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.

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.

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.

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.

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.