Ridin', Reinin' and Writin'

 

We planned only to ride to the top and overnight in a rancher's cabin. The three-hour plus ride, an elevation gain of over 3000 feet, would test the condition of our horses but the weather was perfect, the horses healthy and Lynne and I eager and excited. By nightfall we had grazed the horses, feasted on Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes and tucked ourselves in our sleeping bags on the wood benches. The comforting soft clang of the bells on my horses assured us all was well with our companions.

 

 We set up our little tent beside the lake, grazed the horses, and then tied them to trees since there were not any tall enough to high line. We shared the meadows with a few cattle on their summer range but, thankfully, the grizzly, cougar and wolves that inhabit the area didn't make an appearance.

August 9 - Horses grazing as we set up camp at Fish Lake.

August 10 - I wonder if that's the cow that started all of this?

August 10 - Lynne took this photo of Legacy and I returning from our first searches. We now know Mistral and Free did run into the trees, then bushwhacked until they got on the trail a few km north.



This shows the vastness of the area Mistral and Free were lost in.



"I'll have to ride down the back trail," I told Lynne." If I don't find them down the trail a bit, I won't be back tonight." Lynne had an InReach, a satellite communicator, and after a crash course in using it, she gave it to me since I was tracking the horses. I told her there was a cabin a short distance away and how to get there but she said she would stay at camp in case the horses returned.

 

"I hope I see you in a couple of hours," Lynne said. She didn't see me for more than two days.

 

I picked up Free and Mistral's tracks (and the mark of the dragging lead shank) about three kilometers down the trail and all the way to the open meadow west of the cabin where we had spent the first night. I felt hopeful – obviously they were headed back to the trailers. I checked the cabin and when they were not there, started down, about a two-hour ride. My optimism evaporated. I didn't see another track.

 

When I got to the trailers, I immediately looked up a phone and made some calls. That's how I met Len and Joanna Knight, who live at Tatlayoko Lake. Then, and in the following days, they provided a base contact, a phone and a lifeline to local connections.

 

I was convinced Free and Mistral had turned toward the lake (and the trailers) when they came off the trail into the meadow at the top but somehow had missed the trail down and tried bushwhacking. If they did that, Free's halter shank could easily tangle in the brush and stop them. I hoped, though, that they would find their way back to the trailers during the night. When they were not there in the morning, I saddled Legacy and headed up to the top again. Much of the trail wound through heavily forested terrain, grizzly habitat. Once Legacy abruptly halted, alert, ears forward, and I yelled. A loud crashing in the bush confirmed what I suspected – a bear was close by. After that, I sang "The Bear Went Over the Mountain" for a kilometer or so

 

Legacy, not in condition for this much riding, was tired. I stopped several times to let her blow. Those tender, bonding moments alone in the bush encouraged me to "dig deeper" for strength – if Legacy could do this, so could I.

As I came out of the trees at the top, I eagerly looked for two sorrels grazing the meadow where I had lost tracks the day before. Nothing. I knew I must rest Legacy for a few hours so I continued on to the cabin and unsaddled. There, I communicated with the Knights and friends from home on InReach to coordinate search efforts. My first priority was rescuing Lynne, who had already spent one night in a tent in grizzly country. I had been told before I left the trailer that Alex Bracewell (Bracewell Alpine Wilderness Adventures), who took guided tours into the Potatoes from the other end, would pick her up (a huge relief) and was waiting for confirmation of that. Again with the help of the satellite communicator, I learned Jordan Grier and Pat Jasper would arrive the next day to assist us in our efforts to find our horses.

 

August 11 - I took this photo when I searched the slope to the crest above Tatlayoko Lake

 

August 11 - I took this photo from the cabin the night I stayed there.

I searched several places in the area in the afternoon and evening, still convinced the missing pair were close since they had not taken the trail down. Then I grazed and watered Legacy and tied her to a tree by the cabin. Even though I had not found Mistral and Free I felt somehow close to them on the mountain. I hoped they would come to Legacy in the night. 



August 11 - Legacy tied by the cabin.

My strength was starting to wane a bit now. I forced myself to eat and drink but I didn't have much food and wasn't sleeping well. After a fitful few hours on a wood bench in the cabin, I made the worst coffee ever on the wood stove and rode the area again – still no clues and no response from Legacy either, who I counted on to alert me if they were near.

August 12 - Jordan and Pat arriving with extra horses.

 Lynne was not at the camp when we got there but a note confirmed that Alex Bracewell had taken her to the wilderness cabin I had told her about. We packed up the camp on Legacy and I rode one of Jordan's horses to the cabin.

 

My reunion with Lynne was bathed in relief. She assured me she was fine but had been worried about me.

"I thought you were laying along the trail somewhere," she said.

"You had the hardest job," I told her, "Just waiting with no information."

Lynne said the cows comforted her. They were around the tent the first morning but there was not a cow in sight when she woke up the second day.

When Alex picked her up, he cleared that up for her. "Did you see the big grizzly?" he asked.

"No," Lynne said, "But I guess that explains why the cows disappeared!"

 

Lynne had handled her time alone very well. She told me she kept up a camp routine to keep busy; she studied the little cow herd and their habits; she watched the fish jump in the lake and counted tadpoles (Thousands…). I know she would have much rather been searching with me but she knew how to survive.  Still, the situation was dangerous and one of many times luck was on our side in those trying days.

 

 From Bracewell's cabin we descended to the lake again – at the south end this time, a two hour ride, loaded all five horses in Jordan's trailer and arrived back the north end at 10:00 PM. After unloading Legacy, out rescuers drove home to Hanceville.

 

Lynne, Sharon, Legacy and tack were now back where we started – without Mistral and Free. The next morning we re-grouped.  Get the word out – posters, contacts up and down the road, phone calls in case the horses came down somewhere else – and keep searching. We tried to hire a small helicopter to fly the area but most were out fighting wildfires. Mike King was flying over every day and he checked the Potato Range every time. We talked to a Clifford Schuk, a local rancher, about tracking and he agreed to help. One thing we knew for sure – we were not going to quit! Legacy, however, needed to rest. I had a commitment at home so we decided I would take Legacy home and Lynne would stay with Len and Joanna at the lake. And this is when the full force of the last few days hit me – when I was going to leave the lake without Mistral. Backing the rig out of a tight spot with well-intentioned people yelling directions triggered a melt-down. – everything from "I can't do anything right!" to "I know she's dead!". I cried all the way to Tatla Lake, the only time I cried during the entire ordeal.

On the 14^th, Lynne and I talked several times on the phone. I organized things at home with the plan to return on the 15^th. Clifford took his quad part way up the trail, then walked. He told us Mistral and Free were trying to return to the lake (and our trailers) but were probably stopped by grizzlies foraging on the slope. This was the area I had stayed in for 1 ½ days with no sign of them but I suspect Free's lead shank was tangled until he broke it, which may account for the fact they didn't come to Legacy when we were there. Lynne and I agreed we had to get back up to the area as soon as possible! Lynne was trying to rent/borrow a horse in the area and said she would start up in the morning if I was not there. With that information, I packed up as soon as I could, loaded Legacy, and drove back to Tatlayoko Lake, arriving at 1:00 AM so I would be there when Lynne was ready to leave in the morning.

 

I rose early and packed up Legacy to go up the mountain again but there was no sign of Lynne. I had no means of communicating with her so I left a note and pointed Legacy up that mountain for the third time. This time I buckled the cow bell around her neck. It would serve dual purpose – to ward off grizzlies and to alert Mistral and Free, who were familiar with the sound. I was prepared to stay on the mountain two days to search and just be there for them to come to. The long term plan was to organize a group to go for a week if that did not work. (Later, on Facebook, a friend commented "I knew you would never give up.", which is how I felt but I suppose the time could have come when we would have to...)

 

I stopped several times on the ascent to listen and even veered off the trail to search for tracks in the trees on the slope. When I reached the open meadow where I had lost their tracks before, Legacy showed no sign of interest in anything besides putting one foot in front of the other, the bell clanging in time with her footfalls. Then, to my right, I sensed movement. I turned my head and what I saw I did not believe – two chromed-up sorrels racing through the brush to Legacy and I! Heads high, manes flying, they tore down the long incline with abandon, with joy and, I think, with much relief. I knew as they ran toward me that they were all right. My chest swelled, my heart pounded and all I could say was, "Oh, my God!" over and over. It is vision that will be forever etched in my memory.

 

I took this photo on the 11th from almost the exact spot Mistral and Free ran from when they came to me on the 15th. Where were they? In the bush with Free's shank hopelessly tangled in trees?

 Mistral and Free were a little buzzed. They milled around Legacy as if they couldn't stand still. Free no longer dragged his long black shank and Mistral's hobbles were gone. The bell was still around her neck though and they both still wore their halters. Free had some marks on his face from the halter, testimony to his struggle with the dragging lead shank and both had scratch marks from trees on their sides but they were okay other than being super alert. I snapped the shank on Mistral's halter and, with Free following, started down the mountain. About half way down I met Lynne (on Sabina Harris' nice little mare) and Clifford.

 

"They're okay, Lynne," I hollered when I saw them ahead of me on the trail.

 

The inner strength Lynne had called on for the preceding five days weakened as she dismounted and approached Free. On Legacy, with Mistral in hand, I watched her attempting to keep emotion in check. I lived that moment with her, a moment we had prayed for for five days.

 

We are acutely aware of how lucky we are to have these special horses back unharmed and are grateful for the many people who helped us achieve that - kind, caring Chilcotin people who put their own lives on hold to help us. I am also grateful to my patient, gutsy mare for carrying me close to 100 km searching for Mistral and Free in unforgiving terrain. Legacy has always been special to me since she is the fifth generation of a strong maternal line of Wildwood horses but the connection is deeper now. If I close my eyes, I am on her back on the Potato Range again. I can feel her muscles under me. I can smell the sweat. I can hear the clacking of her shoes on the rocks. And I can see her head bobbing, ears flicking. It's a memory I cherish.

 

A few days ago, someone shared a photo on Facebook of a horse pulling a lawn mower. The photo inspired several "likes" and various comments mostly in the tone of "what a neat idea". I was not one of the "likes" and I refrained from commenting. What I saw was a wreck-in-the-making although I'm the first to admit that I would rather be on top of a horse than behind him in some mode of wheeled transportation. The real reason I could only see disaster in that photo might have been because it reminded me of a story I heard from one of my clients many years ago. According to Melanie, this is what happened.

Hank and Melanie lived on a small acreage beside a paved highway. Although admittedly beginner riders, they wanted a horse or two on the property. To that end, they bought an Appaloosa mare which they brought to me for training. I believe her name was Rosy.

 In those days, clients rarely left a horse with me longer than a month, believing (incorrectly) that I could return to them a safe, dependable mount in that limited time. Rosy was one of those. The little coloured mare had some issues. One of them was refusing to go forward but that's another story... In a month's time, the couple picked her up and presented me with a dozen roses for my trouble (they had witnessed a difficult ride). It was with some concern that I sent the horse home but the Appy behaved herself. She could not be blamed for what happened one sunny afternoon a few weeks later.

Melanie had just ridden Rosy but instead of returning her to the pasture this time, she tied her to a two-wheeled cart in front of the house and went inside, where she decided to try out her newly-purchased (from me!) Mary Kaye skin care products. Shedding her jeans and shirt for a bright yellow bathrobe, she pulled her hair up in a pony tail on the top of her head, washed her face with the cleanser and pulled out the deep-cleansing mask. She had just finished smearing the sticky white stuff on her neck and face when a commotion outside interupted her beauty treatment. Running to the window, she immediately saw what had caused the racket - Rosy was spooking at the cart... and the cart moved. The game was on and Melanie knew this would not end well. She sprang into action.

Grabbing a knife out of the kitchen drawer, Melanie pulled her boots on and the robe tightly around her and bolted out the door to see Rosy and the cart clattering down the driveway toward the highway. Now panicked by visions of a severely injured horse, she charged after her across the highway, through the ditch and in to an almost-ripe, four-foot high wheat field on the other side, with one thing on her mind - separating horse and cart.

But Rosy had stopped running. She must have decided the strange, noisy thing behind her was going to keep following her and the best thng to do was stop and look at it, because that's what she did, allowing Melanie to walk up to her, cut the shank and lead her away from her tormentor. Rosy was unhurt but the cart didn't fare so well - pieces were strewn across the highway, the ditch and the wheat field.

Only after Melanie had rescued her frightened mare did she think of the spectacle she presented to passing motorists (and to Rosy) – dishevelled woman in bathrobe, face painted a ghostly white (the mask was now cracking...), wildly wielding a butcher knife, pursues wild-eyed, wild-coloured horse towing wheeled wreckage through wheat field.

It's a wonder I wasn't arrested," she said. "And why didn't Rosy flee again, this time from the apparition coming  after her through the wheat?"

Maybe Rosy was more 'broke' than I thought she was...

I’ve always been the kind of person that thrives on a well-laid plan. If I have a plan, I have a plan of attack, so to speak, something to look forward to, to complete. With that in mind, I committed to taking a photo every day, not just any photo but one that awakened something in me, that touched me in some way. It meant I would have to ‘look’ for that photo, ‘look’ at things around me. I started January 1, 2013.

And so I have seven photos, one for each day of the new year. I am putting them in a slide show presentation with date and a short caption with music background. Will these photos tell me something? That remains to be seen, but in the meantime, I look forward to finding a photo of the day. I’ve discovered there is always something new.

I don’t intend to post every one for the year but because I am trying desperately to start posting again, these photos seemed to be a good start. 

Growing up on a ranch, I heard plenty of bronc riding stories. Mom, especially, delighted in the telling and re-telling of numerous “cowboy vs bucking horse” encounters she had witnessed and heard about. As long as the victim suffered only bruised body and pride, each story was punctuated with laughter – after all, that was the reason for telling the story! I learned then that getting bucked off provided everyone else with a good belly laugh and respect because apparently you couldn’t be a cowboy if you didn’t get bucked off once in a while. In fact, I so internalized these stories and the respect they garnered for the cowboy that, when I was thrown the first time from my horse at the age of five, I was proud of that accomplishment. But that’s another story. What I learned when I was very young, and still know to be true is this: As long as the rider is not hurt, cowboys laugh when another one bites the dust. And no one laughed any harder than Grandpa.

Grandpa, wiry, tough and quick, was a rancher and cowboy but he was also a bronc rider. In his day, topping off broncs was everyday work and one he was exceptionally good at.

I did not see this of course, but I heard the stories. Often as not, the cowboy's horse of the day would start the day off bucking, reason enough to become a bronc rider, and part of a day's work. They must have enjoyed it though because, just for fun, they all got together on Sundays more bronc riding. The photo below was taken in 1918 at The Diamond Dot Ranch, where I grew up. Note there is no arena, no fences. I dare say it was pretty western.

Grandpa may not have found it amusing if he got bucked off (rarely) but nothing made him laugh harder than seeing or hearing about a rider’s unplanned parting from his mount. One of his favourite sayings was,"That's grabbing for leather and getting a handful of dirt!"

It didn’t have to be a horse, either. I remember Grandpa, in his 70's at the time, sitting on the top rail of the corral at the Diamond Dot Ranch (my home) watching a few of us ride yearling heifers. I should say we tried to ride the heifers because one by one, we all got bucked off in short order. My cousin, Gloria, landed so hard she couldn’t get up (knocked the wind out of her). I was worried, standing over her asking her to say something but I looked up and Grandpa was still laughing – so hard the tears rolled down his cheeks. I wish I had a picture but I don’t need one – I will never forget it. What I do have is a photo taken that same weekend. Grandma and Grandpa lived in B.C. then, but had made the trip  back to the Diamond Dot to celebrate their 50^th wedding anniversary, the ranch they once owned, owned by my parents at that time and now owned by my brother and his wife.

August 5, 1962 - Grandma and Grandpa (Les and Gertrude Giauque) on their 50th Anniversary

Grandpa passed away the following January. My last memories of him are with Grandma on their 50th anniversary and sitting on the top rail of the corral laughing at us kids getting thrown in the dirt by some rank yearling heifers.

And some things just do not change. Although more cheering than laughing could be heard when the bareback and saddle bronc competition was going on at NFR, the crowd laughed when one of the horses in the grand entry started pitching and bucked off his rider in the middle of the arena. Not sure if the man grabbed for leather but I do know he got a handful of dirt.