week 7: Elkhorn, music, and the shop

The wranglers from the south have finally quit complaining about the cold weather. Either they’ve grown accustomed to it or the 80 degree days are finally warm enough for their blood. The Cottonwood trees have let loose a flurry of white seeds that now edge the lawns. Despite the warmer weather, hauling wood is still a constant chore as people accustomed to electric and gas heat take advantage of the ample wood supply to heat their cabins to unnecessarily warm temperatures all in the name of having a fire for the sake of having a fire.

With 20 minutes notice one morning, I was made aware that I would be leading a hike up Elkhorn, the tallest and most prominent peak near the ranch at 10,600 feet. This was pleasant news considering my original assignment was to mow and trim the lawn that day. In a frantic rush I changed my clothes, grabbed the necessary water bottles and first aide gear, packed a lunch, and studied the map. For the second time in one week I would be guiding a hike I had never actually done.

Five others and myself set out at nine in the morning for the four hour ascent. Originally following horse trails, we wove our way up the lower valleys. After passing through a couple of distinct meadows, we crossed some snowmelt and climbed our way up a ravine. Over rocks and tufts of grass we switch backed our way to the peak on game trails in time for a late lunch. A hiker from Switzerland beat us all to the top. We paused for pictures and a picnic lunch before the four hour descent.

The view from the top gave us a panorama of snow capped mountains, green meadows, pine forests, and not a hint of human development. Indeed, it is a relief to know there are still a few such places that exist. Despite a few minor diversions from the intended route, we made it up and back safely. Our exhausted legs at day’s end left us puzzled at how we ever motivated ourselves to undertake such a strenuous hike.

Each week the ranch hosts a singer/songwriter from Wyoming named Bryan Ragsdale. With a recent record deal, a hectic tour schedule, and a single released in May, he is slowly making a name for himself. Each week we get to hear his cowboy music in the tradition of Chris Ledoux and John Denver. His top 100 song is entitled Modern Day Mountain Man. In summary, it describes exactly that; the modern day mountain men who travel west. These days, however, he points out they carry cameras and come seeking pictures of unique wildlife. In good humor it pokes fun at the tourists and dudes who come to hear him play each week. Listen carefully and perhaps you’ll catch it on the radio this summer or fall.

If anything has made me nervous during this new experience, it was an evening of playing music with Bryan around our staff campfire. With fiddle in hand I attempted to add some music to his guitar and vocals. He played the usual favorites by Brooks and Ledoux, before picking a unique edition of Piano Man and Somewhere Over the Rainbow. Despite the occasional wrong notes, I was invited to bring the instrument back next time.

The ranch machine shop has become my safe haven these days. With 36 guests last week and 30 this week plus 17 staff members its difficult to find a quiet place to relax. As the summer continues on and we enter our fifth week of guests, any moment of quiet and solitude is cherished. I’ve found the doorstep an inviting seat when accompanied by a beverage from the shop fridge.

Never one with much mechanical aptitude, I am quickly learning the ropes and feel at home behind the work bench. One of my first chores at the ranch was to clean up the shop one rainy afternoon. I took it a step further and organized the entire place. Since then the shop has been my domain. People ask me when they are in search of a tool and send apologies my way for any mess created. It is a small source of power but one I hold on to in a place where the ranch hand is pretty low on the hierarchy.

Last week I learned the difference between the transmission fluid pan and the oil pan. Apparently on certain vehicles they look similar. Instructed to change the oil on the Ford F250, I slide underneath with a bucket and wrench. A few twists and a steady stream of liquid began filling the bucket as I pondered the viscosity of the red fluid. With the gut feeling it was not the oil pan, I searched for a better alterative. But before I discovered the hidden target a few quarts of tranny fluid had drained. Oh well. It needed to be changed anyway, I reasoned. A coworker confirmed my confusion as he had a difficult time finding the oil pan himself. I drive a GM, not a Ford, so for now that’s my excuse for the folly mistake.

Our shop includes a refrigerator, table, and chairs. Two snowmobiles and a couple of dirt bikes clutter one corner. An air tank, welder, and acetylene torch fill another. We have most any power tool imaginable, a table saw, ban saw, and bench grinder. A full shelf of paint that ought to be thrown out and cubby holes full of bolts without the appropriate size nuts. It’s an enviable work space although it could use a few improvements, such as a couch for those desperately needed afternoon naps and after work socializing.

Happy Trails

week 6: hiking and history

This week I left the horse unsaddled, the cowboy boots in my wagon and pulled out my hiking shoes. The limestone cliffs that characterize the local topography host a few caves, dubbed by locals as the Indian caves. Each week we host a hike to these caves where children are given a chance to explore. In addition to the kids, an older gentleman from Massachusetts came with. The trail followed the creek and eventually ascended a steep talus slope. As we bushwhacked and switch backed our way up this hillside I could tell he was beginning to tire and his footing become unsure.

We paused for a rest at what would be our summit, at least a few hundred feet below the caves. Not wanting to abandon him, I sat and enjoyed the view and his company. Below Little Sunlight Creek flowed past humming a familiar tune aside a sage covered meadow. Across the draw (valley) we could see the limestone cliffs opposite us. Above them were the distant peaks at 11,000-12,000 feet with outlines of snow yet to melt.

Had I been traveling by myself, the failure to reach the top would have been a disappointment. Expecting this older gentleman to be equally disappointed, I was taken aback when his comments focused on the amazing view. Though we were only halfway up the hill, he didn’t feel the need to continue on to the top to enjoy the hike. What lay before us was as equally amazing and provided the enjoyment without quite as much effort. Additionally, we were able to sit and enjoy the details longer than those who continued up the mountain. A small lesson, but an important one was learned that day. One need not wait until the top to enjoy the view, an indeed might be foolish to do so.

Not all of my travels are on foot or horseback. I discovered an abandoned mountain bike in our fishing shack. The bent front wheel and tweaked handle bars seem to indicate a wreck, probably discouraging further use. Fifteen minutes in the shop and one beer later and I had it fixed up nearly as good as new. During last week’s gymkhana games on horseback, I entered in the unofficial exhibitionary round and won the barrel racing on my bike with some sharp turned skids around the barrels with a time of 26 seconds.

Even more fun have been the bike rides on some of the horse trails. Rocks, creek crossings, and sage brush characterize a few of the challenges not found on the streets of Caledonia. I’ve always been one to admire the idea of mountain biking, but when it comes to peddling up steep mountains I am quick to admit that a road bike is where I should invest my money and keep my wheels on the asphalt.

During one of our horse rides this week, Tom, a big draft horse, decided to lay down on the trail. As a staff member witnessing this unbelievable trick right in front of me, there was little I could do but yell “get off” to the 275 pound passenger as the big beast hit the dirt. Fortunately the rider took it in good spirit as I struggled to get the lazy horse back on his feet as he whimpered his protest.

An afternoon horse ride with Jimmy, an older ranch hand, led us to a nearby valley named after the creek that flows through it, Trail Creek. As we rode through the valley Jimmy recounted his knowledge of the historical significance of the isolated location. As Chief Joseph and his band of Nez Perce fled the U.S. Army after escaping from Fort Mammoth in Yellowstone, they paused for two nights near Trail Creek to rest their 2,000 horses and over 200 people.

Trail Creek was chosen for it’s isolation and from there they believed they were undetectable to the U.S. Army. Eventually they were discovered by scouts on a distant mountain. Some quick thinking led Chief Joseph to run off half of their horses as a diversion while the rest moved in another direction on a chase that would eventually end with a surrender 40 miles from the Canadian border and Sitting Bull’s tribe. “Chief Joseph is quoted for saying ‘from where the sun now stands I will fight no more,’ or something to that effect,” recited Jimmy from memory.

It was difficult to imagine the ground we walked on played such an important part in history. Even more impressive was the likely notion that the valley looked much like it did over 100 years ago when one of the country’s last free tribes of Native Americans resisted capture. No parking lots, no road, no signs, no interpretive center to describe the events like so many sites of historical significance, just an oral interpretation and a good imagination.

For our Fourth of July celebration we shot off a couple hundred dollars worth of fireworks for the guests. Out in the cow pasture we set off a show worth a few ohhh’s and ahhh’s. Guests seemed most impressed, however, by the potato gun launching spuds skyward by Chuck, the ranch manager. It was a nice evening, but memories of Eitzen’s celebration gave me the slightest longing for home. With one month of summer already over, my thoughts turn toward making the most of my precious days in Wyoming. Summer passes quickly enough. Out here the calendar pages flip even faster.

Happy Trails