Fish Lake - Lee Camp
Little Red Cup
Part 1
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| (L-R) John - Jim -Marc-Lee-Bernice-Pattie (Twin Lakes) |
These hands shall build no more fence, dig not a single hole nor pick another rock! A bold, and somewhat "Scarlet O'Hara" like moment considering there will always be fence to maintain, holes to dig and rocks...those damn rocks. The rock population in my arena alone rival the proliferation of the ant. According to Wikipedia, the ant population (no doubt similar in number to the rocks in my arena) is estimated to be between 10 to100 quadrillion. That's a lot of ant poop.
My give-a-shit on the inevitability of the above paragraph has left the building. With the affairs of The Cabin mostly settled, it was time to head for the high country before some damn pilfering Yankee gets it in the face.
Lee and Susan B along with Marc M and Pattie J, were planning their annual Fish Lake/Eagle Cap camp and ride. I was invited last year and was thrilled when the invitation was extended to this year. Even though I grew up in this valley, Lee and Marc have a much more extensive knowledge of the trails and various POI's in the high country surrounding Fish Lake. My hope was to build on last years explorations with Lee and Marc as guides.
I drove up a few days prior to check out the conditions of the road going in and the meadow we hoped to inhabit for 7 days. The road in seemed to have degraded from last year and it wasn't exactly trailer worthy then. Pot holes and washboards capable of chattering your teeth clean out of your head. I feared by the time I reached the top, I'd be gumming my trail mix and ordering up a set of new chompers.
The turn on to the road going into the meadow is the worst part and nearly impossible with a large rig. Your best bet is to continue up the road another two miles to a sharp bend in the road barely wide enough to finagle a multi-point turn. Forward-back-turn tires an inch. Forward-back-turn tires an inch....repeat...a lot. It helps to have someone spot you so the whole thing doesn't become futile by dropping your trailer over the cliff. That will ruin your day.
I made the decision to leave my LQ parked and tent camp it instead. I'd haul the horses in my smaller 3 horse slant and dig out my backpacking gear. My pack gear was not among the 85% of junk I got rid of prior to making the move to Arizona. I'd soon as get rid of precious family heirlooms before my packing gear. It's all about priorities. When shit hits the fan – grandma's china don't mean squat compared to a water filtration device capable of removing 99% of bacteria, parasites and microplastics. Sorry Granny.
Digging through totes of pack gear was almost as much fun as the camp trip itself. Perhaps in part it is the memories various items bring to mind. The ionized Dutch oven that's cooked many meals over an open fire from the Owyhee's to the Frank Church. The memory of carrying that same DO into the Eagle Caps so I could bake a cake for my son's 16th birthday.
The Therma-rest, self inflating mattress; because sleeping on the ground isn't nearly as appealing as it once was. The 1 man bivy tent we managed to squeeze three people and a big white dog in for shelter from the absolute biggest thunderstorm I have ever experienced while packed in to the Eagle Cap Wilderness. An orange plastic tarp used to signal our location for Life Flight to rescue a gal who got bucked off at 9,000 feet in the White Clouds.
The little red measuring cup: Undeniably the single most used item in my camp boxes. It's been used for rinsing dishes – brushing teeth – scooping out beans and stew...and yes, even measuring ingredients. As for the latter – I get a chuckle every time I read the measurement markings etched on the inside: 1/4 cup – 2/4 cup – 3/4 cup – 1 cup. The first time I had to measure out a 1/2 cup I actually had to think about it. Obviously I've been out of math class a LONG time.
I didn't spend much time verifying the contents of those pack boxes. I knew they would contain everything I needed to survive a week in the high country. After every use – I always clean, reorganize and restock the contents. I tossed the boxes into the back of my truck with two coolers of food and hooked up to the three horse. Jack and Drifter were the last of the essentials to be loaded. This would be Drifter's first real trip into the high country. I can't think of better training/exposure for a young horse. They either come back a different horse – or they might not come back at all.
It's 22 miles from the The Cabin driveway to the meadow we call “Lee Camp.” I've broken the trip into 5ths. The first five miles is 3 miles of pavement followed by 2 miles of crap. The next 5 miles is pot holes big enough to sink a Buick and washboards that will loosen your teeth. The next 5 starts to climb with steep, narrow corners and drop offs. This is where you would grit your teeth if you have any left. It is also where I met campers coming off the hill pulling a large bumper pull trailer. Of course, it would be on the steepest, most narrow bend on the entire mountain. The drop off was on my side. I backed as far as I could and hugged the edge until I could no longer see ground outside my passenger window. We both sat there starring at each other for quite some time. Dude...that's all I got. His passenger got out, presumable to verify that indeed...that's all she's got, dude.
We each folded in our mirrors. I assume he flipped it in four wheel drive and inched by me. Less than an inch...more like 2/4th of an inch at best, space between us. I feared if he slid off a rock he'd be pushed into me – shoving me over the edge. I did what I normally do in these harrowing situations...I slammed my eyes shut and said a quick prayer. When I opened them again, the back-end of dudes camper was disappearing around the next bend. The remaining 5 or so miles is the easiest part. The road smooths out, is less steep and somewhat wider. We pretty much had it whipped.
I managed to make the turn into the meadow without too much damage...I could live with miner tire scuffing. Marc and Pattie had already made camp. Their four mules grazing contently within a hot fence. I selected a spot at the edge of the meadow that sits back into the trees. An existing fire ring and hitching post were evidence of a well used spot.
I set up my portable pen near the mules and enclosed a section of creek so the horses could get to water. The creek wasn't flowing – but it contained enough water to support our stock for the week. This would be Drifter's first time behind a hot-wire. His high-country education had begun.
Lee and Susan arrived within the hour. They set camp next to mine. Lee strung his high-line behind our camps to accommodate his horse and my two. Marc and Pattie brought 4 of their mules and would leave 2 of them high-lined to keep one of my horses company when we rode off for the day. The high-line would be another first for Drifter. With Uncle Jack to show him the "ropes" – he took to it with ease.
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| Susan |
Susan does not ride. I understand she has ridden, but prefers the mobility of her own two feet. She sets an immaculate and organized camp and took it upon herself to cook the Sunday evening meal for everyone. Two couples would be arriving later: John and Jenny (?) G and Jim R and Bernice K – I believe both from Washington State. Lee had let me know earlier in the week that Susan was making a stew for Sunday dinner. I brought along my portable propane oven and baked cornbread to go with the stew. Fact: It is totally un-American to eat stew without cornbread. Susan's stew was amazing. Everything in it was home grown locally from the sweet corn to the ground beef. My cornbread was locally grown in cornfields somewhere and neatly packaged in a factory local to somebody somewhere and proudly stamped with "Marie Calendars. "I can say, however, that the honey was definitely home made by Halfway honey bees...and a stellar job they did. Fact: It is un-American to head cornbread without gobs of butter and honey.
With belly's full and the horses safely high-lined for the night, I crawled into my tent, made up the bed by spreading out my newly purchased sleeping bag onto a cot I borrowed from my mom. Apparently, I left my backpacking sleeping bag in Arizona. I likely subconsciously left it on purpose. It's the mummy type bag and made of down for extreme below zero temps. Several problems with that. 1: I get super claustrophobic in a tent and especially a mummy bag. I cannot tolerate stuffing my legs into the tapered confines of a mummy bag and often find myself thrashing in a panic sometime in the middle of the night. 2. It's a hot summer. We'd be lucky if the nighttime temps dropped below 45°. 3. I'm allergic to down. I ended up purchasing a flannel lined, non-down, good for temps to 20° and with plenty of room for my claustrophobic lower extremities. Life was good.
- July 24th: Twin Lakes to Russel Mountain
- Miles: 8.65 miles
- Riders: Self – Lee – John – Bernice – Jim – Marc – Pattie
- Horses/Mules: Jack – King – Palomino – Cash – Wolf – Ali - Leah
The morning routine consisted of turning the horses out to graze via portable pen or hobbles. Since I had not yet exposed Drifter to hobbles – I put him and Jack in the hot wire enclosure. After a breakfast of bacon and fried potatoes, we prepared to saddle up for the first ride of the week.
Preparing to ride has gotten a lot more involved for me since Jack's hooves got butchered over a year ago. A combination of hacking his hooves off and being shod too often since – he's pretty much run out of hoof. I decided to pull his shoes and let his feet spread out over the summer. Without shoes and no hoof wall – he is walking on pure sole. It has been a vicious cycle for us. Without shoes to hold his hooves together – they chip easily if he steps on a rock...further damaging the hoof wall and exposing more sole. For the first month, he could barely navigate the pasture. His back feet are the most damaged. I got on-line, did some research and took a chance on buying a set of expensive boots for his back hooves. Easy Boot "sneakers." I've used Easy Boot gloves on his fronts at different times over the years and have been happy with them. I have fronts for Drifter as well. I've not had a problem with them coming off or rubbing sores. The "sneakers" are a newer product. I read the reviews and decided to take a chance on them. I ordered narrow for the back feet and hoped for the best.
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| Booted up and ready to roll |
My horse shoer, Stuart, has been helping to get Jack's feet back in shape. Stuart doesn't like it when you call him a farrier. He will tell you in an easy...humble drawl: "Ah...I'm just an old cowboy shoer. There's a lot that knows more than I do and I'm the first to admit it." Well...I've never had an old "cowboy shoer" butcher my horses feet. I'll stick with my old cowboy shoer...thank you very much.
Three days before I was to head to Fish Lake for the week, Stuart felt he could safely tack on a shoe to Jack's front hooves. "There isn't much to nail to – and you might be cussing me if they fall off by morning..." I assured him I didn't care if they fell off. I was taking Drifter, too. If I had to, I'd leave Jack in camp and ride Drifter. Regardless, it looked promising. Jack walked off across the pasture in the most normal gate he's had in two months.
So – preparing to ride has gone from throwing on a saddle and bags ...to include preparing his hooves for boots. First, I check his fronts to make sure the clinches are tight enough so as not to throw a shoe...but not so tight they will tear up his hoof wall if he does snag one on something. I also carried another set of boots for his front hooves in case he lost a shoe or got tender footed. Then I pick out his hind feet and commence to wrangle on the "sneakers." Thank God that horse likes me. With immeasurable patience, he allows me to stand awkwardly half under his belly – half between his hind legs and twist, shimmy and otherwise wrestle those damn sneakers into place. Swearing helps, too.
Saddled and booted up – we hit the trail. I told the group not to wait for us if we lost a boot. It's been my experience that when you ride a booted up horse, you spend considerable time pulling them out of the bog and from between dead-fall and reapplying them to your horse. I didn't want to be "that person." Jack is not buddy sour...go on without us. We will be fine.
There is no way in hell Lee would leave me behind and fortunately, it did not come up. Through miles of bog, downfall and rocks, other than a loose strap – the boots stayed on. I kept turning in the saddle to check..."are they still there?" It got to where whoever was riding behind me would keep an eye on them as well; probably every bit as annoying as if I had to stop every 300 yards and put them back on. A credit to their patience and kindness...nobody complained and if they rolled their eyes...I was too focused on the back end of my horse to notice.
We rode to Twin Lakes and looped back via the old wooden lookout tower at Russel Mountain. Last year – Lee climbed to the top of the rickety structure. I climbed a little over 2/4th of the way (in little red cup measurements) and called it good. This year – we admired it from the ground. I don't know if that means we are getting older or smarter. I remain in denial and hold on to the latter.
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| John |
We ate lunch at the tower. It was here we learned John was not feeling well. Shortness of breath – weakness – dizzy. I'm not a doctor. If I had to guess I would diagnose his symptoms as altitude sickness. Whatever it was – we agreed he needed to get off the mountain and back to camp. Marc and Pattie continued down the Sugarloaf trail while Lee, Jim, Bernice and myself rode back to camp with John. He tried to talk us out of it. He didn't want anybody to cut their ride short. Even if trail etiquette did not dictate you never leave anyone behind – I was ready to get off the mountain. Jack's hooves were holding up better than expected and I didn't want to push it.
John said he felt better after eating a little and resting. He decided to pack it up and head for home. I offered to drive or at least follow him in to Halfway where he could get into the clinic – but he said he just wanted to get home. I didn't blame him and besides, you can lead a horse to water but....
Drifter seemed to fare well on the high-line with his new "mule friends." I turned him and Jack out to graze for a few hours while I cooked dinner and reorganized camp. While the tent was comfortable enough – I decided to take it down and move my cot into the back of the trailer. I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner. I can stand up and walk around and it is more secure from the likes of bears, cougars and serial killers. Most importantly...it's a lot closer to the port-a-pot I set up in the tack stall.
Click here for: Link to Photos on Google
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| Little Red Cup |
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