as strong as my love for my horses. Both of which come a very close second to my love of my husband and son. Be warned, you’ll have to keep me tethered some times. I can ramble on about the wilds… I have another blog I let loose on about that stuff, so I’ll try to keep this focused more on the horse and rider.

I don’t want to lose the wild places. There is something out there that effects the inside of a person like nothing else can. We need the wilds, and we need to out there, even if just every once in while, to find that place within us that we can not find in the rush-rush of towns and traffic and TV and telephones.

I look forward to sharing what I’ve been so lucky to have learned, and am still learning, with you, in hopes that you, too, may get out there and enjoy, or share with me your experiences and knowledge, so that we don’t forget our wild places, inside and outside.