We had less than a week to prepare. I had “ridden” horses before, but these were all lazy dude horses. the kind of horse that you just sit on, and a trail boss rides, upfront, and takes you on a tour. I’ve sat on horses, as they walk, and follow, but have never really ridden a horse. I understood some of the mechanics of it, as I listened to my brother-in-law when he was still alive. I just had zero experience. The last horse I rode was a big white mare. You could crank her head all the way to the right, but if another horse was walking in front of her, she would follow along, and not veer off course. She would probably follow another horse over the side of a cliff, and not take her eyes off that horse’s ass until it was through the back of her head. That is not riding a horse. That is sitting on a horse that is on a mission.

Brandy has two horses that are built for someone my size. The first one is Jordan. Jordan is a towering brute, and is trained, and honed in on his skills. He would do anything you told him to. He would go anywhere you wanted him to. As far as a saddle horse goes, he is the cream of the crop. The only deficit he is running is that he is old, and retired. He could still do small trail rides at, and around the ranch, but he no longer has the stamina for the long haul.

The second horse befitting of my large frame is Odin. The aptest words I’ve heard to describe Odin are, “A big tit.” He is young and was spoiled until his previous owner couldn’t handle him anymore, and like many other animals, he was shipped to Gienger Creek. He is herd-bound and has a hard time being away from other horses, but he loves people, and cookies, and cuddles.

The first ride was on Jordan. I got spoiled right out of the gate. I just had to learn what made him do what I wanted him to do. It took an afternoon to loosely get a grip on how to handle him. I was surprised at how light of a touch they need, and how they pick up on natural body movements and work towards what you want them to do.

The next few days were on Odin. There were some hardships. First off, he was more worried about being able to talk to the rest of the horses than he was about walking. He was easily distracted, and a bit jumpy. When I put a bit of pressure on him with my legs, he did not react. When I put a lot of pressure on him with my legs, he still did not react. These were things we were going to have to work on, but for now, there was no time for that. We got him walking across tarps, which is a nightmare with some horses. We got him to sniff the evil stump that scared the horseshoes right off of him, the first time he saw it. We got him riding without other friends, and we got him riding under trees, though, the first time, he hesitated, until he decided to spring through them, smashing me into all of the limbs overhead.

We were as ready as we were going to be. The day before we headed out, we got our gear ready, and our saddles packed in the trailer. We hobbled a few of the horses that are hard to catch, and I already had a sore ass and sore shoulders. we got up early the next morning. We loaded up eight horses, got groceries, and headed out to the staging area. I had Odin and was using Brandy’s saddle. Wayne was on Dolly, a beautiful palomino mare, with an attitude. Ringo, a dark bay, and Holly, a small black horse were the saddle horses for the hunters we were going to pick up. On the packs were Thunder, a slightly ornery paint, Joe, the old dark bay, Tango, the spunky buckskin and Chicky, another palomino. She kinda scares me.

We packed up, and saddled up, and loaded up. When I picked up Wayne, and Robert, the week before, at the staging area, we met a well-known outfitter, named Kip Kelly. Kip’s dad, George Kelly was a big name in the area, and his son Kip kept that torch burning. Just as we were stepping off onto the trail, Kip showed up. He was preparing for a trip to take some American sheep hunters into the park. It was in the back of my head to look good in front of this small-time legend of the park. This was Odin’s first trip into the park, as it was mine. It was in the front of Odin’s head to catch up to the horses that were twenty feet in front of him because they were leaving him forever, and he would never see them again, and he was going to be abandoned, and no horse would ever love him again. I got one foot in the stirrup, and he tried to leave. I was hopping on one foot, cranking back on the reigns with everything I had, and trying to get my earthen foot under me to hop up on the saddle. I got up, but due to my large size fifteen cowboy boots, and the stirrups on Brandy’s saddle that fit a size seven foot just fine, I couldn’t get my right foot into the stirrup. I turned his head right. He wasn’t happy about it, but he was doing circles. I was hanging off the horn, trying to work my boot into the stirrup. I got it in and pointed Odin to the trailhead. He rushed to the creek, a mere five feet down the trail. He hesitated and jumped with everything his giant awkward frame could muster. He landed in the middle of the creek, and ripped down the trail, passing a very lazy Holly, and catching up to the other six horses, before he felt safe enough to act like he did the last three days practicing. Did I mention this was his first trip into the park?

We had another five river crossings through the Big Berland River. Odin didn’t hesitate. He didn’t leap. He was fine. Just fine. Another four and a half kilometers, and we crossed the park border. We passed Adam Joachim’s mother’s grave. One of the local historical societies went out and built a grave covering over her grave. It looks like a small roof, low to the ground. It’s painted white, and there is a small cross on top of it. Wayne told me that it was Adam Joachim’s mother. another fifty feet down the trail, there was an old cross on the other side of the trail. I shouted ahead “Who’s that?” pointing at the dilapidated cross. He yelled back “Who knows?” and shrugged his shoulders.

The park is absolutely littered with the graves of travelers, trappers, homesteaders, explorers, hunters, and sometimes, even their children. There are accurate records of lots of them, but not all. riding past them on a horse is the closest you can feel to being there, in a time, when a broken leg could be a death sentence, instead of a painful inconvenience. These days, we do have a GPS and can communicate out, and if something bad happens, you can be airlifted out, as an imminent danger to life, and health is the only reason a helicopter can land in the park.

Because Odin passed pokey Holly earlier, I was keeping a good eye on her. Every fifty to one hundred feet, I looked back to make sure she was still there. She was lagging behind a bit but was keeping up. Just west of Adam’s mother’s grave, we broke out of the bush into a wide-open meadow. We crossed a small creek. I looked back after the creek, and Holly was hot on my heels. another fifty feet down the trail, I looked back. I saw the creek, but Holly was nowhere to be seen. She went home. I yelled out to Wayne. We got to a small stand of pine trees, tied up all four pack horses, Odin, and Ringo. Wayne went back for Holly. It felt like it took a full day, but it was probably closer to an hour. I checked the packs and the saddles. I made sure everything was tight and secure. Wayne came back with Holly. We untied all the horses, and Wayne started down the trail. I had all the horses pointed in the right direction, and hopped back on Odin. He didn’t try to take off on me again, however, Holly and Ringo decided to point home. I yelled for Wayne and tried to chase them down. Odin only wanted to follow. Not get in front. I pulled back, and Wayne ripped down the trail at a full gallop, with all the other horses trying to follow him down the trail. I cut them off with Odin. Out of my sight, Wayne first ran Holly into the willows, and then Ringo. He tied them both to his horse and came back up the trail. As he passed me, he passed my Holly’s lead. She was now stuck behind me. He went to the front of the pack, and the rest of the horses followed suit, followed by Odin, and me, and being led up the rear, Holly.

Our next stop was near the access to the Adams Creek Tower. A fire watch tower named after the creek that was named after the aforementioned Adam Joachim. There was a drift fence that someone had left open. A drift fence is a usually fairly rickety fence that runs along the sides of the trail and comes to a makeshift gate across the trail. The reason it runs up the sides of the trail is so that when you have, say, a Holly decide to go home, they get to the gate, and the subsequent fencing acts as a basket that they can’t intuitively get around. Wayne asked me to close the fence. He waited, so that Odin wouldn’t act on his fear of abandonment, and take off down the trail. The small stirrups had caused my feet to go numb. The unfamiliar seat and bouncing had all but locked my hips up. My knees were swollen, and my back was tight. My feet were locked into the stirrups, and I had to pry the dead limbs out of them. God, did it feel good to get off for a short moment. I hobbled over and closed the fence. I hobbled back, mounted the saddle, and we carried on. I am good at sitting and suffering in silence, but I think without that short break, I would have broken in the Forest of Profanity.

At least that’s what I named it. In case you didn’t read the “About Me” attached to this blog, I am 6’8″. Also, Odin is a towering Clydesdale/Gypsy Vanner cross. There are two parts to the trail through the Forest of Profanity. The high trail, and misdirection trail. There is a definitive arch where the other riders have broken off the sticks, and branches on the trail. The top of that arch was just below my collar bones. I ate a lot of tree. Odin is also a bit wider than your average horse, and due to his inexperience, and girth, he ran my knees into most trees we passed. He even ran his own shoulder into a spruce, and just about knocked himself over. When you’re on a horse, and they are running into trees, something has to give, and you are the weak link. Every time we were about to hit a tree, I tucked my toes under his rib cage and pushed off of it with my hand. It would knock his balance off enough that he would move over. Tucking my toes ensured I didn’t hook an otherwise immovable tree and wind up pointing my toes home, while my knees were still pointed deeper into the park. On one occasion, I tucked my toes on the right side and pushed off of the big poplar on that same side. Odin moved left, and drilled my left knee into a rough-barked spruce on the other side of the narrow trail. It slammed the back of my ass into the cantle of the saddle and popped my up, and out of the saddle. I kept a hold of the reigns and grabbed onto the saddle horn. The fact that my feet were locked into the undersized stirrups is the only reason I didn’t hit the dirt. It is also the reason I held on so tight. I was very scared to fall off, and have my feet caught up. It isn’t safe, but we only found out that I didn’t fit the stirrups moments before the splash into the creek some five feet in from the trailhead. We hit the end of the high trail and headed up misdirection trail. Right away, we got, well… misdirected. Odin went a foot to the right, and the ground dropped out. To get back onto the trail, we needed to back up, and retreat about five feet, with the lazy Holly attached to us. It took a bit, but we got back on track. We couldn’t see Wayne or the other horses. Odin went into pure, and utter panic. When you tie another horses lead to your horse, you don’t actually tie it. you run the lead over your thigh, over the horn, and tie a knot into the end of it, and put that knot under your thigh. this way, if all hell breaks loose, your horses break apart. I was in a bit of a daze, but I knew Odin was panicking, when I felt the wind in my face, in between the branches in my face, and I felt Holly’s lead rope snap tight on my thigh. We were huffing uphill like a locomotive. We got to the top of the hill, and around a few bends, before we saw Thunder ahead, and Odin relaxed. Wayne had stopped to adjust something on his saddle. He told me that we only had five miles left. That felt like a million miles. As I said before, I am pretty good at suffering, but I was close to my breaking point. Wayne got back in his saddle, and let Dolly take two steps before he said, “Did I say miles, or minutes? Cuz it’s minutes.” He knew exactly what he said. It may seem like a cruel joke, but the feeling of relief that washed over me when he changed miles to minutes may be the happiest thing I’ve felt since the birth of my daughter in 2012.

We pulled into the camp at Hidden Valley. A wide-open meadow, with steep spruce-covered banks up each side. The end disappearing into the foot of the stereotype Rocky Mountain, Galette Peak. A peak so high that the only green it has ever seen is that of the camouflaged hunter. A creek slowly running through the middle of the willow filled meadow, disappearing into the earth, and reappearing further downstream. Off to the left, on the east edge of the meadow was a blue tarp, propped up with logs. The hunters were there. We tied up the horses, and I pulled my stiff carcass off of the saddle. Odin was hot. He was sweating, and that sweat was steaming in the cool evening air. I did a lot wrong in unpacking. I didn’t realize that there was an order to it. You loosen off your saddle horses, unpack the pack horses, and then unsaddle the saddle horses. I did one of the pack horses last. I took the pack off and was walking it to a post laid horizontal, where it would stay for the night. On the outside, I think I was exuding confidence. These hunters were paying good money for us to be there. I was trying to act professionally. On the inside, I was shitting bricks. I realized that I have no idea what I’m doing. I realized that I have to do it all in reverse tomorrow. I realized that I was in one of those places where a broken leg is a helicopter ride or death. I then realized that this is exactly what I was looking for.

We unpacked our gear and put bells on all the horses. We hobbled the horses that needed hobbling. We picketed the horses that needed picketing, and we let loose the horses that weren’t going anywhere. We scooped water from the creek. The banks were a bit steep for the horses to attempt, while hobbled. We watered them one at a time, some of them taking in multiple buckets before their thirst was quenched. We let them graze, and put out some grain for extra sustenance. Then we could start thinking about ourselves. We set up our tent, made our beds, made our dinner, which consisted of Campbell’s Chunky soup cooked directly in the can, over a propane burner. I cleaned the needles, bark, and dirt off of my gun, and washed some Advil down with a bit of the whiskey I brought. We refilled our canteens and finally sat down to talk to the hunters, Adam, and Jill.

They had been skunked. They spent eight days there. Sleeping in that meadow, venturing up the peaks, and had no sheep to show for it. Before the darkness of night fell, the Advil had kicked in, and the nerves had subsided, and Adam and Wayne were already making plans for next year’s hunt. One I hope to be on. The hunters went to bed, and Wayne, and I collected the horses, and tied them up for the night, and went to bed.

I crawled into my sleeping bag. I was hot from stumbling around the meadow, through the thick willows, chasing horses. I left my bag open to cool down, with plans to close it up before I went to sleep. I went out like a light. I heard something walk right past my head. I sat up, put my hand on the stock of the .45-70. I relax. It must be Wayne. out for a pee, or to check on the horses. I’m freezing. I pull a glow stick out of my sleeping bag to check the time. It’s 3:30. I roll over. With the illumination of the glowstick, I see that Wayne is sleeping beside me. I don’t hear the footsteps anymore. I stare at the roof of the tent until the morning sunshine starts to illuminate it, then I fall back asleep.

I don’t know what made the noise, but the horses were tied up, the hunters were in their sleeping bags further down the meadow, and we were in ours. That’s all I do know.

The time to wake up came too soon. I was sore. I was tired. I was cold. I got up. Getting the horses off to feed, and ready to go warmed me up in a hurry. We had coffee. Cowboy coffee, as Wayne called it. It was coffee grounds in boiling water. I was picking stray grounds out of my teeth for the rest of the day. I was nervous about the return trip the night before, but upon waking up, that all went away. My knees were swollen and cut, and my back hurt from the long ride in, but I was ready for this, and having the hunters watching, as we packed motivated me to grunt less, strain less, and wince less. I wrapped my worst knee in yesterday’s shirt, to pad it from the inevitable tree smashes in the Forest of Profanity. We packed up and hit the trail.

The ride out was a lot less eventful. We had a few short stops. One to adjust a saddle. One to cut a tree that was sticking out into the trail, and one to catch a fallen reign. We had a final stop just fifty yards from the staging area, waiting for Kip Kelly, and his train of horses to go by. Having a tough go on the way in, and a smooth ride on the way out built a lot of confidence, and made me more excited than ever to get back out on the trail. We got to the staging area, unpacked the horses, Brandy showed up with the trailer, burgers, and beer. We loaded up and went home. Wayne named me his top wrangler and chief bottle washer. (Beer drinker)

I walked bow-legged for a few days, and my knee took a bit to bend normally, but these are just minor cosmetic details. The nights were getting cold, and this was the end of our season.

Until next year. -Wrangler Kronk