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
