Tag Archives: horse pack trip

Good trails, Western Trails

A Pack Trip into the Blue Range Primitive Area, Arizona…

 

During July, this year (2018), a friend invited me to head into the Wind River mountains for a fishing horse pack trip. As things turned out, however, the fellow who was to guide us to his favorite fishing hotspots was unable to go. So, since my friend lives in Arizona and I needed a chance to visit my parents there, we decided instead to head for the Blue Range Primitive Area in eastern Arizona.

When I was 15 years old, way back in 1974, my father took my younger brother and I on a hunt trip into the Blue Range Primitive Area in eastern Arizona. We had three horses with us. Only Dad was successful in bagging a deer, but all three of us had a successful father and sons experience.

At the end of the hunt, Dad drove our truck and trailer to the top of Red Hill Road and parked it at the upper trailhead for Red Hill Trail. He then hitchhiked back down to us and we rode the horses up Red Hill trail to the top. It was a true old west adventure for Craig and me. We stopped for lunch near the peak of Red Mountain, under a huge juniper tree. We had forgotten to bring any silverware, so we all ate from a can of Van Camp’s Pork-n-Beans with a wooden spoon carved by Dad. That wooden spoon experience on Red Hill Trail started a tradition in my family. It remains one of my fondest memories from my boyhood. All my kids know that story and all have eaten pork-n-beans with a hand-carved wooden spoon.

Since that first trip, the Blue Range Primitive Area has been my favorite part of the whole world. Partly, I guess, because of the memories, but also because of the rugged and interesting terrain. Falling from just under 9,000 feet elevation at Hannagan Meadow to about 5,000 feet on the lower Blue River, the trails of “The Blue” pass through a broad spectrum of terrain and plant life, from Douglas fir and aspen forests to scrub juniper, red cliffs, and desert brush. A wide variety of game and other wildlife make the Blue their home, including the recently re-introduced Mexican Wolf.

So, in light of our current situation, my friend, Sterling Beus, and I decided to take advantage of the opportunity for me to haul my horses down from Utah and take a pack trip that I have wanted to do for many years, while at the same time allowing me to visit my parents in Eagar, Arizona.

I hauled my two horses, Lizzy and J Golden, along with my daughter and son-in-law’s two Tennessee Walkers, Bandit and Trigger, from home in Salem, Utah, down to Eagar, Arizona, on Thursday, August 2, 2018.  My 2005 Dodge Ram 3500 recently received a remanufactured transmission, so this was a good break-in trip for it. The drive was about 10-1/2 hours, but all went well. At my parents’ house, I let all four horses into their corral with my mustang, Jimbo, and Lizzy’s yearling colt, Chief. After some running around and getting rank and file settled, they all settled into a friendly relationship.

Setting up camp at the trailhead

Sterling and his son, Tyler, showed up on Friday afternoon and shortly thereafter we departed for the two-hour drive to the trailhead. In my trailer were the four horses I brought down. We camped at the trailhead at Hannagan Meadow and spent a pleasant evening getting reacquainted and eating some tasty steaks cooked over a fire.

Ready to head out

The following morning, we packed up and headed down the trail. As usual, when beginning a pack trip, it took a few minutes for the horses to settle down and get their minds on the business of gaiting on down the trail. This is one of the times in which I truly appreciate the value of our Tennessee Walkers and Missouri Fox Trotters on the trail. We moved on down the trail averaging about 6-7 miles per hour, while enjoying the smooth running walk (my Fox Trotter, Lizzy, was our pack horse) of the Tennessee Walking Horse. 

Overlook above Paradise Park

We started our descent into The Blue on Foote Creek Trail (#76), following it to P-Bar Lake. Somewhere near P-Bar lake, we encountered a pair of hikers, who were out scouting for elk. They told us Foote Creek Trail was impassable below Paradise Park, which agreed with information I had from other knowledgeable sources. Because of that information, the route we chose was to descend to the Blue River by Grant Creek Trail (#75) from Paradise Park. Just southeast of P-Bar Lake, which is actually nothing more than a small stock pond, Grant Creek Trail separates from Foot Creek Trail. The “Y” is pretty plain, but the trails are not marked. With the aid of our USFS map and a rock cairn locating the trail, we took the trail leading in a southerly direction and were pleased to find further along that it was the right trail.

 We found a couple official trail markers along our route, one marking a shortcut over to Moonshine Park, but we stayed with the trail we were on and descended into Paradise Park. Paradise Park is a small valley which spreads out over maybe 30 or so acres, with large pine trees, grass, and, at times, a few small ponds of water. It would make a very nice camp area for hikers, but the inconsistency of water makes it only a stopping area for horses, where they can graze while resting. This area was touched by the Wallow Fire, but not entirely destroyed. It is recovering well.

Below Paradise Park, the trail is marked, although poorly, by a series of rock cairns. The trail itself is difficult to see in many places, but by keeping a sharp eye out, we were able to locate just enough rock cairns to keep us on the trail.  About a half mile or so below Paradise Park is a turnoff to White Oak Spring. We found the fence and gate in disrepair and the trail marker stuck in the wire on a post, not in its original position, nor accurately pointing the way to the spring. Having been to the spring many years before, I knew the way. The spring lies just over a hill and down into a small gorge. It has been improved by ranchers over the years and currently consists of a capped spring with a plastic pipe running into two water troughs. Canteens can be filled without concern from the pipe and there is plenty of clean, cool water for the horses. There is also a small wire corral and a good patch of grass. This was our lunch stop. We unloaded Lizzy and loosened cinches for a nice rest.

White Oak Spring

From White Oak Spring to the bottom of Grant Creek, the trail was very difficult to stay on. We lost the trail a number of times, reacquiring it only by scouting back and forth until we located some sign of a trail. Sometimes the only indication of a trail was the smooth edge of a tree branch that had been cut off by a saw to clear the trail many years before, or the remnants of a log set in the trail to divert runoff water. In most places the actual trail was no longer visible at all. In this section there were no rock cairns. This area was only minimally affected by the Wallow Fire, but there is so little foot or horse traffic that the trails are simply vanishing. It is important to try to stay as close to the trail as possible, as the terrain becomes quite steep and there are bluffs in places and one can get himself into a jam pretty easily. The trail follows the only safely passable route to descend through the lower part of this area to Grant Creek. A good, reliable and experienced trail horse is a great comfort to the rider here.

Once into the creek bottom, the trail was easier to follow, although it was not an easy trail. Much of the trail has washed out and there has been no trail maintenance in many years. However, due to the close and very vertical terrain, it is pretty easy to determine where the trail has to be. With a little brush-busting and a lot of log crossing, we made our way down the trail.

Heading down into Grant Creek

About 3/4 mile or so from the confluence of Grant Creek with the Blue River, we noticed clouds building north of us and heard the unmistakeable roll of thunder in the mountains. We decided to make camp a little early, so that if we got caught in a monsoon shower, we would be not be unloading packs in the rain. As it turned out, the storm passed north of us and we got no rain at all. Still, it was a nice camp area.

Surprisingly, while the weather was mild, it was very, very humid. July and August are the monsoon season in Arizona. I am an Arizona boy, but I have never experienced such humidity in Arizona before. It reminded me of summers in Virginia. Still, and even more surprisingly, flies and mosquitoes were not a problem. It was nice to have a good flow of water in Grant Creek, in which we could bathe and cool off a little. There was also plenty of grass for the horses. It was a nice camp area.

Camp on Grant Creek

We enjoyed a small camp fire and good conversation that evening. Our meals were dehydrated package meals. They were surprisingly tasty. We got no rain that night, so we stayed dry on the outside. Inside our clothing, however, we sweated. It was so warm that we ended up sleeping on top of our bags most of the night. Luckily, as I said before, mosquitoes were not a problem.

The next morning, we packed up, cleaned up our camp, and headed on down the trail. I decided to give J Golden a try as a pack horse, since I had broken him to the pack way back in June. I rode Lizzy and put Tyler on Bandit. Sterling remained on Trigger. At first, J gave me a little trouble, as he still didn’t like the hard panniers. He kept trying to get up next to Lizzy, which caused the pack to bump her rear, making her more concerned with J than with the trail ahead. After giving J a couple good “whops” on the nose with a loop of lead rope, he began to stay back and Lizzy resumed watching where she put her feet on the trail. It didn’t take long, before all I had to do was raise my hand and J would fall back in line behind Lizzy. He became a pretty good pack horse.

Just a short way down the trail, Tyler came upon the largest Western Diamondback Rattlesnake I have ever seen! It was lying just off the trail, sunning himself. His rattlers were going full blast, but he would not move. I have never been too concerned with rattlesnakes bothering my horses, but Sterling’s Labrador would have been in real danger from this fellow. After we took a handful of photos, Tyler got off the horse and held Missy’s collar while we all walked around this big old snake. Without exaggeration, he had to have been at least a full 4″ in girth and 5′ long, possibly 6′ (we didn’t get close enough to measure). His head was as big as my fist. He was a big ol’ boy!

One BIG rattlesnake!

After getting past Mr. Rattler, we made our way on down to the Blue River and onto Blue Road. Our plan was to follow Blue Road to the Foot Creek Trailhead, where we planned to check out the lower part of Foot Creek Trail (#76) up to Cleveland Spring Trail, then take that over to the Red Hill Trail. However, it seems the trail marker for Foote Creek, that used to be there, is no longer there and we missed it. We had passed it by more than a mile before we realized it, so we just continued on Blue Road to the junction with Red Hill Road.

At Red Hill Road, we took a break and had a late lunch. There is a designated camp ground there, complete with restroom, camp shelters, picnic tables, and even ancient petroglyphs. We stayed outside the campground, though, where the horses could graze on the lush grass on the shores of the Blue River.

After relaxing a while, I started thinking about the trail back to the top and realized we probably would not see any water anywhere on the trail. We were also starting to see large storm clouds gathering around the mountain tops. We decided we were not likely to find a better campsite than right were we were, so we crossed to the south side of the river and set up camp under some trees. The horses were more than happy to continue grazing on the grass that reached nearly up to their knees.

I again learned that I can’t leave Lizzy free at camp, unless at least two other horses are tied. She tends to move a lot while grazing and the other horses follow her around. I had her and Trigger both hobbled, yet, when I looked up to check on them a while later, Lizzy had led all the horses across the Blue River and they were grazing on the other side. I walked over, crossed the river, and walked in among them. I caught up Lizzy and Trigger and removed their hobbles, then decided to try something I have not done in a very long time. I decided to see if Lizzy would allow me to ride her bareback. She had never been ridden bareback, to my knowledge, and I hadn’t tried it in nearly 20 years. I got her up near a small bank and slipped up onto her back, only then realizing I hadn’t tied her lead rope up to make reins. I reached up, leaning on her neck, and tied the tail end of the lead rope onto the halter ring. Then I gave her a leg cue and away we went. Didn’t even need the reins. She calmly took me back across the river and over to camp, with the rest of the herd following. I was quite pleased. We decided to highline the horses, not wanting to chance them wandering off in the night.

A nice camp on the Blue River

This was a very nice camp. We decided to forego a campfire, because we were simply too tired, and just cooked our meal on the single-burner Coleman propane stove I have used for years on my pack trips. After eating our re-hydrated meal, we laid out our beds and relaxed a while before bedding down. While we still suffered from the humidity, a storm front passed through, dropping the temperatures a few degrees. We only received a few drops of rain, however, but the thunder rolled around the mountain tops most of the evening and the lightning gave us a very nice light show as evening drew on. Again, mosquitos were not a problem. It was very pleasant. 

The next morning, we packed up and started up Red Hill Road to Tut Creek Trail. The trailhead is about a quarter-mile west of Red Hill road about a half-mile above Blue Road. There is a decent dirt road to the trailhead, where there is a sufficient parking area for several large rigs. There are several metal corrals, as well. No restrooms, though.

 

J leading the way

We packed J again, he having proved himself a pretty good pack horse the day before. He had learned and performed his job so well, in fact, that I tied his lead rope up on his pack and let him go. Interestingly, whereas J doesn’t

J checking out the corrals at Tut Creek Trailhead

normally care much for leading the group and generally does a lot of looking around to make sure everyone is following, with his pack in place, he just took off down the trail. I think he was happy following Missy, the Labrador. When we came up to the Tut Creek Trailhead parking area, he took off on his own and decided to go check out the corrals. I enjoyed his new-found confidence as a pack horse.

About a quarter-mile down Tut Creek Trail from the trailhead,  we came into the creek bottom, where we found the trail marker indicating Red Hill Trail heading north, while Tut Creek Trail continued west. We headed up Red Hill Trail, following the creek bottom and watching for rock cairns marking the trail, as the trail was seldom clearly visible. There was no water in the creek bottom.

Ascending up out of the creek bottom

About a mile-and-a-quarter up the creek bed, we were lucky enough to notice three rock cairns in a row about 25 or so feet apart, which, when lined up, pointed off to the west side of the trail. This is the point at which the trail leaves the creek bottom and starts up the mountain. The trail, at this point, looks like a game trail, rather than a designated foot trail. There has been little traffic and no maintenance on it in a very long time. This trail ascends the mountainside along a ridge at the rate of about 1000′ in about a 1/2 mile. I’m her to tell you it was a tough climb for the horses.

About 3/4 of the way up this hill, there is a quick jog in the trail, where it turns around the corner of a fenceline. There is a rock cairn there that marks the switchback, but it is easy to miss and apparently it has been missed before, because the trail goes on past the switchback and ends up, who knows where? We were lucky enough to spot the rock cairn. We checked the map and it also showed a quick jog at that point, which confirmed to us that the switchback was correct. From that point, the trail heads up the sidehill toward a saddle. This trail was extremely rocky and steep. This is not a trail for a beginner. It was hard work for our horses, which are seasoned trail horses. We stopped several times to let them take a breather.

As we crossed the summit in the saddle, we completely lost the trail. We dismounted and spent nearly half an hour searching for the trail. We kept coming back to an old, barely visible blaze in an oak tree, right where the trail crossed the summit. Finally, we decided to continue following what we believed was the trail, which now descended into a valley on the opposite side of the mountain. We crossed a number of downed logs in an area that was somewhat affected by the fire and, picking our way along carefully, near the bottom discovered an old blaze on a standing Ponderosa Pine. From there, we followed the only logical route for the trail, which lead up a ravine heading northwest, finding the occasional old blaze to assure us we were still on the trail.

Now, I should clearly state here that these blazes were long healed over and only visible if you knew what you were looking for. We looked for a scar on a tree that had a matching scar on the other side. They did not look like blazes, only healed scars on the trees. If there was a matching scar on the other side of the tree, it was likely a blaze. We were lucky to find enough of them on trees that had not been burned down, that by also consulting the map we were able to find our way up the trail.

Throughout the ascent on Red Hill Trail, we were treated to spectacular views. With the recent rains in the area, the air was crystal clear and visibility was well over 50 miles.

About halfway up the trail, it crosses Red Mountain. Where it crosses near the peak, there is a broad open area with several huge Juniper trees on it. That is where, when I was 15 years old, my younger brother, Dad, and I stopped for lunch and ate a can of Van Camp’s Pork-n-Beans with a hand-carved wooden spoon, under the shade of one of those ancient Juniper trees. Sterling, Tyler, and I stopped under that very tree and had our lunch. I’m sorry I didn’t have a can of beans to celebrate my “homecoming.” It was for me a pleasant thing to return to that spot and recall fond memories from nearly 45 years before. That was one of the highlights of the trip for me.

(I got some video of the big old juniper tree on my GoPro. I’ll try to extract a photo from it and insert it later)

After lunch and a much needed rest for the horses, we continued on up the mountain. Again, the trail was difficult to stay on and we lost it a time or two, but within about a mile we again began to see the occasional rock cairn. While the ascent was still quite steep and was tough on the horses, it was much less precarious and difficult than the section of trail we had just completed. We were now back up into the Ponderosa Pines and tall grasses. The air was also drier and cooler. We had ascended nearly four thousand feet above the Blue River in a very short distance, as the crow flies.

By this time, we could tell the horses were thirsty. At one point they wanted to leave the trail and head off down a deep gorge. We can only assume they smelled water in that direction.  Once over the last summit, we descended into the valley in which Red Hill Road is located. As we descended, we came through an area where there were many blowdowns. We crossed log after log in that last half mile before the trailhead.

The upper Red Hill Trailhead

We reached the upper Red Hill Trailhead about mid-afternoon. The horses hadn’t seen a drop of water since we left the Blue River that morning and they had had a very tough day. In all, our trip was about 30 miles in three days.

At the trailhead, we unsaddled Trigger and J and rode the quarter-mile or so to Red Hill road. We found a small water hole a little ways east of the trailhead road, where we watered the horses. After they all had their fill, we headed back to the trailhead, where we had previously staged a pickup. We left Tyler with the horses, while Sterling and I went to retrieve my truck and trailer from the trailhead at Hannagan Meadow. 

Water, at last!

After loading up, we headed home, stopping in Alpine to celebrate our successful pack trip with a nice dinner at the only decent cafe in town. Sorry, but I can’t recall the name of the place. Food was good, though.

 

 

I love the Blue Range Primitive Area. It remains my favorite part of the whole wide world. I can never get enough of riding my horse through that country. There is no end to the interest it holds for me. I have, at various times in the past, seen elk, both whitetail and mule deer, desert bighorn sheep, pronghorn antelope, black bear, and even a wolf in that area. I took the largest mule deer I have ever harvested down near the lower trailhead of Red Hill Trail, many years ago. I absolutely love that area and have many good memories attached to it. It’s too bad I live so far away. It was a real pleasure and a choice opportunity for me to head down into that country with good friends and good horses for an excellent three-day pack trip.

Here’s the Ramblr link for map, stats, and route:  

https://www.ramblr.com/web/mymap/trip/303226/1158047/

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

Great Western Trail

After a lot of thinking…

I took a trip home last week to visit my parents. I haven’t been down to their place in Arizona for a while. Dad got bucked off his horse several weeks ago and got a little beat up, so I figured I’d better get on down there and check on him. He’s convalescing well and I’m sure he’ll be back to himself in not too long.

Anyway, during my drive home I decided to take the “scenic” route and take a look at some of the country Dad and I would have traveled through, if we had been able to finish last year’s pack trip. Those of you who follow my blog will remember that we had to cut our trip short last year, due to the drought. There wasn’t a drop of water between Flagstaff and the Utah border last summer and there were wildfires all around. It was a bad year for a long-distance horse pack trip.

After we ended last year’s trip, Dad told me it was unlikely he’d be able to continue with me. Dad’s nearly 83 now, so I knew it was coming. Still, the desire to complete the full distance, from the US/Mexico border to the Canadian border, is still with me. I brought up the idea last fall of making the legs of the trip shorter, so that I don’t have to take so much time off work all at once. I wondered if Dad thought he might go on some of the shorter legs, if we kept them down to a week or two. He seemed to like that idea as well as I do. So, that’s what I think I’ll be planning to cover the rest of the distance…another 2,500 miles. It will take several more years.

However, during my drive home, after a lot of thinking about it, I decided not to continue the trip this year. I will push the next leg, from Flagstaff to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, off until next spring. There is just too much going on this year. My main horse, Lizzy, is in foal, due about September. I’ll need to start taking it easy on her before long. My new horse, J, isn’t even broke to ride yet. Since Dad got rid of his bucker and sold the mule, Honey, I’ll need another horse to bring us up to snuff. That all adds up to a rush job to get ready for this year. I have all the gear, and even the food stuffs, but the horses aren’t ready.

Things have been picking up at work this spring, as well. I could use the extra income to help pay back money I borrowed from savings for the trip. Additionally, I still need to finish the pony saddle I’m making for one of my grandkids. I have several other saddlery projects I need to get done after that. In fact, I have a number of other projects I need to get done.

Not only that, but my second daughter will be having twins this fall, right about the time my extended family will be having our family reunion in Arizona. Some time this year, my wife and I hope to be able to take a trip to celebrate our 35th wedding anniversary (which happens to be March 20).

I think, for this year at least, wisdom dictates that I try to get some of these other things taken care of before I head back out on my Mexico-to-Canada pack trip. The extra preparation time can’t hurt either. By the time next April rolls around, I should have my horses all squared away and in shape, Lizzy’s foal should be weaned, and Dad and I should have ourselves in better shape. I may even have myself a new saddle – one of my own making.

So, after a lot of thinking…that’s the plan going forward.

Great Western Trail, Western Trails

A few photos from the pack trip from Eagar, AZ to Flagstaff this year…

I recently found an old email from Nancy Hood, one of the many people Dad and I encountered on our pack trip last summer, who so generously helped us out time and again with fresh drinking water and good conversation. Nancy had a photograph of Dad and me that she took. She emailed it to me just a couple days ago. Made me think I should post some of the photos from the trip.

I still need to make a post or two to document the last two weeks of the trip for my followers. Time has been at a premium for me lately and I just haven’t been able to get the time and energy together at the same time.

These photos are roughly in order from our departure at Eagar, AZ to the end of our trail at Flagstaff, AZ. Many of these photos were taken on the Arizona Trail.

Enjoy the photos, and much thanks again to all those who so generously contributed to our successful ride.

Great Western Trail, Western Trails

Day 19, Double C Ranch to Clifton

Day 19 for us was a difficult one for us. On this day we came very close to having to put a horse down.

We made camp the night before at a waterhole near the Double C Ranch, in the Black Hills, between Clifton and Safford, Arizona. This area is extremely rough terrain, not so much in the form of canyons and mountains, but in the form of volcanic rock for ground cover. We were lucky to have been able to follow a power line service road through the mountain behind us, because cross country travel would have been nearly impossible on horses. In fact, we had to leave the road once, as we made our way to a cattle watering trough and found it to be extremely slow and careful going. Had we not re-shod the horses the day before, we would have been in real trouble.

On the Black Hills Scenic Byway
On the Black Hills Scenic Byway

On Day 19, however, we were on a dirt road, the old Clifton Highway, now known as the Black Hills Scenic Byway. It is a well-maintained road with little traffic, but it winds up and down and round and round through the Black Hills and seems to go on forever. We found several stock watering tanks, however, so that was nice. We had to watch those, though, because several of them were infested with bees. I’m pretty sure Ranger got a sting on the nose while drinking at one, because he has been scared of metal troughs ever since.

Several miles up the road, a fellow stopped to talk. He was Rocky Menuz, who owns the Double C Ranch. We had elected not to ride up to his ranch the night before, not wanting to bother anyone. It seems some of the ranchers are leery of strange horses, because of communicable equine diseases. Rocky, however, was disappointed we hadn’t called on him. He is a former municipal judge in Clifton. He was raised in the area, his father having founded the ranch many years ago. He knows everybody. What a nice man. He invited us to come back and visit him. He also told us where we would find water along our route.

Grazing in the Gila Box
Grazing in the Gila Box

We finally descended out of the east side of the mountains in the early afternoon. As we reached the valley floor, the terrain softened and we found a very nice grass pasture. We took a lunch break and let the horses graze for an hour or so. It was a nice rest for all of us.

A few hundred feet farther along, we entered the Gila Box Conservation Area. We continued on down the road and came to a ranch a short distance from the Gila River. We met Mr. Menges, who owns the ranch. He gave us some directions for our passage across Highway 191 and on up into the mountains east of Clifton. Turns out there just wasn’t any way to cross that area by trails. We were going to be following dirt roads until we got up into the mountains again. As it was getting late in the day, we asked about water and places to camp on up the road a few miles. He gave us directions to one of his stock tanks a few miles farther up and gave us permission to camp there. He said there was a large covered water tank there, with an access hole on one side, through which we would be able to get clean water for our canteens.  We thanked him and headed on down the road.

Another mile along, we came to a cattle guard on the road where the road was cut out of a sidehill. The stock gate was on the downhill side, where the sidehill had been washed out by the water running through the cattle guard. It was Dad’s turn to get the gate, so he dismounted and led “that stupid mare”, Daisy, through, with his gelding, Black, and the mule, Honey, following. They made it through with no trouble, after a short scramble back up to the road. As I came through, leading Ranger and Jimbo, however, Ranger’s right side pack hit the gatepost, causing him to stumble and nearly go down in the washout. He scrambled back up, but he had Jimbo pigtailed to his pack. About the time he started scrambling, Jimbo’s pack also hit the gatepost and down he went with Ranger tugging on his lead. Jimbo scrambled back to his feet and made it back up to the road, but his pack saddle was listing a bit to the left and his saddle pad was sliding out the back.

About 50 yards down the road we stopped to re-settle Jimbo’s pack. With nothing to tie to, I just dropped the leads of Lizzy and Ranger and went back to work on Jimbo. Dad dismounted from Daisy and tied her to a nearby road sign, with Black and Honey tied to her. Dad and I dropped the packs from Jimbo’s pack saddle and had just started to work on his pack saddle, when all hell broke loose.

That stupid mare, Daisy, trying to grab some grass, tugged on her lead, which was tied to the road sign. That caused the road sign to rock back and forth. Daisy must have thought that sign was about to get her, because she pulled back, pulling the sign right out of the ground! When that happened, Jimbo spooked and started to run down the road away from the ruckus, taking Lizzy and Ranger with him. Meanwhile, that stupid mare was backing right toward the steep sidehill, dragging Black and Honey with him.

I let my horses go and started after Daisy. I tried to calm her as I chased her, but the faster I ran, the faster she backed away. Keep in mind that she was dragging the road sign along in front of her as she backed down the road and it was banging her front legs, with two scared pack animals in tow. Once she realized she was about to back off a near cliff, she corrected and started to back straight down the road…right toward the cattle guard. It didn’t take me long to realize I wasn’t going to catch up with her before the three horses hit the cattle guard.

At that point I did the only thing I could do. I dropped into a crouch and prayed, “Oh Lord, please help us!”

I watched in horror as Daisy backed Black and Honey right out onto the cattle guard. I was amazed to see that both Black and Honey were actually standing on the cattle guard and hadn’t fallen through. Daisy had backed one rear hoof onto the cattle guard, and it went through, so she pulled it back out and stopped. I caught her then, grabbing her lead rope and pulling her forward to allow Black and Honey to move off the cattle guard.

I was able to get her to move forward just a step or two, which allowed Black to move forward. He took one step and his front right went through. He jerked it up, but his right rear slipped through the cattle guard. By this time he had both fronts on solid ground. He jerked his right rear up and out and immediately his left rear slipped through the last rail. He lunged forward and fell. He just laid there. I was absolutely certain he had broken his leg.

By that time, Dad caught up with us. I told him, while I worked to untie the sign from Daisy’s lead rope, that I was afraid Black had broken his leg and we would have to put him down. Suddenly, Black lunged to his feet, standing on all fours. He came up with his head under the hind quarters of Daisy, with his lead rope all wrapped around her, nearly lifting her off the ground. We scrambled to free the lead ropes and get the dang road sign out of the way, and were able to allow Black to slip out from under Daisy.

All three were shaken and upset, but it appeared there were no serious injuries. What a relief. We carefully inspected all three animals and found that Daisy had a scrape on her leg and a cut on the back of her left rear hoof, where she had jerked her hoof out of the cattle guard. Black had similar scrapes and cuts on both his rear hooves, but none of these were serious enough for concern. Black, however, was favoring his left rear and it appeared he had twisted his fetlock joint. It immediately started to swell, but he could walk on it.

Meanwhile, in all this confusion, Honey, simply tiptoed off the cattle guard with no problem at all.  She had not a scratch on her. That’s a mule for you.

We got Daisy and Black settled down and checked over, then turned out attention to the other three horses that had run off down the road.  There they were, standing in the road about 200 yards away, all three side-by-side, heads up, ears perked, looking at us like they were very concerned about their traveling mates. They let me walk right up to them. While Dad led his horses, I gathered mine up and we got off on to a side road, where we could work on Jimbo’s pack saddle and get him loaded back up without blocking the main road.

Dad and I were both physically drained as the adrenalin eased off. We were tired and shaky after the event, and very grateful for our good fortune in what might have been a true disaster. Prayers of thanks were offered. After re-packing Jimbo, we mounted up and continued on our way. Black’s rear fetlock swelled, but seemed to go down and become less painful as we went along. He did not limp or favor it, so we felt confident in continuing. We gave him some of Daisy’s bute that evening in his feed (another providential blessing that traced back to our friendly lost dogs back on the Gila River).

We passed two nice camp grounds right on the Gila River, but horses were prohibited in both.

About another half mile, we came to another cattle guard. This one had no stock gate at all! It was unbelievable to us that in cattle country the state would make a cattle guard with no way to get livestock around it at all! So, we did what any self-respecting horse packers would do. We headed back into the nearby campground and found our way up a wash behind it, to that same fence line, and we lowered the fence. After crossing all the horses, we re-attached the fence and left it as good as before. In order to get back to the road, however, we had to climb some bluffs that were steep, but not too high. Once back on the road, we went about another three miles and located the stock tank Mr. Menges had directed us to. It was a fine sight for us after a hard day.

We watered our horses at the trough, then looked around us. There was absolutely nothing growing in the area but greasewood bushes. Nothing to tie our horses to for the night. We ended up tying a loose bowline around the bases of several greasewoods, tethering the horses by their front left pastern. It took a little getting used to for them, but after a few slight tangles and tugs they figured it out. Ranger gave us a humorous moment. While he was looking for grass, he turned around several times, effectively hog tying himself with his stake rope. Then he simply tipped over. No big fuss or struggle, just tipped over. Dad got over to him and untangled him before he got upset. All the animals were fine the rest of the night. We fed them a good helping of Equidyne in their nosebags.

Phelps-Dodge mine at night
Phelps-Dodge mine at night

By this time it was dark. We enjoyed the view of the Phelps-Dodge mine at night, with all its lights.  What a marvel of engineering that place is. There were plenty of stars overhead as well. It was a peaceful evening.

Dad and I ate our usual re-hydrated corn chowder and hit the sack. The excitement of the near-disaster had completely drained us and we slept soundly. We made 16.8 miles that day.

 

Great Western Trail, Horse Health, Western Trails

Days 16-18 – Camp at the Gila River

At the end of my last post, Dad and I had arrived at the Gila River, just a bit north of the small town of San Jose, Arizona. We arrived on a Saturday evening, after having made nearly 20 miles on a late start that day. Poor Clancy was very foot-sore, so I had carried him on my saddle much of the day. We arrived at the river, at a place called Diversion Dam, which, as the name indicates, was near an irrigation diversion dam. We crossed the river, very shallow at that point, and made camp in a small sandy area on the north side of the river.

It was becoming pretty obvious, by the gathering clouds, that we were going to get rain that evening, so after unsaddling and unpacking the horses, and caring for them, Dad and I stacked our gear and covered it in preparation for the moisture.  We then had our dinner of re-hydrated corn chowder. After dinner we selected a decent  sleeping area, laid out our bedding, and covered it with a plastic tarp.

Camp on the Gila River

Now, that plastic tarp had been pretty ill-used, having been the cover over the pack of our mustang, Jimbo, who had gotten it hooked up in a barbed wire fence early in our trip. Still, it was better than nothing. By the time we got our bedding prepared, it was after dark and we were both absolutely exhausted. With Clancy already asleep between our sleeping bags, Dad and I pulled our cover canvas up over our heads and passed out.

About 3:30am, I awoke with water dripping directly onto my face. It was raining, a nice light, steady rain. I crawled out of my sleeping bag in my skivies and tugged and pulled and tightened lines, and finally was able to redirect all the drips so that they fell on our bedding where it would run off without soaking us. I was cold and wet and by the time I slid back into my bag, I was shivering. As I got back in bed, however, out of the corner of my eye I saw something dash by the foot of our bed. I looked, thinking Clancy had gotten up with me. I growled at him to get in out of the rain. When I did, something next to me moved and Clancy poked his sleepy head up out of his place between our sleeping bags, where he was snug and warm.

Two extra dogs for the night
Two extra dogs for the night

Whatever I had seen, it wasn’t Clancy. I was worried that maybe a coyote or bobcat had invaded our camp, so I got out my flashlight to look. As I strained to see into the dark, something licked me on the back of my neck! Startled, I turned to find two wet and cold dogs wagging their tails at me and trying to lick my face. They were both soaked to the skin and shivering. Rather than waste time trying to run them off (I didn’t have the heart to do that) I simply told them to come on under the tarp and lay down on the canvas between Dad and Me. Clancy simply wagged his tail and tucked his head back under the tarp. The two dogs laid down comfortably and went right to sleep. They were still there when we awoke at sunrise on Sunday morning.

When I got up I noticed both dogs had collars and tags. I took a look and found the telephone number of the veterinarian out of Thatcher, only about 20 miles away. I had sufficient cell phone coverage, so I called. Of course, being a Sunday, they weren’t open, so I left a telephone message that we had found the dogs and a description of where we were camped. She called me later that day, told me she had gotten the message and had passed the information on to the owner. She said the owner would pick the dogs up later in the day. About 3pm or so, a lady did, in fact drive down to the river and picked up the dogs. She told me she owns a nearby ranch and that the dogs, who belonged to her late mother, would occasionally take off on a little walkabout and be gone for a few days. She appreciated us taking care of them for the day.

That afternoon, Al Smith, who guided us through the Chiricahuas, showed up at camp with an apple pie and some soda pops. We passed an enjoyable hour or so just talking, and that apple pie sure hit the spot!  Later in the afternoon, a couple dropped by, having seen our horses, to meet us and see what we were about. They were Josh and Melissa Patton. Turns out we were in Josh’s regular horse camp, so he was just checking us out. They ended up very generously bringing us a bale of wheat hay for the horses. It was a welcome supplement to the horse’s diet. They certainly enjoyed it.

That evening, as I was feeding the horses, I noticed that Daisy was acting sore. I checked her over and discovered she had a very swollen udder. It appeared to be lactating a bit as well. Though she had not recently foaled, her udder looked as if she had mastitis. I told Dad we had a problem. As we checked her and discussed the possibilities, it suddenly occurred to me that I had the veterinarian’s telephone number still in my iphone, thanks to the two lost dogs that visited us for the previous night!

The following morning, Monday, I put in a call for the vet, which she returned shortly thereafter. I told her our problem with the mare. She was out to see us at our camp by 9:45am. Her diagnosis was that Daisy had likely been poked in the udder by a mesquite thorn, which had caused the infection. The actual puncture wound was right on the nipple. The vet was able to drain quite a lot of the infection, relieving much of Daisy’s discomfort. She provided us with antibiotic for the infection and bute for the pain. She gave us instructions for medication and told us Daisy should be fine to continue. What a relief.

Al Smith stopped by again, so with his help we got the horses saddled and packed and were ready to make tracks by about 11:30am. Our original plan had been to follow the Gila River, however, after talking to Al, the Pattons,  and checking with the local BLM office, we were convinced that following the Gila was a bad idea. Much of the Gila River in that area flows through the Gila Box National Conservation Area. In recent years the Bureau of Land Management has removed cattle from the area, which has had a very detrimental effect on the trails. There are no more trails through the area along the river, so we would be fighting our way through brush, quicksand, and deep areas of the river with no marked trails to show us safe routes of passage. The quicksand in the Gila is a real danger, not just a bit of mud. We were told of a hunter who lost several mules recently, when they were stuck in quicksand and could not be extricated before they drowned.

The route we decided upon led across the Black Hills, which lie between Safford and Clifton, south of the Gila River. My DeLorme Explorer iphone application, Earthmate, which provides topographical maps on my iphone, showed a jeep trail that took off from a dirt road not far from our location, which led in the general direction we needed to travel, and eventually joined with the old Clifton highway, now the Black Hills byway. We headed that direction, generally following the guidance of my GPS and the topographical map. We wandered around for a couple hours looking for that jeep trail before we were convinced that our topo map was wrong. According to the map and my GPS, we were standing exactly on the road…but there was no road to be seen anywhere and we were in the middle of some very rough and difficult terrain, with prickly pear and volcanic rock everywhere.

From the location where the road should have been, we could see a power line heading over the mountains toward Clifton. We decided we would follow the power line service road, knowing it would be a rough and steep road, but would eventually get us where we needed to go. Experience also told us that any fences we might encounter would likely have unlocked gates or gaps on the service road. Ranchers also tend to use them for access to the back country, so we hoped we would be able to find cattle water troughs every few miles within striking distance of the service road. That turned out to be the case, once we got underway.

As we headed in that direction, though, I started hearing a “clink-clink” sound from Ranger’s right rear hoof. When I got off and lifted his hoof, I was quite surprised to find we had worn out the shoe and it was literally falling off his hoof! The shoe itself was no thicker than a nickel and the nail heads were completely worn off. The shoe had not been pulled of, but was simply falling off. A quick check of the other horses told us we were in trouble. I tacked Ranger’s shoe back in place and we headed back to our camp on the Gila. We traveled about five miles that day and ended right back where we started.

On the way back, seeing I had cell phone signal, I called Al Smith and asked if he might be able to assist us again. He showed up at camp shortly after we arrived and drove me into town to buy some horse shoes and nails. While we were in town, I had Al stop by the local Sonic Drive-in and I bought us all hamburgers and Cherry Limeades (I don’t ever remember a better tasting hamburger!). We spent that evening pulling shoes and cleaning up hooves, but we ran out of daylight and energy before we finished.  We completed the shoeing job the following morning. Al came back out to lend a hand and we had all the horses re-shod and ready to hit the trail just before noon.

I did the shoeing on Lizzy and Ranger. While I have been trimming my horse’s hooves for about ten years, this was my first experience of actually shoeing a horse. With Dad and Al coaching me, I did a fair job. I am proud to say that neither horse became sore or lost a shoe the rest of the trip, more than 170 miles through some of the roughest terrain on earth. I learned a lot…among other things, that I’m glad I don’t do that for a living. It’s hard work!

At camp on the Gila River
At camp on the Gila River

Our stay in the Safford area was supposed to have taken two days, Saturday and Sunday. Due to some unplanned delays and problems, we ended up staying four days. However, looking back at it, everything that happened there was providential. There is not one thing that could have happened differently without creating a potential disaster for our trip. We were able to order new water filters which were overnight expressed to us from Montana on Friday night. On Saturday night, we had two wet and cold lost dogs join us for the night.  They provided us with the phone number for the local veterinarian, who was able to come to our camp to provide the necessary care for the mare with the infected udder. Then, our little misadventure with the missing road allowed us to discover that our horses needed to be re-shod before we got out into the middle of the lava rock of the Black Hills, which likely would have lamed horses and put us afoot. The four day delay also allowed Clancy’s feet to heal up and gave us and the horses some much needed rest.  We were very well blessed by the Good Lord that all those things happened right there near Safford, where we had all the help we needed. Those things could not have happened in any other way that would have allowed us to continue our adventure without serious problems.

Thank you Lord.

That day, Tuesday, Day 18, we made only 11.6 miles, having shod five horses (the mule was shod the previous Saturday), started late, and having passed through some steep and extremely rough terrain. We camped that evening at a water hole not far from the Double C Ranch in the middle of the Black Hills, south of the northern end of the Gila Box. It was the first decent campsite we had seen all day, so we called it quits a little early. We made ourselves a small campfire and enjoyed a restful evening.