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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