Fish Lake - Lee CampFrame-dragging and The Shirtless Guy TrailPart 2
- July 25th – Clear Creek Cabin
- Miles: 12.3
- Riders: Self – Lee – Pattie – Marc – Jim – Bernice
- Horses/Mules: Jack – King – Leah – Ali – Wolf - Cash
We were on the trail by 9:00 AM. Lee and Marc agreed on Clear Creek trail and loop back down via Sugarloaf trail. A 12.3 mile ride that would encompass several lakes and the Clear Creek Cabin. We took turns as to the order we rode in. Jim and Bernice like to stay toward the back with their Tennessee Walkers to slow them down. Otherwise, they out-walk everyone on the trail and would end up lapping the rest of us. Jack isn't the fastest of walkers so I like to bring up the rear so I'm not holding anybody up and I can take pictures.
I started out behind Lee. Something was off...a visual cosmic distortion if you will. As I stared at Lee's back...the cause of the apparent shift in the time-space continuum came in to focus: The suspender strap over Lee's right shoulder was twisted. This would not do. "Lee...stop a minute. If I'm expected to ride back here, you are going to have to fix your suspender. It's twisted. It's driving me nuts. If you were a picture on the wall, I'd be straightening you out." Lee laughed – blamed Susan for not dressing him properly and adjusted the suspender. Just in time, too. Nobody wants to be responsible for distorting the time-space continuum. It is a real thing that could happen...it's called the "frame-dragging" effect. If you don't believe me...or Albert Einstein...Google it!
We were well on our way up the Clear Creek Trail...things were going along rather smoothly. The horses had lined out in their preferred order, the sun was shining with a slight breeze and Lee's suspenders were holding the cosmic balance in check. Jack and I had made our way toward the front of the herd. Somebody yelled: "HIKERS....HIKERS COMING." I looked around until I saw the subject of concern. One hiker...all I saw was one hiker. One bare-chested – rather ripped dude wearing nothing but a pair of silky brown jogging shorts and sneakers. I'm assuming he wore sneakers...didn't really get that far in my field of vision. My mouth must have dropped open because Lee and Marc were grinning and shaking there head at me. Lee asked shirtless guy if he was trail running. No...he wasn't trail running – he'd lost his map and was jogging up and down the trail looking for it. He thought it must have fallen out when he was jumping over logs. More like leaping over logs like superman...a shirtless – ripped superman! (sigh) -
I finally regained my composure enough to speak. "So...where are you camped?" I might as well have asked what his sign was and if he hiked here often. I could feel Lee and Marc trying to suppress busting a gut. This wasn't shirtless guys first creepy old lady encounter. "Ummm...actually, – were just parked. I'm not camped anywhere." It soon registered in my cougar like brain that shirtless guy took my desire to help return his map for a desire for something entirely different! "Oh! I just meant that if we found your map, we could return it if we knew where you were camped – that's all!" Shirtless dude wasn't buying it. "It's OK – I doubt you will find it. I must have lost it when I was off-trail jumping over logs and shit...you know, like superman...a really ripped and half naked superman." At least that is what I heard. I had to redeem myself: "Well, I hope it was a good map because if we find it we will keep it!" Take that, shirtless guy!
Somebody asked if there were any other hikers besides him and the gal. What gal? The guys swear there was a gal with a dog, but neither Pattie, Bernice or myself saw anything resembling a lady or a dog. Shirtless guy said two of his hunting dogs had a chipmunk treed up the trail a bit but not to worry about them – they would eventually come back. Was it just me, or was shirtless guy uncomfortably concerned that creepy old lady might try to return his wayward hunting dogs to him in person? In your dreams shirtless dude. In.Your.Dreams.
We did indeed encounter shirtless guys hunting dogs on up the trail. The chipmunk they had treed might as well have been two cougars and a bear for all the carrying on they did. Some of the horses and mules were uneasy with the commotion. I wished for a minute I had Drifter with me. He is a dog stomper. The neighbors dogs used to steal his Jolly Ball. One day Drifter had enough and ran one into the corner of his turn-out. He didn't hurt him, thank goodness...but his Jolly Ball hasn't come up missing since.
Jack doesn't have an issue with dogs and he's not spooked by them either. We pushed them on down the trail toward shirtless guy and that should have been the end of it. I mean, it would have been the end of it if Marc and Lee would let it go...but nope. Every opportunity they got they had to bring up shirtless guy and the effect he had on a certain creepy old lady. And that, boys and girls, is how Clear Creek Trail became known as Shirtless Guy Trail. Really...really well proportioned trail. I mean, some trails have been better maintained than others...that's wall I'm saying.
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| Brownie Jim |
We continued up Shirtless Guy Trail skirting Mud Lake toward Mehlhorn Reservoir. Downfall scattered here and there made passage difficult. One in particular had protruding limps at just the right height to gouge a horse in the gut. Jim dismounted, retrieved his handy-dandy limb saw and made short work of the limbs so Jack could pass safely. He had just earned his first brownie badge! I'd brought a couple boxes of brownie mix to bake in my nifty portable propane oven "The Camp Chef."
Elk bugled as Mehlhorn Lake came in view. We could hear there hooves pounding through the water before we saw them. I managed to get a video of a section of maybe 25 elk splashing along the shoreline in front of us. Another 25 or more stayed on the opposite shore...splitting the herd. A cow called to her herd on the other side as if begging them to return. We saw several smaller herds throughout the day ....some bedded down while others possibly trying to join back with the herd they had become separated from.
Clear Creek Lake is my favorite of the lakes in this area. It's larger than the others and has a big rock Island jutting near it's center. Remnants of rusted equipment used to build the retaining wall lay scattered about. We had to wade the horses across a section of the lake. I don't remember having to do that last year. Fortunately, Jack loves the water. Unfortunately for me...I do not. He likes to swim. I do not. When he swims, I hang on – close my eyes and hold my breath until it's over. This wasn't deep enough to have to swim it – but I worried we might lose a boot. We managed to make it across to dry land with boots intact. I was more impressed with these sneakers with every mile.
Clear Creek Cabin is an old lineman cabin refurbished and maintained by the snowmobile club. They do a beautiful job of it. Even though the snowmobile club maintains it – it is still part of Forest Service property and open to public use. We stopped here for lunch and to let the animals graze. It was a good spot for a Beenee Weanee photo-op. Jim sat propped on a stump beside the cabin...his floppy hat pulled down low over his eyes. He looked like he belonged with that cabin. I balanced the can of BW's on his hat, told him to not ask questions and he'd earn himself another brownie.
The trail back to camp via Sugarloaf is a sensory delight. Spectacular panoramic views of the Eagle Caps are the backdrop for miles and miles of rolling hills covered in purple lupine. The powerful aroma teeters on the border of heaven and overwhelming. Humans can try to bottle such a scent to be infused in candles, deodorizers and perfumes. They would fall short. God's creativity cannot be manufactured.
We rode in to camp to find Phil had arrived. He planned to come up and spend a couple of days riding in the hills before hitting several shoots in Idaho and Montana on his way home to Arizona. We weren't sure about taking his motor home up the road I take to get to Lee Camp. A couple of the others had come in a different way, one of them with his motor home. He said the road was smoother and wider coming in from the North Pine side. I did my best to give Phil directions and still expected him to end up in Utah. Phil might be one of the only people with a poorer sense of direction than me. And yet...there he was. I was proud of us both – me for giving accurate directions and him for not ending up in Utah.
It was as good a time as any to expose Drifter to hobbles. I had a person tell me once that hobbling a horse was cruel. The same type of person that confines their horses to a 12x16 pen and never rides outside an arena. Everyone is entitled to their own thing. As for me, I've never had a hobble trained horse cut their leg off in wire. Hobbles allow the horse to graze freely without fear of getting hung up in a halter or dragging lead rope. Some horses, Jack included – can move almost as fast in hobbles as without. I figure it at least gives me a fighting chance should he decide to head home without me. As it turns out, Drifter has been taking a few lessons from Uncle Jack.
The first thirty seconds after slipping the hobbles around Drifters ankles went about as expected. He was sure all hell was upon him. He lept into the creek – floundered around on the bank – bounded up the other side...did about three aerobatic maneuvers...dropped his head and went to eating. That was it. Hobble broke horse.
Lee pointed out that my hobbles are too loose. They should sit above the pastern on the cannon. I did not know that. I would need to borrow Lee's hole puncher and make some adjustments to both Drifter's and Jack's hobbles. If I didn't like Lee and was prone to kleptomania...I would not have returned the hole puncher. The single best pair of leather hole punchers ever. I've gone through dozens of the damn things and his are the only pair to actually work. The maker of them apparently wants to keep it top secret because we couldn't find a makers mark on them anywhere. Figures!
Click here for full set of pictures
Brownie Jim
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