keith44spl
Member
Tall Tales & Steep Trails
(I've added at the end a few extra photos and some helpfull backcountry tips to make your trip more enjoyable.)
I was visiting with an ol’ Packer pard the other day and we were swapin’ yarns of jerkin’ pack strings into the high country in our younger days…
As I recall it may have been in the late 70s. We had a camp up high near the divide in the Bob or some other darn place not to sure right now, anyhow it blew in this here storm one evening. I’m here to tell y'all she was a rough ‘n, rain, hail, snow with lighting and thunder that would rattle yer teeth. It was acrashin’ into that rim rock all around with a pure vengeance.
The next morn I’s though I’d take me a little ride up thata way and have me a look around. A fair amount of that big ol’ rock was busted off’n that high rim up the canyon. We was slippin’ along the trail there and my saddle pony let’s out a snort and buggers a little, liken he’d winded a bear or something. I looked just in time to see something movin’ towards us on its hind legs. As it clears the brush and comes up on the trail, I see it’s some kind of person…Well I’ll be darn it’s one of the there hippie types and he’s really stepping out, I mean like a yard and a half at a stride. This cat finally sees me and comes to a halt about 10 feet away and acting all nervous and such. I ask him if’n he’d spent the night under that rim, he just nods his head in the affirmative and with that he says, “I’m out here Man, this place is just too spooky!” Well, I guess Mother Nature can sometimes have a hard bosom…
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I’d think that being thirty or forty miles or more into the wilderness it would be too outta the way for ‘Flower Children’. But, oh no, they seem to flourish in the farthest most reaches of big game territory. I’m hold up on a narrow part of the trail trying to adjust a pack on this little bronc mule and quiet his six equally broncy sidekicks. When along comes this young feller with a tie-dyed shirt and cut-off britches up behind us, with of all things wearin’ a kayak sideways on his head. And he wants to pass this string of now walleyed outlaw mules that would gladly stomp this whitewater seeker in to a greasy spot. I whisper to him, “Son, if’n you’ll give me two minutes we be outta your way, otherwise just go ahead and get in that little boat cause your fixin’ to take your wildest ride ever off’n the side of this here bluff!”
One beautiful fall morning I’m a draggin’ a short string to the trailhead for to pack in the tailend of the supplies.
Now I’m riding a shod pony and leading five sharp shod mules on one of the roughest, rockiest trails in the southern Colorado wilderness. We're makin' more racket that a marchin' brass band and we're miles from anywhere, I round this switchback and right there in the middle of the trail, just bigger than pete, was this gal, about collage age a hiking up the trail towards me without a shirt on. I mean nothing; I called out to get her attention at about ten yards asking her if she would mind stepping to the side of the trail to let these mules pass by. She smiled and said that would be alright. She just stood there smiling and a sunnin' as we rolled on by and down the trail…
And Boys, if’n that ain’t the truth, I’ll kiss your hindend and give ya thirty minutes to draw a crowd.
*************************************************************
I’d pulled a chop block up again a cottonwood making myself a seat, fixed another for a footstool.
It was my day to stay in camp and cook the evenin’ meal. All the camp chores were done and she was squared away right nice and neat. Had me a son-of-gun stew on the wood stove just a simmerin’ and a pot of coffee. The fixin’s for some cornbread gathered up just awaitin’ on the right time to start.
Right now this afternoon, I was fixin’ to take my ease.
I’m trying to roll me a smoke outta a salvaged pack of Lucky Strikes that had gotten wet somewhere along the line. No luck with that, so I opened my last can of Copenhagen. All was right with the world, life is good. I look up to see somebody a foot and headed up the trail toward our camp. We’re camped a good piece off of a spur trail and way the heck off’n the main trail coming into this back country. I mean it’s a free country, so it’s no big deal, just a hiker out exploring or something, right?
Well as our guest gets closer and I call out a greeting from the scope of timber our camp's resting in, it sure nuff startled this guy. Now this cat wasn’t your average hiker/outdoorsman type, he’s carrying a dime store rod & reel, wearing checkered double-knit pants, a polo shirt, tennis shoes and packing an old sweater. I kid you not!
But, the weird part was the 30 gallon plastic drum lashed to the pack frame he was wearing/carrying.
We exchanged pleasantries and this guy never broke stride, just kept on hoofin’ it.
About two days later, this same guy comes back through right after breakfast time. I ask if he’d like something to eat or a cup of coffee, you know just being neighborly. He didn’t want any grub or coffee, but said he’d would like a cup of water for to make himself some Tea…It had come a light snow of about six or seven inches the nite before and this cat was wet from head to toe. I invited him in to warm by the stove and dry out a bit.
Our visitor was now sans fishing rod, packframe and barrel. As we continued our visit, this ol’ boy was some kinda strange bird, no long gun or sidearm, no pitchwood or matches, really odd. Dressed way to light for the season and the current weather. We were camped a full and I mean an all day and into the nite ride from the end of the road and the trailhead. In just passing the time, I offered to pack this guys possibles and that plastic drum out to the trailhead on one of my trips out…Well let me tell you, the look that guy shot me could have killed, He let me know flat out not to think anything else about the drum!
That’s been twenty something years ago…This thing's been stuck in my craw for a long while now.
I still wonder what is in that plastic drum up in them hills.
Maybe I don’t need to know, maybe I don’t really wanta know.
There a lot of old abandoned mines up in that country.
I’m a thinkin’ after the spring thaw, maybe…Just maybe.
Su Amigo,
Dave
Helpful Tip No. 1...Know where you are going into the wilderness. It's helpful when trying to get out as well.
Tip No. 2...When leading pack stock always use the widest bridges you can find in the back country.
Tip No. 3...Try to make your camp homey...
Tip No. 4...Do Not Ever Hire a young Blonde Cowgirl that you meet on the trail to be the Cook...
Tip No. 5...Know the weather will change...
Tip No. 6...Ya never know just what you'll bump into in the high country.
.
(I've added at the end a few extra photos and some helpfull backcountry tips to make your trip more enjoyable.)
I was visiting with an ol’ Packer pard the other day and we were swapin’ yarns of jerkin’ pack strings into the high country in our younger days…
As I recall it may have been in the late 70s. We had a camp up high near the divide in the Bob or some other darn place not to sure right now, anyhow it blew in this here storm one evening. I’m here to tell y'all she was a rough ‘n, rain, hail, snow with lighting and thunder that would rattle yer teeth. It was acrashin’ into that rim rock all around with a pure vengeance.
The next morn I’s though I’d take me a little ride up thata way and have me a look around. A fair amount of that big ol’ rock was busted off’n that high rim up the canyon. We was slippin’ along the trail there and my saddle pony let’s out a snort and buggers a little, liken he’d winded a bear or something. I looked just in time to see something movin’ towards us on its hind legs. As it clears the brush and comes up on the trail, I see it’s some kind of person…Well I’ll be darn it’s one of the there hippie types and he’s really stepping out, I mean like a yard and a half at a stride. This cat finally sees me and comes to a halt about 10 feet away and acting all nervous and such. I ask him if’n he’d spent the night under that rim, he just nods his head in the affirmative and with that he says, “I’m out here Man, this place is just too spooky!” Well, I guess Mother Nature can sometimes have a hard bosom…
*************************************************************
I’d think that being thirty or forty miles or more into the wilderness it would be too outta the way for ‘Flower Children’. But, oh no, they seem to flourish in the farthest most reaches of big game territory. I’m hold up on a narrow part of the trail trying to adjust a pack on this little bronc mule and quiet his six equally broncy sidekicks. When along comes this young feller with a tie-dyed shirt and cut-off britches up behind us, with of all things wearin’ a kayak sideways on his head. And he wants to pass this string of now walleyed outlaw mules that would gladly stomp this whitewater seeker in to a greasy spot. I whisper to him, “Son, if’n you’ll give me two minutes we be outta your way, otherwise just go ahead and get in that little boat cause your fixin’ to take your wildest ride ever off’n the side of this here bluff!”
One beautiful fall morning I’m a draggin’ a short string to the trailhead for to pack in the tailend of the supplies.
Now I’m riding a shod pony and leading five sharp shod mules on one of the roughest, rockiest trails in the southern Colorado wilderness. We're makin' more racket that a marchin' brass band and we're miles from anywhere, I round this switchback and right there in the middle of the trail, just bigger than pete, was this gal, about collage age a hiking up the trail towards me without a shirt on. I mean nothing; I called out to get her attention at about ten yards asking her if she would mind stepping to the side of the trail to let these mules pass by. She smiled and said that would be alright. She just stood there smiling and a sunnin' as we rolled on by and down the trail…
And Boys, if’n that ain’t the truth, I’ll kiss your hindend and give ya thirty minutes to draw a crowd.
*************************************************************
I’d pulled a chop block up again a cottonwood making myself a seat, fixed another for a footstool.
It was my day to stay in camp and cook the evenin’ meal. All the camp chores were done and she was squared away right nice and neat. Had me a son-of-gun stew on the wood stove just a simmerin’ and a pot of coffee. The fixin’s for some cornbread gathered up just awaitin’ on the right time to start.
Right now this afternoon, I was fixin’ to take my ease.
I’m trying to roll me a smoke outta a salvaged pack of Lucky Strikes that had gotten wet somewhere along the line. No luck with that, so I opened my last can of Copenhagen. All was right with the world, life is good. I look up to see somebody a foot and headed up the trail toward our camp. We’re camped a good piece off of a spur trail and way the heck off’n the main trail coming into this back country. I mean it’s a free country, so it’s no big deal, just a hiker out exploring or something, right?
Well as our guest gets closer and I call out a greeting from the scope of timber our camp's resting in, it sure nuff startled this guy. Now this cat wasn’t your average hiker/outdoorsman type, he’s carrying a dime store rod & reel, wearing checkered double-knit pants, a polo shirt, tennis shoes and packing an old sweater. I kid you not!
But, the weird part was the 30 gallon plastic drum lashed to the pack frame he was wearing/carrying.
We exchanged pleasantries and this guy never broke stride, just kept on hoofin’ it.
About two days later, this same guy comes back through right after breakfast time. I ask if he’d like something to eat or a cup of coffee, you know just being neighborly. He didn’t want any grub or coffee, but said he’d would like a cup of water for to make himself some Tea…It had come a light snow of about six or seven inches the nite before and this cat was wet from head to toe. I invited him in to warm by the stove and dry out a bit.
Our visitor was now sans fishing rod, packframe and barrel. As we continued our visit, this ol’ boy was some kinda strange bird, no long gun or sidearm, no pitchwood or matches, really odd. Dressed way to light for the season and the current weather. We were camped a full and I mean an all day and into the nite ride from the end of the road and the trailhead. In just passing the time, I offered to pack this guys possibles and that plastic drum out to the trailhead on one of my trips out…Well let me tell you, the look that guy shot me could have killed, He let me know flat out not to think anything else about the drum!
That’s been twenty something years ago…This thing's been stuck in my craw for a long while now.
I still wonder what is in that plastic drum up in them hills.
Maybe I don’t need to know, maybe I don’t really wanta know.
There a lot of old abandoned mines up in that country.
I’m a thinkin’ after the spring thaw, maybe…Just maybe.
Su Amigo,
Dave
Helpful Tip No. 1...Know where you are going into the wilderness. It's helpful when trying to get out as well.
Tip No. 2...When leading pack stock always use the widest bridges you can find in the back country.
Tip No. 3...Try to make your camp homey...
Tip No. 4...Do Not Ever Hire a young Blonde Cowgirl that you meet on the trail to be the Cook...
Tip No. 5...Know the weather will change...
Tip No. 6...Ya never know just what you'll bump into in the high country.
.
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