Category Archives: Good Stories

Good stories about horses, dogs, and horse packing trips.

Good Stories, Saddlery, Tack and Gear

Finally finshed the repairs to the Hamley!

Those of you who have followed me for a while will remember that way back in about October 2012, during a training session, my mare, Penny, blew a gasket and let off a bunch of steam. In doing so, she went down and as I made my exit, my spur caught the seat jockey of my Hamley ranch saddle and ripped it. The spur also left a long scratch across the seat. Then, Penny wallowed around on the ground a bit, trying to regain her feet,  scratching the pommel pretty good. When she got her legs back under her, she jumped up right into a large oak tree, punching a stick about the size of my index finger right through the cantle binding. Luckily, both Penny and myself were ok, but the saddle took a beating.

Just a few days later, I went to mount Penny, who was wearing the Hamley, and the on-side stirrup strap broke. As I inspected things, I noticed that the rear rigging was about to break loose as well. It was time to put the Hamley on “injured reserve” and start looking at repairs.

(Click on the photos to see them full-size)

Now, it’s not like I ruined this saddle. If you are familiar with western saddlery, the name Hamley should ring a bell. Hamley, Pendleton Oregon, has been making quality saddles since 1883. They are one of the few saddlers still in business from the days before the horseless carriage came into vogue. In fact, I sent the serial number of the saddle to Hamley and received a Certificate of Authenticity, confirming that the saddle was made for my wife’s uncle, Earl G. Richins, and that he paid $154.50 for it in 1947. Cool!

So, this saddle belonged to my wife’s uncle until he passed away in 1974. Then we think it passed on to his sister’s husband, who rode it until he was in his 90s, when the ranch he rode for apologetically told him they couldn’t use him anymore, because they were afraid he’d get hurt. Well, he also passed away and the saddle eventually passed on to me, being the last of the family with horses.

With that little history, it won’t surprise you that the saddle had been through several repairs during its lifetime. One stirrup leather had been replaced by scabbing in a section of new leather in order to retain the original tooling on the outside. The other stirrup leather had been changed altogether…the one that broke…and the tooling did not match the original. Also, the skirts had been re-fleeced at least once and the last time it was done was a poor job. The skirts were curled around the edges and the fleece was wearing out. The rope strap had been broken and replaced long ago, as had the original saddle strings. In other words, the poor old saddle was in need of major repairs…again.

Now, I have aspired to become a saddler for many years, although I had never actually done anything more than a few minor repairs on my own saddles and one major rebuild of the pony saddle I learned to ride on as a kid. However, in doing my research I found that having Hamley rebuild this saddle was way beyond my reach financially. Since the saddle was in such poor shape to begin with, and since so many repairs, of varying quality, had already been done to it, I decided that the value of the saddle couldn’t be degraded much more if I did the repairs myself. So, the decision was made. I would use the Hamley to improve my knowledge, skills, and experience as a saddler.

Over the years since 2012, I have acquired the basic tools that all saddlers seem to have. I have also acquired the basic skills that saddlery requires. Several months ago I disassembled the Hamley and removed the damaged parts. However, the rest of my life made me put the Hamley on the back burner. Then, during about November last year (2017), my wife received a telephone call from her cousin, the daughter of Earl G. Richins. She was asking whether we knew the whereabouts of some of Earl’s belongings. She was only about 13 years old when Earl died and, due to some unusual circumstances, some of his belongings had passed on to his siblings, rather than to his young children. That included my Hamley saddle.

My wife told her about the saddle, the needed repairs, and asked whether she would prefer I reassemble it and leave it as original as possible, or whether I should do the repairs needed to make it a serviceable saddle again. She never really answered the question, but said she would like to have the saddle. I decided the right thing to do was to go ahead with the repairs and give her the saddle in working condition. After all, it was her father’s saddle and she was the rightful owner.

Last week I finished the last of the repairs and reassembled the saddle. This afternoon I took it on a shake-down ride, to make sure my repairs meet muster and are comfortable to ride.

Here is a list of the repairs I made:

  • Replaced the torn cantle binding
    • Oiled and stained the cantle binding to match the color and patina of the original leather
  • Replaced the old rear rigging leathers
  • Replaced both stirrup leathers
    • Tooled the stirrup leathers to reflect the design of the original tooling on the saddle
    • Stained the stirrup leathers to match the color and patina of the original leather of the saddle
    • Cleaned and stained the sweat leathers (which had been replaced in an earlier repair) to match the original color and patina of the saddle
    • Replaced the Blevins Buckles with new, better ones.
  • Replaced the old cinch latigo with a new one
  • Replaced the rope strap
  • Made new stirrup keepers
    • Tooled the stirrup keepers with a “R” for Richins.
  • Stained the scratches and gouges on the seat and pommel to hide them
  • Refleeced the original skirts (hand-stitched)
    • Added backing to the skirts to stiffen them and keep them from curling
    • Replaced the saddle strings with 1/2″ heavy latigo strings
  • Patched and stitched the rip in the seat jockey.
  • Oiled entire saddle and gave it a nice finish.

I have to say, I’m very pleased with the way the saddle turned out.

The one repair I’m not proud of is the repair to the tear in the seat jockey. I used waxed poly thread and it would not take stain, so the thread stands out white against the dark leather of the saddle, making the repair very obvious. It’s serviceable, but way too obvious. That was a lesson learned and a mistake I will not make again.

So, next week I will give my wife’s cousin a call and make arrangements to return this saddle, which is hers by right of inheritance, to its rightful owner.

I think Earl Richins would approve.

Good Stories, Great Western Trail, Western Trails

Remembering one of the best and worst days of my life

This afternoon I was re-watching a few segments of video I took while my dad and I were trekking across the arid lands of southeastern Arizona, as we embarked on our Mexico-to-Canada horse pack trip in 2015. It inevitably brought to mind the adventures we had on the second segment of the trip, from Eagar, Arizona to Flagstaff, Arizona in 2016.

It is a curious thing to me, how different the two trips were. As I prepared for the trip in 2015, it seemed like everything just fell into place. As we packed across southeastern Arizona, it seemed that every near disaster resulted in a simple learning experience for both men and horses. It was as if we had protection and help from above. It was as if some power unseen was smiling upon our efforts, saying, “Let me help you accomplish your goals.” I believe we had help from our Heavenly Father.

The trip in 2016 was different. Not that I think the Lord abandoned us, but it is apparent to me, in retrospect, that he had other things for us to learn. From the beginning, even during my preparations, things didn’t go smoothly. In the couple of months before we started, I had to get an axle changed out on my trailer, I blew the engine in my truck and had to have it rebuilt. On the trip down to Arizona, fully loaded with all my gear and horses, I blew two tires on the trailer and had to stop in Blanding, Utah to have them replaced. I learned that on a Sunday, there is only one tire shop open between Spanish Fork, Utah and Flagstaff, Arizona…and I had missed it way back at Green River. A kindly soul in Blanding opened his shop for me and replaced my tires. I was sorry to have disturbed his Sabbath Day.

The day Dad and I started out on the horses from Eagar, Arizona, which is home for Mom and Dad, the wind was blowing directly out of the west at about 50 miles per hour, gusting to well above that. At 7,000 feet elevation, that was a cold and stiff wind into which we faced, as we headed west on US 260 across a treeless high plain for the first ten miles. We made camp shortly after we entered the trees not far from Greer, Arizona. We made 13 miles that day and we were beat at the end of it.

Camp about 13 miles west of Eagar, AZ

When we arose the next morning, it was to an empty camp. Our horses were gone. They had headed for home, which was Eagar for two of them. I was lucky enough to find them stopped at a fence less than half a mile from our camp. That day, Dad and I, following a topographical map, attempted to cross through an area from one trail to another. After trying several routes and being stopped by thick stands of young ponderosa pines, choked with undergrowth, we gave up and backtracked. We ended up following US 260 another three miles or so, until we found a gate in the USFS fence that took us back toward the trail we wanted to locate. By the time we had gotten back where we had hoped to be before noon, it was time to be looking for a campsite. We made a total of about seven miles that day, but deducting for the backtracking we had to do, we effectively gained about 3 miles on our trip.

We were lucky enough to find a nice camp area at Fish Creek, with good grass and plenty of water in a stream close by. We let the horses graze, making sure we had at least one tied at all times. but the next morning the loose horses were gone. After having tried a number of combinations to allow our stock to graze, and having to track them down five different times over two days,  we learned that if any three of those horses got together, they would head back down the trail. During our stay there at Fish Creek, we learned that we had to keep three of our five animals tied at all times, and only allow two to graze freely at a time. We kept up that protocol the rest of the trip.

Camp off of Fish Creek

On the fourth day of the trip, Dad and I made our way from Fish Creek, into the Apache-Sitgreaves National Forest, headed toward Show Low, Arizona. We figured to take two days to reach Show Low, where a friend of ours was to meet us and continue with us a couple days. We made a good 17 miles that day, as I recall, and made camp in a nice treed area not far off the road, near a small creek, just at the north end of Gillespie Flat.

Crossing the White Mountains east of Show Low, AZ

That day, Dad and I followed US Forest Service roads, as that was the best way to cross the area. It was one of the most pleasant days of my life. This was the kind of day Dad and I had envisioned all those many years ago, when we first spoke of such a horse pack trip. On this day, the fourth day of the second leg of our big pack trip, we rode side-by-side through the mountains, taking in the beauty of the White Mountains of Arizona, talking of life, aspirations, experiences, religion, faith, and just enjoying each other’s company as father and son, doing something together that we had dreamed of for many years. The riding was easy and our pace was relaxed.  Even the horses seemed to have enjoyed the ride that day. We made camp that evening, two men, father and son, with full hearts, at peace and content with our world.

Ranger, on his last day.

That was the night Ranger, a horse with which I had truly bonded and which had become my favorite trail partner, with which I had hoped to complete my Mexico-to-Canada trip one day, got tangled in his lead rope in the middle of the night and broke his leg before I could free him. He was a horse with which I had expected to spend many pleasant miles over many years in the saddle. That was the night I had to put him down. It was a heart-wrenching experience for me and one I will never forget.

The following morning, Dad and I were able to contact a friend, who came with his trailer and hauled us back to Eagar. After a couple days of grief and consideration, we decided to continue the trip. I had brought Lizzy from Utah with me, but had left her at my pasture in Eagar as a backup horse, in case we had a horse go lame. I continued the trip with Lizzy as my primary horse. She handled the trip well and turned out to be the best trail horse I have ever had, even better than Ranger. The rest of our trip was enjoyable and pleasant, but that last day before I lost Ranger was the highlight of the trip.

Since then, I often think of that day and the power of the emotions  thoughts of the events of that day bring to me, from the joy and fulfillment of riding and conversing with my dad, doing what we enjoy most, to the loss of one of my favorite friends, Ranger. While I miss Ranger as I ride mountain trails on my other horses, I remember the joy and contentment I felt as I rode him alongside my dad, as we made our way through the mountains on that last day of Ranger’s life. It is a good and pleasant memory.

One of the best days of my life.

In Camp on Gillespie Flat
Good Stories, Western Trails

Louis L’Amour and Me…

I recently posted comments to a thread on a facebook group I belong to, entitled, “The Sacketts: Louis L’Amour.” My comments caused some stir among a couple members, who believe everything Louis L’Amour wrote or said is the absolute truth, despite the fact that he was an author of western fiction. I deleted my comments, because of the stir it created on another member’s thread. That did not preclude me from creating my own thread on the group, however. Once I posted it, the thought occurred to me that it might make an interesting post on my WTR blog.

So, here it is:

I love Louis L’Amour novels. I was introduced to them by my father when I was 12 years old. I have been reading them religiously for 46 years. I say “religiously,” because, over the years, I have recognized that I have been heavily influenced by many of the values and philosophies he incorporated into his stories. Most of them I have read numerous times. His stories, along with my father’s influence, lead me to a deep love of horses, trail riding, and horse packing. I have spent many hours in the saddle imagining myself being part of one of Louis L’Amour’s stories, while looking to see what was on the other side of one hill or another.

In my mid-twenties, having no idea how old Louis L’Amour was, I wrote him a letter, inviting him to come for a horse pack trip with my dad and me into the Blue Primitive Area in Arizona. He wrote back, responding that he had given up riding, due to his age, but he thanked me for the invitation and mentioned some of the people and ranches in the area with whom he had acquaintance. I have that letter in my safe to this day. He died about six months later.

Over the years I have had opportunity to ride my horses through several areas he described in his stories and have lived in a couple more. As I have passed through some of these areas, I have learned that Louis L’Amour took considerable license in his descriptions of terrain and locations in many of his stories. I have posted photos and videos of some of my trips into several of these areas. I have learned from personal experience that Louis L’Amour’s assertion that if he described a spring, “…that spring is there and the water is good to drink,” was not entirely accurate, at least not with regard to many of his stories. It may have been true at one time, or with regard to a particular story, but the publisher took that statement and used it to promote sales of the novels.

I do not say that to denigrate in any way the value of his stories or his story-telling artistry, nor to expose him as a fraud. I love his stories and the values and history he taught in them. However, I fully recognize that Louis L’Amour was a writer of fiction. Fiction writers have full license to “make stuff up” as they write their stories, whether it be plot, characters, historical “facts”, or terrain. Charles Dickens and Mark Twain did precisely the same thing. Quite frankly, as much as I love his stories, Louis L’Amour’s novels do not qualify as “historical fictions” in the same sense as those written by some authors today. His research, documentation, and even presentation do not meet the mark. However, none of those other writers has influenced me personally like Louis L’Amour did. For me the value is not in the history nor in the terrain, but in the values he taught. The rest just adds interest.

I made a couple comments in that direction on a post earlier today and was taken to task by a couple members. One requested that I post evidences to support my assertions, which I did. Another member agreed that everyone is entitled to his opinion, then followed by telling me my opinion was wrong. It was as if I had stolen something from someone, and maybe I did. Imagination, dreams, and fantasy are very powerful and are things to be treasured. To avoid further disturbance on another’s thread, I deleted my comments, which also deleted the responses to them.

Besides, why let a little fact or two muddy up a good story.

Sorry if some of you are offended or disappointed by this post, but this is my thread. You are welcome to disagree and post your own thoughts. I don’t mind.

Below are some photos from a 200-mile pack trip Dad (82 years old) and I took last year across the Mogollon Rim and up to Flagstaff, much of which is the same area presented in The Sackett Brand.

Good Stories, Western Horsemanship

My New Gelding has a New Name.

Last week I picked up a new gelding.  I’ve been trying to figure out a name for him. I thought of several, but nothing stuck. Figured I’d just wait and see if something jumped out at me as the perfect name. I think I have it. I’ll get there in a minute.

He’s a golden palomino about 5 or 6 years old, I think, of unknown origin, but I think he’s got a lot of Missouri Fox Trotter in him. He looks like a Fox Trotter. He’s got the deep, narrow chest, short back, and nicely shaped head of the Fox Trotter, and he has a natural gait. In fact, in the short time I’ve had him, he’s shown several gaits as he moves through the pasture. So far I have identified five separate gaits: walk, flat-foot walk, fox trot, running walk, and a nice canter. He seems to like the fox trot best and slips into the running walk as he gets faster, until he breaks into the canter. I’m pretty excited to start working with him.

This new boy is not yet broke to ride. I was going to start  his training this weekend. I had planned to go to St. George, Utah for a ride with the local Fox Trotter club and some friends, from Thursday through Monday. My plan was to take this new gelding along and start him out by ponying him along behind my mare, Lizzy. I was going to put a pack saddle on his back and get him used to having straps hanging and rubbing all over him.

Howsoever, that plan failed. I couldn’t catch the son of a gun! He would walk right up to me, let me scratch his nose, but as soon as I started moving toward him, off he would go. I worked at it for at least 45 minutes, before giving up and deciding I had to get on the road.

As luck would have it, we got rained out in St. George (I think it only rains about once every two or three years there) and I returned home yesterday afternoon. After letting Lizzy back into the pasture I used some horse treats to make another attempt at getting a halter on the new boy. No such luck…but I found he really likes the treats.

So, last night, as I was sitting in my easy chair contemplating this new horse and the challenges I’m going to have with him – the first being just catching him out of the pasture – I recognized the fact that I’m likely going to expend a number of swear words in his general direction before I get a good handle on him. That somehow turned my mind to one of my all-time favorite historical characters from Mormon lore.

J. Golden Kimball

J. Golden Kimball, son of Heber C. Kimball, was a General Authority (First Quorum of the Seventy) of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (Mormon Church) for more than 45 years during the latter part of the 19th and beginning of the 20th centuries.  He is, even today, one of the most loved and quoted (or misquoted, as the case may be) of all of the General Authorities of the church. In his time he was beloved by both Mormons and non-Mormons alike, for his straight-from-the-heart, unpolished, and unfiltered way of teaching the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Brother Kimball was known for his dedicated service to the Lord and to his fellowman, his deep and abiding love and support for the leaders of the church, his quick wit, and for his more-than-occasional use of foul language in his discourse, both private and public. People would come from miles around to hear him preach from the pulpit.

To this day, stories and quotes attributed to this “Mormon Will Rogers” may be heard anywhere Mormon congregations are found. Most of these stories are of questionable origin, a few have been somewhat substantiated, many have been added to and colorized to suit the occasion, but all are in keeping with the humor and character of the man, and none I have heard detract from his humble and deeply spiritual character.

At the age of 15 years, upon the death of his father, J. Golden Kimball became responsible for the maintenance of his mother and five siblings. He landed a job as a mule skinner. It is to this employment that he credited his colorful and most notable linguistic skills. He asserted that mules don’t understand plain English and that one had to speak their language, which included a wide range of various levels and intensities of foul language, in order to get them to do any work. Brother Kimball, however, later pursued formal education at the Brigham Young Academy (now Brigham Young University) and became a voracious student and reader. He allowed that what most people heard in his everyday speech was but a pitiful remnant of a once very ample vocabulary clearly comprehensible to a mule.

On one occasion, Brother Kimball was guiding several dignitaries around Salt Lake City, showing them the sights of the town and of the industry of the Mormons. As they went along, Brother Kimball heard a number of comments from particular individuals in the group about how long certain buildings had taken the Mormons to build and that such structures could have been built in half the time in their hometowns.

As they approached the Salt Lake Temple (which had been 40 years in the building), one such fellow asked how long it had taken the Mormons to build it. J. Golden turned and glibly replied, “Hell, I don’t know. It wasn’t here yesterday!”

It was also well-known that J. Golden struggled with his love of coffee after his brother-in-law Heber J. Grant, then the Prophet of the Lord, began to encouraged church membership to greater strictness in keeping the Word of Wisdom, which forbids the use of coffee, tea, tobacco and alcohol. Brother Kimball’s wife laid down the law in their home, so Brother Kimball had to get his coffee elsewhere when occasion required.

On one such occasion, it is told, J. Golden Kimball was in a particular cafe, one he often frequented, and was sitting in the back when he was recognized by one of the members of the church. She approached and asked, “Is that you drinking coffee Brother Kimball?”  He quickly responded, “Ma’am, you are the third person today who has mistaken me for that S-O-B!”

On another occasion, during a semi-annual conference of the church, our Brother Kimball was preparing to preach from the pulpit of the Tabernacle in Salt Lake City. After he arose to speak, President Heber J. Grant passed him a note at the pulpit instructing him to refrain from the use of foul language during his discourse. After reading the note, Brother Kimball turned to President Grant and said, referring to the note, “Hell, Heber, I can’t read the damn thing!”

Someone once asked Brother Kimball whether he thought his use of foul language might ever endanger his membership in the church. He responded, “They can’t excommunicate me! I repent too damn fast!”

I think my favorite of all the sayings attributed to J. Golden Kimball, however is this:

“I may not always walk the straight and narrow, but I sure in hell try to cross it as often as I can.”

J. Golden Kimball was killed in a one-car accident in Nevada in 1933, at the age of 85. It has been told that when he reached the Pearly Gates, Saint Peter exclaimed, “Well Brother Golden, we finally got you here!” to which J. Golden Kimball retorted, “Yeah, but by hell, you had to kill me to do it!”

So, it occurs to me that with my new gelding being a dappled golden palomino, and knowing some of the language that might possibly slip from my lips during our get-to-know-each-other period, I might pay humble homage to one of my favorite heroes from LDS history (or maybe mythology) by christening him “J. Golden.”

I think I’ll probably just settle on calling him “J.”

J Golden, my new gelding

Here’s a video of my little herd running in the pasture. J is the one trailing the herd.

P.S.
This evening, with a little teasing and rewarding with a few horsey treats, “J” let me slip the halter up over his nose and buckle it on. I spent a few minutes brushing him and fiddling with him before letting him go again. I thought, “How about that! And not a foul word was needed.” So, we’re on our way. The journey has begun. I’m pretty excited.

Much of the information for this post was taken from an article written for Meridian Magazine in 2007 by Eric A. Eliason. You may find the article here.

Good Stories, Western Trails

Riding Down Memory Lane…or Peak….or Up It….er…

This is one of my favorite photographs of Linda and me. It was taken in 1981 by my dad right on top of the tallest peak in Arizona, Mt. Baldy, at 11,421′ elevation.

Linda and I were dating then. I had invited her to come with me to Springerville, Arizona to meet and visit with my parents. While there, Dad suggested we take a horse ride up the mountain. We loaded up the truck and trailer and off we went. It was a memorable trip and an important part of our courtship, for both of us I think. That trip remains a sweet memory for me.

The first time I went there was also on a horse. That was in 1977 on an 8 or 10-day horse pack trip with my dad and 22 young Boy Scouts we brought along for a pioneering experience. It was on a Sunday and we had a religious service on top of the mountain with those boys, not far from spot you see in this photo.

You can’t ride to the top of Baldy anymore, because it is a sacred place for the White Mountain Apaches and that part of the mountain (the very top) is within the boundaries of the White Mountain Apache Reservation and horse travel has now been prohibited. The last time I tried to ride the lower parts of that trail, in 2009, it had not been maintained and was no longer passable for horses, due to blow-downs.

It’s been nearly 36 years since that photograph was taken. Linda has been my wife for 35 of those years. Life has been good to me.

Though I will likely never go there again, that spot will forever have a very warm place in my heart.

Tony Henrie

Book Reviews, Good Stories

Book Review: The Log of a Cowboy, by Andy Adams

The Log of a Cowboy, by Andy Adams

A week or so ago, I finished my second reading of The Log of a Cowboy, A Narrative of the Old Trail Days, by Andy Adams. I enjoyed it so well, both times, that I thought I’d write a review. Maybe somebody else will be inspired to read and enjoy it like I did.

First off, I will mention that this is a fictional novel. I had to keep reminding myself of that throughout the book, because it feels like an authentic documentary. The author, Andy Adams, indeed lived the life about which he wrote, but the story is, in fact, a novel. Adams undoubtedly brought together a series of events he actually  experienced or had intimate knowledge of and linked them together, creating a fictional story that gives the reader the experience of reading the actual journal of a cowboy on a cattle drive of epic proportions in the year 1882. It is noteworthy that the copyright date on the novel is 1903 (by Andy Adams).

Adam’s story documents the life and times of Tom Quirk (a fictional character), as he leaves home in south Texas and grows to manhood as a cowboy. He tells of his quick transition from the life of a store-keeper’s apprentice to his life on the range as follows: “My mercantile career had ended [after two full days], and forthwith I took to the range as a preacher’s son takes to vice. By the time I was twenty there was no better cowhand in the entire country.”

Quirk is hired by Jim Flood, on the recommendation of one of his older brothers, to help take a herd of over 3,100 cows and steers from Old Mexico to the Blackfoot Indian Reservation in northwest Montana to fulfill a government contract, a full five-month drive.  Quirk takes us along for the ride, from gathering the cattle bought from a rancher in Mexico, with young Quirk acting as interpreter, to delivery of the cattle at their destination in Montana.

They cross dangerous rivers and dry plains, deal with hostile Indians and outlaw herd-cutters. Quirk discusses the fine details about the necessary paperwork each foreman  for a herd needed to prove his authority and pay expenses.  Quirk tells all about his fellow cowboys, their personality characteristics, and in particular, the cowboy humor and pranks they played upon each other. He discusses cattle management and the various styles of different bosses and cowboys. He tells of stampedes and storms, long days and cold nights. While much of this information could seem dull and mundane, it is all told in the language, inflection, and perspective of the cowboy, which kept my attention throughout the story.

For example, the following excerpts relates Quirk’s discovery and disbursement of sixteen turkey eggs, a delicacy for a cowboy on a drive:

“The rest of us had no lack of occupation, as a result of a chance find of mine that morning. Honeyman had stood my guard the night before, and in return, I had got up when he was called to help rustle the horses. We had every horse under hand before the sun peeped over the eastern horizon, and when returning to camp with the remuda, as I rode through a bunch of sumach bush, I found a wild turkey’s nest with sixteen fresh eggs in it. Honeyman rode up, when I dismounted, and putting them in my hat, handed them up to Billy until I could mount, for they were beauties and as precious to us as gold. There was an egg for each man with one left over, and McCann threw a heap of swagger in to the inquiry, “Gentlemen, how will you have your eggs this morning?” just as though it was an everyday affair. They were issued to us fried, and I naturally felt that the odd egg,  by rights, ought to fall to me, but the opposing majority was formidable, – fourteen to one, – so I yielded. A number of ways were suggested to allot the odd egg, but the gambling fever in us being rabid, raffling or playing cards for it seemed to be the proper caper.”

It was decided that a card game would determine who got the extra egg, the chips being dried beans issued equally to each participant. The details of this game and the wild tales told by the participants as they whiled away the night, switching places as each took his turn on night guard or simply ran out of beans, was the setting for an entire humorous chapter.

Later in the drive, a mishap occurred in which the left rear wheel of the chuck wagon hit a rock and was “dished,”  demolishing it beyond repair. Quirk’s description of the temporary repair bespeaks the author’s (Adams) personal knowledge and experience of such occurrences on the trail:

When we reached the scene, McCann had recovered the felloe, but every spoke in the hub was hopelessly ruined. Flood took in the situation at a glance. He ordered the wagon unloaded and the reach lengthened, took the axe, and, with the The Rebel, went back about a mile to a thicket of lodge poles which we had passed higher up the creek. While the rest of us unloaded the wagon, McCann, who was swearing by both note and rhyme, unearthed his saddle from amongst the other plunder and cinched it on his nigh wheeler. We had the wagon unloaded and had reloaded some of the heaviest plunder in the front end of the wagon box, by the time our foreman and Priest returned, dragging from their pommels a thirty-foot pole as perfect as the mast of a yacht. We knocked off all the spokes not already broken at the hub of the ruined wheel, and after jacking up the hind axle, attached the “crutch.” By cutting a half notch in the larger end of the pole, so that it fitted over the front axle, lashing it there securely, and allowing the other end to trail behind on the ground, we devised a support on which the hub of the broken wheel rested, almost at its normal height. There was sufficient spring to the pole to obviate any jolt or jar, while the rearrangement we had effected in distributing the load would relieve it of any serious burden. We took a rope from the coupling pole of the wagon and loosely noosed it over the crutch, which allowed leeway in turning, but prevented the hub from slipping off the support on a short turn to the left. Then we lashed the tire and felloe to the front end of the wagon, and with the loss of but a couple of hours our commissary was again on the move.

All-in-all, the book held my attention and interest throughout the story…during both readings. I found myself smiling and even chuckling out loud as I read certain passages. Adam’s descriptions of dangerous and difficult river crossings, quick sands, and stampedes were so vivid that I could easily imagine myself working alongside Tom Quirk and his companions and hearing their cowboy banter.

While I am a great fan of Louis L’Amour westerns, if you really want to know what life was like on the cattle drive during the heyday of the post-civil war cattle drives from Texas, this is the book you want to read.

Click on the image to link to the book on Amazon.com.

Good Stories, Saddlery, Tack and Gear

A little more progress on the pony saddle…

I got the ground seat finished today and started on the rigging. I’m hoping I’ll get the rigging done and started on decorating the skirts, jockeys, and sweat leathers on Thursday. Not going to have much time tomorrow.

This is an enjoyable learning experience for me. I’m pretty slow at it right now, since I have to study up on each step as I go, just to make sure I’m doing things the right way and in the right sequence. I hope I get a little faster with each saddle. As it is, I still have six more saddles in various stages if disrepair to get done at some point in the future. I’m essentially “cutting my teeth” on this little saddle.

Christmas is sure coming fast. Hope I get it done in time!

Adi's saddle with the ground seat installed
Adi’s saddle with the ground seat installed

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Good Stories, Saddlery, Tack and Gear

Working on Christmas…

I’m pretty excited today.

Adi
Adi

Several months ago I started working on a Christmas gift for my oldest grandchild, Adi. She’s four years old. Last spring she saw a pony and told her mother, “Pop-pop (that’s me) is going to buy that pony for me.” Nobody is sure where that came from, but it sure clicked my switch!

So. Pop-pop figured he’d better get to work! I decided to take the old, worn out pony saddle I learned to ride on and rebuild it for Adi’s Christmas present. Like I said, I started on it several months ago, but didn’t get far. I disassembled it and made a few repairs on the saddle tree. Then a couple months ago I bought the leather for it. Then about a month ago I cut all the parts out of the leather. Well, yesterday I got back to work on it.

The tree had a couple places on the pommel where filler had broken out, so yesterday I repaired the tree with auto body filler. Worked like a charm.

Today, I installed the gullet cover and covered the horn.

For my first saddle, I’m pretty pleased with how the horn came out.

Looking forward to making some more progress next week. I’ll keep you posted.

12/15/2016:  I’ve made a little more progress on Adi’s saddle. I’ve finished the ground seat, installed the pommel cover, and have the stirrup leathers ready to finish.  I’m working on the saddle skirts now and should have them finished by the the week’s end.

Good Stories, Horse Health

One of those special days…

Have you ever had one of those days in which everything just had to work exactly right…and then it did?

I had one of those days today.

This week I had a number of things on my plate that just had to get done this week, because there was no other time to get them done. They were important things. Among them were several work assignments, Cub Scouts Den Meeting, making appointments for vet checks on my horses, brand inspection and hauling papers on the new horse, buying supplies, and working on my truck in preparation or an upcoming trip. By the end of the week I had accomplished all but a few things, but those few things were very critical and my time to get them done was very limited. Things had to work just right.

Dad and I have been planning a trail riding trip to the Moab, Utah area. He and Mom arrived last night after a long drive from Arizona. They are staying at my sister’s home in Lehi, Utah. Before we could go on that trip, I had to do some work on my truck, as wear on some of the steering components had become a safety issue, particularly while towing a trailer. I also had to get the brand inspection done on my new horse, Reno, so we could legally haul him to Moab.

On Friday, I was down to the last few items on my list:

  • Replace steering components on my truck, install a steering box stabilizer kit, install a new track bar, and install a new steering damper
  • Get truck wheels aligned
  • Get Coggins tests and spring shots for horses
  • Get brand inspection done and hauling papers for Reno (the new addition to my herd)

I called Rocky Mountain Vet and asked how soon I could get my four horses in for spring shots, worming, and Coggins test. They had an appointment available Saturday (today) morning at 8:30am. I jumped at that.

I also contacted a local Brand Inspector, who informed me that my Bill of Sale for the horse I bought a couple weeks ago in Heber, Utah, isn’t worth the paper it’s written on. After checking with her supervisor, and finally calling the Deputy Bureau Chief of the Utah Department of Agriculture, they convinced me that in Utah ownership of livestock can only change hands by a valid brand inspection performed by one of their inspectors.  I was informed that I would have to take the horse back to the previous owner and have him prove that he owned the horse, and had the legal right to sell it, to a Utah Brand Inspector, who would then provide documentary proof of that fact and would give me a proper brand inspection and hauling papers for the horse.

I contacted the Brand Inspector for Wasatch County, Lou Stevens, who graciously agreed to meet me and the previous owner on Saturday (today) in Heber to handle the formalities. An appointment was set for 11:00am.

So, I went to work on getting things done. On Friday (yesterday) afternoon I started in on the truck. It was more difficult and time-consuming than I expected, but after a few small prayers and a few magic words, about 4:30pm I headed to Spanish Fork to an alignment shop. I had set the wheel alignment by simple measurement, which is only close, but not accurate enough for more than a short drive to the alignment shop. I made it to the shop just in the nick of time for them to get my truck in.

Alas, after about 30 minutes, after all the other shops were closed, they informed me that their equipment would not work on my truck, due to the custom manual-locking hubs I have installed on the front axle. They recommended another shop. I was able to arrive at that shop as the employees were leaving. They informed me that their equipment wouldn’t work either and recommended another shop, Sid’s Alignment in Springville, Utah. So, I went back home wondering how I was going to make my appointments the next day without ruining the tires on the front of my truck.

So here was the plan for today:

Ask Dad to get up early to make the 40-minute drive from Lehi, so he could help me load up the horses in time to make the 30-minute drive to get to the the vet in Spanish Fork by 8:30am, then find an alignment shop that was open on Saturday that could align the wheels on my truck in time for us to drive the 50-plus miles to Heber to meet the Brand Inspector at 11:00am.

No sweat! Nothing to it!  At least not until you consider that the new horse took me over an hour-and-a-half to load when I bought him, and that I hadn’t had a chance to work with him since. I was going to have to load him up with the other horses, unload him for the vet, load him again for the drive to Heber, unload him there, then load him up again for the trip home. The positive thinker I am, I was thinking that this was going to be a good training day, for the horse and for me! Then there’s the issue of finding an alignment shop that is open on Saturdays and which has an immediate opening to align my truck, so I can make it to Heber by 11am.

I knew there was no room for error and that the stars were going to have to align perfectly for me to get everything done. I also knew that if these things didn’t get done today, our trip next week would be delayed and shortened.

Gonna need help on this one.

Dad never batted an eye when I asked him to be at my horse pasture by about 7:40am to help me load my horses, even though he would have to drive 40 minutes to get there. I figured I would get there about 7:15 and would have the other horses ready, so that we only had to work with the difficult one after Dad arrived.

This morning I headed over to the horse pasture, about five miles from my home, arriving about 7:15. Dad was already well on his way. He arrived shortly after I got there, while I was hooking up the trailer. It didn’t take us long to catch up the horses, even Jimbo, who has returned to his former mustang skittishness and has been hard to catch lately. We decided to load Reno, the new horse, third, so that there would be horses in the trailer before we tried to load him. Surprisingly, he hopped right in after only minimal coaxing. We had all four horses loaded and were rolling toward Spanish Fork by 7:50am.

We arrived at Rocky Mountain Vet at about 8:15am and had the horses unloaded and waiting when they opened shop at 8:30. The only problem we had was that Reno didn’t want to back out of the trailer, so he turned around and nearly got himself stuck in the process. But he squeezed out and all was well. We were done with the vet checks, shots, and Coggins tests by 8:50 and were ready to load back up. Again, Reno loaded with minimal trouble and we had all the horses loaded and were rolling by just a hair after 9:00am.

We located Sid’s Alignment Shop in Springville about 9:15. Turned out they are closed on Saturdays, but Sid, the owner, was there working on a vehicle for one of his kids in his spare time. After talking with him a bit, we set a 7:00am appointment for Monday, the earliest he had available, which meant I was going to have to drive to Heber and back with the wheels set “by eye”. As I was about to drive away, however, Sid came out to me and asked if I had time to wait until he finished his daughter’s vehicle. If so, he would pull it in and do it right then, turned out he had several other appointments he wanted to fit in on Monday, and if he could get mine done now, it would help him. Of course, I responded in the affirmative!

Sid finished the car he was working on and had mine done and out by 10:15am. We are lucky he wanted to do the alignment this morning, because he found a loose caster adjustment bolt, which is likely what was causing all the extra wear and safety issues. He got it properly tightened and my wheels properly aligned, saving my tires for the trip next week. Sid would not allow me to pay him any extra for his extra efforts. Thanks very much, Sid. I’ll be back.

I called ahead to Lou and told him I would be about 15 minutes late for our appointment. He wasn’t worried at all and simply said, “See you there.”

We arrived at the home of the previous owner, Travis and Terra Naffziger, in Heber, Utah about 11:19am. Travis had been able to locate photos of the gelding from when he was a foal alongside his mother, with which proved ownership to Lou’s satisfaction. We headed outside for Lou to do his brand inspection for my ownership and traveling papers. In unloading Reno, he again decided he didn’t want to back out. In turning himself around he got stuck and literally fell out of the trailer. No damage done, but I could see I was going to have to fix this trouble and train him out of that bad and dangerous habit. My trailer just isn’t wide enough for a horse his size to turn around.

We got the inspection done and I got my temporary brand inspection and hauling papers, which will allow me to legally haul Reno to Moab next week. We headed for home a little before noon.

Turned out that Lou Stevens’ high school football coach, a man he highly respects and loves, was one of my dad’s best friends and classmate in high school in Panguitch, Utah, class of 1952.

For all Dad’s help I treated him to lunch at Hub’s Cafe in Heber. While we were there, I was admiring some cowboy artwork by Russel Houston, who likes to paint cowboy golf. Dad informed me that Houston is a nephew to my great grandmother, Mary Dempster Sargent (Houston).

What a small world we live in!

Dad and I arrived back at the pasture in Salem, Utah about 1:45pm.

Then the fun started! It took us nearly an hour to get that silly gelding, Reno, out of the trailer. I refused to allow him to attempt to turn around in the trailer, so it took us that long to coax him to back out. We finally got him to back safely out of the trailer, so we counted it “good” for the day, having won that day’s training battle and made all my appointments. We’ll have to work on Reno’s training issues some other day.

So, today was one of those very satisfying days, in which everything had to happen just right…

And it did.

I think there are days in which the Good Lord looks down on me and smiles. I think it is more likely one of those sideways sort of grimaces that say, “That poor boy needs some help today.” He always comes through when I need Him. He surely did today. Thank you Lord.

Special thanks to:

Dad
Louis Stevens, Wasatch County Brand Inspector, Heber, Utah
Dr. Walburger, Rocky Mountain Large Animal Veterinary Clinic, Spanish Fork, Utah
Sid, Sid’s Alignment Shop, Springville, Utah
Travis Naffziger, previous owner of Reno, Heber, Utah

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Good Stories, Great Western Trail, Tack and Gear, Western Trails

Day Five!

As we left it last week, Dad and I had made camp on a small knoll about two miles west of Texas Canyon Road, Chiricahua National Monument, Arizona, on the fourth night of the first leg of our Mexico-to-Canada horse pack trip.

The fifth day began as all the others did, with us waking up about 5:15am. We rolled out of bed, took care of our morning oblations, fed the horses, and Dad started cooking while I started breaking camp.  As usual, I set my solar panels up to catch as much sun as possible while we packed up for departure, in order to have battery for the cameras and GPS.

We had all the horses loaded up and ready to move by 9:00. As Dad was mounting Jimbo, he lost his balance and fell pretty hard. He shook it off and I held Jimbo while he got in the saddle. Dad got lined out with his pack animals and I went to bridle and mount Ranger. I got up into the saddle and was trying to get Lizzy and “that stupid mare” lined out when I just happened to notice something on the ground underfoot of my horses. On closer inspection, it turned out to be a smart-phone. I jumped off and picked it up, amazed that the horses hadn’t stepped on it. Of course, it was Dad’s phone, which had slipped out of his pocket when he went down. It was lucky I found it, and luckier that it hadn’t been smashed by a horse’s hoof. It was just another lucky break for us…or maybe it was another one of those little helps from above. We had a number of those kinds of things happen for us.

Scenery along Rucker Canyon Road
Scenery along Rucker Canyon Road

We were on the trail by 9:15am. We had a short uphill to climb, but after that we were moving pretty much downhill toward Texas Canyon Road. We hit the road before noon and headed north toward the North Fork of Rucker Canyon, following the dirt road.

Shortly after we hit Texas Canyon Road, we had our first near tragic wreck of the trip.

I had dismounted to open a gate to bypass a cattle guard. Before dismounting, I tied Lizzy’s lead rope to my saddle horn with a clove hitch, so I could lead Ranger through the gate with the pack horses following. This was a metal gate, rather than a barbed wire “gap”, like we normally ran into. I unchained the gate and opened it toward us, rather than away, without thinking. I swung it wide, then led Ranger through. As I led him through the gate, it swung back and caught Lizzy at the shoulder, right in front of her pack saddle, pinching her between the gate and gate post. Ranger, then, feeling the tug behind him, began pulling hard against the pressure. I finally saw what was happening and had started to pull Ranger back, when Lizzy began pulling back as well. Between the two of us pulling, Ranger’s front end came off the ground and he fell sideways to his left, toward the cattle guard. When he fell, his front left foreleg went into the cattle guard to above the knee, with his right front folded under him.

Scrape on Ranger's front left from the cattle guard
Scrape on Ranger’s front left from the cattle guard

I was still pulling back on Ranger’s lead rope, now from directly behind him, while Lizzy, still pinched in the gate, pulled from his left side. I held tight, fearing that if the lead rope, or saddle horn, or cincha, or anything else, were to break, Ranger would lunge forward and end up with all four legs into the cattle guard.

Suddenly, with both Lizzy and me pulling and Ranger struggling, he again started coming over backward, causing his left front leg to pull straight up and out of the cattle guard. Rather than falling over backward, though, he stood up on his hind legs and walked backward, relieving the pressure on Lizzy.

Then, as suddenly as it all started, it was over.

After calming the horses, I checked Ranger over carefully, and found he had scraped some hide off his front left foreleg, but there were no serious injuries. He could easily have broken his leg. Lizzy was uninjured.

Once again, thank you, Lord.

Lesson learned: Always open gates away from you!

Eating Beanie-Weenies with a wooden spoon
Eating Beanie-Weenies with a wooden spoon

Somewhere along the road, we stopped to give the horses a rest and took our lunch. Our usual lunch was beef jerky and a Cliff Bar, but on this day we had Beanie-weenies. With our eating utensils neatly packed away on a pack horse, we took the opportunity to engage in one of our very own Henrie family traditions: we made wooden spoons and ate our beanie-weenies with them. That tradition dates back to my very first mountain trail ride with Dad, while I was in high school. My brother and I were on a hunt trip with Dad in the Blue Wilderness Area in Arizona. We were riding our horses up out of the Blue on the Red Hills Trail (the trail, not the road). When we stopped for lunch, we had a can of Van Camp’s Pork and Beans, but nothing to eat it with. Dad used his pocket knife to open the can, then carved us a wooden spoon. Thus began the tradition. No Henrie can truly say he’s been wilderness camping until he/she has eaten beans with a hand-carved wooden spoon.

We arrived at our day’s destination about 3:00pm, after 13.6 miles, making exactly 50 miles from our starting point five days earlier. We picked out a campsite with plenty of grass and picketed the horses. There was a small corral in which we allowed Jimbo and Honey to graze. We set up our camp and relaxed awhile before our new riding companions arrived.

Camp at North Fork of Rucker Canyon
Camp at North Fork of Rucker Canyon

Josh Jensen and Al Smith arrived just an hour or so later with their mules. They were both pretty excited to be able to participate with us on this part of the ride.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, several months before, during the planning of our route, I advertised that anybody who wanted to ride with us for a portion of the trip was welcome to join us. Joshua answered the call and we began planning out the route through the Chiricahuas together. Lucky for us he and Al came along. Joshua happens to be a member of the US Border Patrol Mounted Patrol for the Safford District. Al Smith is his good friend, whom we invited to join us as well. Between the two of them, they know the trails in the Chiricahuas. Some of those trails have suffered from several major fires in recent years. Many of the trails are impassable, and some have disappeared entirely. Without the help of Joshua and Al, we never would have found our way through those mountains. Joshua was also able to track any USBP activities in the area and steer us clear of any drug trafficking and illegal alien groups passing through the area.

Additionally, with Joshua’s help, we were able to stage horse feed resupply points, without which we would have been helpless, as there was precious little grass in the Arizona desert areas we passed through between the border and Safford. We had left twelve bags of feed at Joshua’s house in Safford before the trip, which made for three feed resupply stops. We fed the last of the feed we had packed from the US/Mexico border that evening and the following morning. Joshua brought eight bags of feed in his truck. The plan was for us to load four bags to get us through the mountains. We would get the remaining four bags when we got to his truck as we emerged from the mountains, where he and Al were to leave us. We would resupply again at his house in Safford when we arrived there, packing out the last of the feed, which would get us into the higher elevations, where we expected to find sufficient grazing for the horses.

Joshua brought us something else that evening. As a “thank you” for us letting him and Al join us for the ride, he cooked up T-bone steaks, potatoes and cheese, and fetuchini, with brownies for desert. All cooked over an open fire (except the brownies), it was fabulous. Much better than the dehydrated meals we had been living on.

My journal for the day makes a couple comments I thought I would provide in their entirety:

[Begin journal comment]

As of today we have made 50 miles exactly.

Dad rode Jimbo today. Jimbo got a little excited a couple times, but Dad rode him out and after that Jimbo did great. He’s a good horse. Strong, sound, not a mean bone in him, and sure-footed. He’s doing better with his skittishness every day.

Ranger
Ranger

Ranger and Lizzy did well today. I sure enjoy Ranger. He and I are really bonding. I enjoy riding Lizzy, but Ranger is starting to act like I’m his herd leader. Even when he gets excited and runs off, he always returns and comes to me. I think he and I are going to enjoy a lot of miles together.

Daisy has a saddle sore coming up. We plan to pony her bareback for the next several days. We’ll leave her pack saddle in Joshua’s trailer and he’ll get it back to us on our rest day, Sunday.

[End journal comment]

Daisy's saddle sore starting
Daisy’s saddle sore starting

That evening, while tending the horses, I noticed that Daisy was developing a saddle sore high on her withers. We decided to let her go bareback for several days to let it heal up before it got worse. Due to the location of the sore, it was at this point that we began to think we were over-padding our pack saddles, which may have been what caused Daisy’s saddle sore. The following day we stopped using the extra saddle pad under my Phillips Formfitter pack saddles and happily discovered that our problems of the packsaddles moving and slipping on the horses ceased completely. After that day I don’t believe we ever had to stop to adjust another pack saddle for the rest of the trip.

Lesson learned: Don’t over-pad the Phillips Formfitter pack saddles. Our 3/4″ wool felt and canvas pack saddle pads was sufficient protection and using only those kept our packsaddles from moving around on the horse’s back.

Here are a couple short videos from Day Five I made on Texas Canyon Road.

Day six coming up next. Stay tuned.