Down the road about six miles from the ranch, Sunlight Creek cuts a narrow channel through the limestone bedrock to spills over a small waterfall and into a lush, green canyon. The canyon walls are covered with small trickles of water seeping from cracks in the limestone, creating a scene uncharacteristic of this dry and barren landscape and more like that found along Beaver Creek. Nick showed me this place one day after work and it has become my favorite spot in the area.
After a long week of work, which included more babysitting, I decided a little bit of solitude was in demand. With my tent and sleeping bag I set out for the canyon for a camp out. Camping is something I aspired to do more often this summer, but a plan usually foiled by bad weather. With the sun setting and the half moon appearing brighter and brighter, I kicked back on the cliffs and let the rush of the water drown out my thoughts.
Taking advantage of the privacy, I brought along my fiddle and enjoyed a quiet practice session. After my first few notes, a coyote yipped in the distance. Whether it was in response to my first few notes, or simply a bedtime call for its pups, I remain curious.
With the campfire burning low, the coyotes howling in the distance, and the bright, starlit sky, I thought of the cowboys of old, living and working on the range and resting after a long day. The setting remains the only commonality, however. Instead of a horse, my car was parked next to the tree. My sleeping bag replaced the bedrolls of old and my synthetic tent gave me protection from the winds of Wyoming. Instead of a rifle for protection, my can of bearspray remained my weak defense. No beans or bacon for supper, either.
The following day, Jimmy and I saddled up a pair of horses and went for a day long ride. We passed through Trail Creek, where Chief Joseph and his tribe camped, and continued on into the wilderness and up a wooded draw, on the same trail the tribe would have used to enter Trail Creek Valley by Jimmy’s estimate. Once under the cover of trees, he began to point out downed logs that had been rolled or torn apart by bear. Trees along the trail marked the presence of a grizzly, sharpening her claws. And if there was any doubt that we were in bear country, piles of bear scat dotted the trail every mile or so.
Tempted by the ripening wild raspberries Jimmy kept pointed out, we paused for a moment to gather a handful. I dismounted and began to collect from nearby bushes. When the easy pickings were gone, I let go of my content, grass-munching horse’s lead rope for a moment to reach a few distant clumps. Moments later, with my back to the trail, I heard Jimmy’s voice express urgency as I turned to see my horse, Curley, trotting down the trail toward home. “I’ll cut her off,” he shouted as he turned Rowdy and chased the runaway pony down the mountain side. Astounded, having never been in this situation before, I watched in horror as my ride slipped away. I shoved the dozen berries in my mouth and chased them down the trail.
Jimmy’s plan to cut her off failed. The trail was too narrow and the brush and trees too restricting to allow for a pass. Therefore, he simply continued to push the horse further toward home as he chased it down the hillside, with me running behind in my cowboy boots. Throughout this ordeal a string of swear words that would make a sailor blush flew from Jimmy’s mouth in between the “whoa’s” and “easy girl’s.”
After five minutes of this I caught up to him stopped in the middle of the trail. “She’s gone, Greg. Give it up, she’s gone,” he said in frustration. Until now I had been pretty calm considering the circumstance. “You gave up? You can’t give up!” I proclaimed and left Jimmy behind as I continued the chase on foot. Besides the fact that it would be incredibly embarrassing to have to explain how I lost my horse to those back at the ranch, I would have to walk the eight miles back on foot. In addition, a horse with no rider returning to the barn would surely cause concern for my safety. Most importantly, in the saddle bags rested my lunch and water supply.
By now Curley was ready for a rest and stopped for a few bites of grass around the bend in the trail. Upon seeing me, she began trotting once more, periodically looking over her shoulder to judge my progress or lack thereof. When she stopped again I circled wide and landed myself between Curley and the path home. A few slow steps and I had her by the reins once more. One leap and I was back in the saddle, riding toward Jimmy to show him my success.
Thankful, we continued the ride which brought us to the top of a ridge named Lodgepole. After a brief lunch we rode home discussing the highlights and lowlights of the summer. We passed bush after bush of ripe berries when Jimmy finally asked if I wanted to stop for another handful. I graciously declined.
The afternoon I moved into my sheep wagon seems like it was years ago, yet the time disappeared so quickly. I’m down to my final week at the ranch and no matter how hard I tried to make the most of my summer, my to-do-before-I-leave list is as long as ever; one more hike, one more horse ride, one more starry night, one more evening of music around the campfire, one more letter home…
Happy Trails.
