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.

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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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"IN GOD WE TRUST"

Very enjoyable reading !!!!!! Now where's my kayak???

Sounds like you have some ideas about what he was up to with the drum? Great stories, thanks for sharing.

Good yarns. Enjoyed them!

John

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- Cogito, ergo armatus sum -

Dave - Sounds like a few of the trips I've been on in the Big Horns and back in the Absarokas. You just never know what you'll run into though I never did meet a shirtless young lass standing in the trail - guess I was just never that lucky!

Thanks for the stories they are great. Keep them coming

Great stories, Many Thanks. Reminds me of some hunting trips I've been on. Met some of the darndest characters then. One time was hunting the Idaho- Montana line & ran into a guy hiking out. He & his buddys had lost the clutch in their Jeep. He was headed for town to pick up parts. There was a foot of snow on the ground & more where he came from. Never found out how that came out.

I've heard from friends about encountering one of them "nature girls" while hiking on the Appalachian Trail. Wish I still had a good heart and good knee. I might hanker to do some hiking..........

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Steve

Enjoyed the read....great pictures;

brought back some memories ...............

Thanks, Dave. A good read. Strange world, strange people.
TACC1

Speakin' of wimmen on hunting trips. I once took a group of "Hollywood folks" antelope huntin' on the ranch.

Spotted some goats a couple of miles away headin' north. We drove to a hill point where I thought the critters might pass in time. When we arrived, we got out and crawled up a little pass to where I thought they might get some shootin'.

Well, we met those antelope head on. Those goats went right between us and those clowns opened fire at less than 25 yards.

I hit the deck to avoid the cross-fire. When the ruckus was over they had knocked down three head within 50 yards of us.

They started dressing out their game. I noticed another one down about 150 yards away. I said I would go see what was what. Well this fine lookin' blonde that "belonged" to one of those fellers that claimed he was a director or something, tagged along with me.

The goat was dead, so I started dressing it out.. The blonde said "My it's hot out here!" I din't pay no attention I was busy with blood and guts.

When I paused for a moment, I discovered the "starlet" had ditched her blouse and bra.

Now this might seem like a neat deal, but when you're 18 years old and your sittin' out there on the prairie next to some feller's gal and she is topless and he is settin 150 yards away with a scoped rifle, the "pucker factor" plumb ruins the moment.

I durn near cut my thumb off tryin' whilst carefully not lookin' at anything but the goat I was workin' on. I finished the job and said we needed to get back over there to help those fellers with their goats.

She finally put her stuff away and we went back to where they was still butcherin', and never a word was said.

I din't quite calm down until them folks was loaded up and gone.

Now I kinda wish I had paid a wee bit more attention to what was going on around me. I do remember that the panorama out there on the Wyoming prairie sure was spectacular that day.

I was backpacking in the Gila Wilderness back in the '60's. Three days in, in a canyon about 18 miles long, 1500 feet deep and a quarter mile wide, right on a river we set up for the night. About midnight I heard distant thunder and remember thinking how safe I was at the botton of that canyon! Well, that storm moved right over us and commenced the most intense, non-stop lightening display I have even seen, then or since! I had myself convinced that it was unlikely any stricks would hit the bottom of the canyo when the rim was so much more inviting.. just about then, there was a flash so intense I swear I could see my partners bones, right through her body, just like a cartoon. The "bang" was right with the flash! After that, the lightening was non-stop, furious and intense. By then I wasn't able to decided if I'd die from lightening strike or drownding as the river was rising fast! My heart was running 90 miles an hour for sure!
Well, obviously, we survived. In the light of morning we found a tree split by a lightening strike about 100 yards from our camp!

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Old paratrooper in NC

Dave, these are great stories and ring true.

Once again, I urge you to consider putting together the outline for a book and writing one sample chapter. I will bet that there will be a publisher who will be interested. Heck, if you collected just your posts from this board, you would be well on your way. And, you've got lots of photos to boot.


Bullseye

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Five screws and 3-1/2 inches.

Another great reason to scan the Forum.

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Wayne
Torn & Frayed

I'm glad I stumbled onto this post. Wonderful tales and pictures. Looking forward to more.

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Tom
"Panem et Circenses"

And where are the pictures of the hiker????????
Steve

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Steve

Dave I tried to reason it out, but still can't figure any down side to hiring a young blonde cowgirl to do the camp cooking. I guess you're gonna need to spell it out for me.

Did you wind up married?

Out
West

Out
West



Can't get the Hunters outta camp to chase the elk,

the horse wrangler wants to learn to cook,

the packers don't wanta pack, ect, ect...

All them young hands that worked so good last season, just turn 'em into camp rats.

Su Amigo,
Dave

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"IN GOD WE TRUST"

Haw! I can see that now. I guess it does change the balance of things. I guess we aren't all that much different than the animals we hunt when it comes to females.

Out
West

Keith,
I like the way you think and express yourself!
Dick

Attached Images

Cowboy Dick #2 12-2009.jpg (89.5 KB, 124 views)

One more time before I give up the ghost...

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"IN GOD WE TRUST"

Muy hermoso.
I meido I would frozen.

Liked 10,000 Times

I love it when a plan comes together
..Couln't have happened to a nicer Ornery Old Coot..

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SWCA #2306
DAV in honor of POP

Nice yarns, Dave and Iggy. Good pictures too, Dave.

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Oh well, what the hell.

Iggy
It didn't happen without pictures.

Charlie

Charlie,
H'yar ya go!!

Is that what you wanted?

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Eccentric old coot

Wonderful stories and pictures Dave.
You sir have been blessed. I'm sure you realize this.
Makes an old flat lander like me green with envy to
hear these stories and then picture the Beautiful
country and majesty you have been fortunate enough
to gaze upon.
You have lived the life most of us have only dreamed
about.
Please keep em' coming sir.

Best Regards, Chuck

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They hold no Quarter

That blonde looks Kinda like a young Sue Aikens off that show Life Below Zero.

Life experiences....... summer of 1977...................


sitting on the front porch of the Cabin on on Eastern Continental Divide Somerset Co. Pa.......a thunderstorm....... which sounded like...... the battle of Gettysburg in the distance......... the whole northern and western sky was lit up with lighting......... seemed like it went on forever...... better than 4th of July fireworks........

not a drop of rain..... just a light and sound show in the distance........like the Gods fighting on Mount Olympus




Next morning........on the radio........ heard about the 3rd great Johnstown flood...... a foot of rain..............dams burst....... 80 some dead and hundreds of millions in damage................

and we didn't see a drop of rain.

Nature can be awesome AND deadly. Respect her and enjoy her as much as possible.

Going back to the early 1990s, I was Rangering in the Grand Canyon, helping to cover Phantom Ranch during the winter. Winter is slow, but there are still quite a few guests and hikers coming into the inner canyon from the South Rim. At an elevation of 8,000 feet, the North Rim had been closed for the winter because of snowfall. One morning, I left Phantom Ranch early to hike seven miles up the North Kaibab Tr. and check on Cottonwood Ranger Station. I had been the Cottonwood Ranger until we closed it for the season after heavy snows on the North Rim closed the road coming in from Jacob Lake. The upper three miles of the N. Kaibab Tr. were covered in snow, and the North Rim had several feet of white stuff on the ground.

Everything was in good shape at Cottonwood, so after a lunch break, I headed back down the N. Kaibab Tr. toward Phantom. Near a side trail to Ribbon Falls, I ran into a lone backpacker who was headed up to Cottonwood. At first, he was unresponsive when I asked him for his overnight use permit. He was deaf, and relied on lip reading. When he understood my request, he produced the required permit, and used a note pad to ask about conditions on the North Rim. I warned him not to go to the North Rim because of snow, but to return to Phantom Ranch. He seemed evasive about the issue, so I reinforced the thought, telling him there were no services available for about 20 miles from the Rim, and that the road was closed.

I was the last person to see him alive. A few days later, a North Rim Ranger on snowmobile headed back to the North Rim from Jacob Lake found the backpacker frozen in the snow next to the Entrance Station. As his last act, he had removed all the food from his backpack and scattered it on the ground for animals. In the followup death investigation, Backcountry Permit Office staff who had contact with him made him aware that the North Rim and services were closed because of winter shutdown. Why he chose to ignore everyone's advice and put himself at risk in severe winter weather is anybody's guess. His family told investigators he was stubborn. Guess he had a goal, and he wasn't willing to back off.

Thank you, Gentlemen:

I love these stories. I have stories but not like these. Mine would belong in a different thread. Keep these coming.

My buddy and I were on one of our twice annual trips
to the Rosebud Indian Reservation in south central
South Dakota to shoot some Prairie Dogs and relax.
We had spotted a big town west of Mission in Todd
County from state road 16 and we found a gate and
drove back in.
We set up on this big dog town that laid between
two Mesas that made a natural little valley.
At the bottom in the valley was thick, lush, green
grass the little rodents liked so much. The Mesas
were a couple hundred feet high making our trek up
to higher ground for set up with gear in hand a little
time consuming. When we got up high enough to
"command" the entire valley we sat back and opened
a cold one to just enjoy the view. We had found a nice
flat little area on top to call our snipers nest and we
felt good about our labored hike up the side.
Two out of shape guys, one 50 and the other 61, it was
no small feat for us and although exhausted we felt good.
As we sat there feeling like Kings in the warm July
Sun my buddy quipped that we must be the only
living souls within 20 square miles. Other than
a car or truck scooting by once every 15 minutes
or so on lonely road 16 just a quarter mile away
there was no movement, no noise, hardly even a
breeze this area was so notable for.
We glassed the dog town and there were plenty of
"targets of opportunity" scurrying around the valley
floor.
We had just got our bipods extended and set up prone
behind our rifles for some friendly spotting and shooting
as a team when we hear a voice say, Hi.
Looking up we see a small Indian man 65 to 70
years old standing there right behind us with a grin on his face.
Turns out he had a place just down the back side of the Mesa
on which we had set up on.
We sat and talked with this gentleman for hours that warm
afternoon. And although he seemed to have a real affliction
towards our Beer and my buddies Cigarettes, we didn't
mind sharing in exchange for his knowledge of the local
area and peoples.
We shot a few dogs that day but we will never forget being
surprised that day by Mr. Stanley LittleFeather.
We always look up old Stanley every time we return just
to spend a little time joking around and catching up.
And we always bring extra Beer and smokes.


Chuck

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They hold no Quarter

One Last Run.....For the Holidays

Wishing all a very Happy New Year

.

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"IN GOD WE TRUST"

Glad you're still posting this and we expect to see it many more times.

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Eccentric old coot

In situations like this, you gotta provide photos. or it's hearsay!

Those ain't the one's ya talked about!

I've mentioned this to Dave before, but I'll share it with the rest of you folks. I first read "Tall Tales and Steep Trails" over five years ago when I happened to come across this forum by accident. I enjoyed reading it so much, along with some of Dave's other tales, that I decided to join the forum.

Yep, that was five years ago and I still enjoy re-reading Dave's stories. From one old packer to another, keep 'em comin', Dave. I just wish I had your talent for spinnin' a yarn. You do good work, pard.

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Pack light and cinch tight.

Chip,
The feller on the left by the fire in one of those pictures...

He called me one Sunday morning early saying, "Catch yur ol cow pony,
they's having a roping and pinnin' with an added jackpot this afternoon. I'm sure we can win a bit."

We arrive at the arena, unload our horses and get saddled'd up.
Ride over toward the entry window. Two fellers are lookin' us
over purty good and one sez, "You boys look like 'real' cowboys!"

I take a slow look around and reply,

"You talkin' to us mister? We're not 'cowboys'....We're Packers!"

Oh, we did win a bit of foldin' money


.

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"IN GOD WE TRUST"

Dave, I know exactly what you're talking about. Although I did cowboy for several years, I always tell people that I'm not a cowboy. I'm a packer.

However, my dear sweet wife, Ms. Judy, still thinks I'm a cowboy, and my kids think I'm a cowboy, and my grandkids think I'm a cowboy. I'm kinda glad I have 'em fooled, but I have too much respect for that profession to ever consider myself a real cowboy.

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Pack light and cinch tight.

Wives that are named Judy are special People, I know. My "Ms. Judy" has kept me around for 54 years. :-)

Have a blessed day,

Leon

My dad doctor'd cattle, his and every neighbor that called on him.

I followed in his footsteps as well, pulled calves for all the folks around.
Doctor'd sick stock, cattle, horses and mules too.

I rode the calving pasture of the early morning, at dinner time and
late evenings.
A hundred or so first calf heifers will make ya a Cowboy or make ya quit, one or the other.

I always saw cowboyin' as a profession....

Packin' was an adventure.


.

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"IN GOD WE TRUST"

Let me add "Amen" to that.

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Pack light and cinch tight.

While I've been out west and Alaska a few times....most of my life I've roamed the Eastern Continental Divide........ oldest mountains on earth ...... worn down by time, water and wind........... Louie L'Amour's "Far Blue Mountains"...........that said I............


....................still have to watch "Jeremiah Johnson" at least once every year between New Year's and the first of March.

Anyone remember the mini-series "Centennial"