Five Men, Five Horses, and a Mule

Five Men, Five Horses, And A Mule

11/1/05

“This is the most beautiful place I have ever seen in my life” Matthew expressed with real awe and inspiration as we stood at the grass covered foot of the little mountain lake. A stream exited behind us and before us was the panorama of a beautiful mountain cirque. In a couple of days this beautiful site would turn deadly, but for the moment it was a time of glory, exhilaration, and joy.

Five of us were elk hunting in the beautiful and remote Bob Marshall Wilderness. We had headed to the trailhead on Sunday Sept. 25, 2005. “The Bob.”) I, Larry Lautaret, am a Pastor in The Flathead Valley of Montana. I have been on numerous back country horse packing trips, in the past few years have acquired some Tennessee Walking Horses, and have trained most of my own stock from pretty much the ground up. There are few things in life I enjoy more than getting out with the horses and into the wilderness. There is something about the camaraderie of the trail, the connection with the horses, and being out in God’s great creation that is good for my soul. (Not always as good for my body, but in the long run it might even help there!)

Tim and Luke, father and son, were taking their first horse packing trip into the Bob. Tim was an Elder in the Church we had planted nineteen years earlier. He and his family are major reasons we came home to Montana to plant the Church. He is a good hand in time of need and a good outdoorsman. Luke, had grown up in our Church and was now Pastor of a Church plant we had started together about two years earlier. Luke is a large and stout lad of about 6’ 3” and 230 lbs with not much extra lard. This turned out to be a fine thing. They had no stock and were using mine.

Ernie Frehse has become one of my most consistent hunting partners for the past several years. He has been a great partner and great friend. Occasionally you come across someone that shares your love and enjoyment and you connect in a way that is a wonderful thing. Ernie has his own country and western band also, so is a man of many talents. We had been through some wonderful and nasty spots together and I know I can always count on Ernie to do whatever is necessary. He’s a partner to ride with.

Ernie had his two horses, Mizzou, a stout horse of indeterminate origin, mostly morgan and quarter horse likely, and a newly acquired 13 year old quarter horse named Fritz who had been around a ranch and cows and some events. Mizzou had the previous year provided no end of entertainment for Ernie and I and another party that shared a soaking wet and miserable week of “hunting” in the“Bob.”

On our last day out, on the way home we arrived ½ mile or so from camp to a lovely meadow area, where we stopped to readjust something or the other. Mizzou was packing out the camp stove of Ernie’s ingenious creation, (and a wonderful stove it was, shaped like a pannier) as well as another pannier of gear and the top pack. Mizzou selected this time to break away from the fellow who was leading him, and he was “off to the races,” so to speak. He made several fast and enthusiastic laps around the five of us and other pack stock, running and thrashing and bucking. This at first provoked a good deal of good humor among us, since there was nothing else we could do but laugh, and we assumed he would get over it and settle down and we would go on home.

But after a couple of laps, he spun off like a rock from a sling towards the woods. As we gazed at one another, again assuming he would soon come back to the herd, we heard a loud crash. Ernie and I went to look for him, leaving three other fellows, who were all great hands, but none were really experienced horsemen, with their saddle horses and the remaining pack stock. Before too long we found a trail of torn up gear scattered along. We were able to retrieve most of it, put it back together, call for the other guys to come on over, load back up, and head out. But, Mizzou had found a place in our hearts. It was a “mixed bag” of emotions, as you can imagine, but he and we survived and made the rest of the trip out without much incident. Anyway, Mizzou was along on this trip also. Oh, if only horses could talk, eh?

Matthew, a contractor with his own backhoe and excavation business, was also along. He was pretty new to the Church, and pretty new to the faith. His soon to be wife, is a good horsewoman, and trainer, and had worked with his stock. Matthew had not worked with them much, and had not really gotten all the proper “signals” together with the critters. He had a two year old Percheron cross paint mare and a two year old Canadian former stud. He had given his stud a permanent attitude adjustment (had him gelded) just a few days before the trip, so the exercise was to be good for him. As it turned out, he got some.

(Having two studs on the trip proved entertaining at several points as well. At least we had one for real stud, and one that still thought he was. And, of course the horses from the various places had never been together.)

Matthew had not had these two horses out much, they were young and green, and he also brought along a recently acquired mule. This was his first, and as it turns out, his last, trip with the mule. The mule, we were to discover, had not particularly “bonded” with Matthew or his stock, which does figure into the“rest of the story,” to coin or at least purloin, a phrase. Although Matthew did not have much first hand experience with his stock, he is tough and knowledgeable enough to get the job done and he certainly rose to the occasion. Just prior to this trip Matthew had planned to take these three critters into the “Bob” alone. I suspect this particular trip was a graphic lesson as to why this is not a good plan.

The stage had just been set right that he was able to make the trip with us.

Matthew was riding the mule the Tuesday morning we came across the pristine sight at Doctor Lake. The mule turned out to be a pretty good ride, but had a hard time keeping up with my Arabian mare, Rosie. She does move down the trail nicely under proper motivation … such as heading back to the truck or camp. She moves well anyway, but she really knows her way home, and has actually gotten me out of several challenging situations because of that fact.

I had my 3 year old stallion, Apache, my 15 year old trusty Arabian saddle mare Rosie, who had been a gift from a dear friend many years ago when Rosie and I were both green. Tim rode her in the first day and then out again the last day. She was among the first horses I trained, and has been a good and faithful ride. She is very sure footed and lively, and has become legendary with anyone with whom I have ridden. For the first few years she was very spooky, but has settled down of late. I also had the first colt born on my place, a Tennessee Walker named Marley along, but he missed most of the activity. I had a good sized paint mare named Kootenai, that was also a gift from the same dear friend that had given me Rosie. I also brought along a yearling for the experience, but he doesn’t figure into the story too much. We had nine head of stock, 5 to ride and 4 to pack. (One was the mule.)

Matthew, Ernie and I arrived at the trailhead on Sunday evening with all the stock in two rigs and trailers. We spent a pleasant night in Ernie’s horse trailer, and got up in the dark. Tim and Luke showed up and we weighed things out, packed up, and headed up the trail. This is a well used trail, and stock going in has the right of way until noon, and stock coming out has the right of way after noon. I was very concerned that we get to Upper Holland Lake before noon, as there are a lot of places where it is not fun to pass an oncoming string. We made it just about in time. Upper Holland Lake is just a beautiful lake. I have been by it several times in various trips to the “Bob,” but never stayed to enjoy it as a destination. We arrived there without much incident and took a little break.

We had passed and been passed a time or two by two young ladies and their stock on their way into the cabin at Shaw Creek. The were doing some sort of study for Fish and Game.

On the way down over Gordon Pass, we came upon the smoke of a small forest fire. We couldn’t see how it had started just below the trail, and we went down to look but couldn’t find a way to put it out. The ladies that were right behind us told us they would radio it in when they got to the cabin.

We passed some wonderful country, and finally began to look for a place to camp as evening was fairly rapidly approaching. The directions Matthew had received from a friend about a place to camp didn’t look so good, so we kept going. We passed the Shaw cabin and kept going. Tim and Ernie had gone on ahead to scout out a place for us, and when we arrived it was a beautiful place, called Handkerchief Park on the map. So we set up camp. There was very little graze there, as obviously other folks had used this place to camp as well.

That took care of all day Monday pretty well. Tuesday Ernie decided to stay around camp and get things together, put up a nice shower, and perhaps do a little hunt around the place. Tim and Luke decided to go on a little hunt around some of the surrounding hills also. Matthew took his mule and I took Rosie and headed for Doctor Lake. We were really planning to go to George Lake, where we had heard the elk were so thick you had to be careful not to get run down in a stampede. But we decided that Matthew and I would go to Doctor Lake alone on a scouting trip, and then the next day we would all go to George Lake, knock over our elk, haul them out and go home.

Upon arriving at Doctor Lake we found good elk sign below the lake for a few miles, and right at the foot of the lake where the creek exited was elk and bear sign. It was a wonderful time and place. As the day was wearing on and we had about a six mile ride back to camp, so Matthew and I headed back and made it without incident.

Tuesday night around the campfire Luke and Matthew hatched a tremendous plan that was to turn into quite an adventure. They decided to have us all go into George Lake, find a place for a spike camp, then Luke and Matthew would spend the night there, get up early, tip over the elk, and the rest of us would come up the next day to help haul them out, and in the process tip over our own elk and haul them all out. It really was a wonderful plan.

Ernie, having spent a few nights out in that sort of setting decided he better go along for the ride, but come back to camp that night to care for the rest of the stock, make sure the fire was lit, the stove was warm, and the groceries didn’t go to waste. Tim, whose mother never raised many fools could immediately see the wisdom in that line of reasoning and courageously determined to help Ernie with the domestic challenges. Matthew and Luke looked at me. Now, while older than all of them I never seemed to catch on as quickly as others, and I decided if these young bucks could stay in a spike camp, I could too. So, the plan was settled. All five of us would ride to the glorious spike camp, Matthew, Luke and I would stay the night and Ernie and Tim would return to base camp to care for the remaining stock. Pretty much piece of cake.

Next morning, Wednesday, we got all of our gear together and loaded the mule with a tarp, which I insisted go along, our sleeping bags, a little horse feed, and some people feed. There were five men, five horses, and a mule.

We came to Shaw Cabin and hooked a left to head for George lake. We passed ribbon on the trail and a sign that warned that there was a grizzly on a kill in about 200 yards. It is amazing how a little sign like that can get your attention. Suddenly the woods were alive with sounds and movements that mere moments before were irrelevant. We negotiated past the area and saw neither hide nor hair of bear or kill, and so passed on up the trail. It is not a great trail, and with all the rain of recent time there were bogs and mud holes every little while. But we made it several miles, crossed the creek and headed up closer to the lake.

As we approached within what we assumed was a mile or two from the lake we came to a large slide area where we could look up and see the mountain to our right. It certainly looked inviting. It was wide open, and yes, a little steep, of course, but surely something we could climb up and then we could see the whole world. No doubt a wonderful spike camp would be found by a nice little stream up there, and life would be good. Besides there were a couple of horses ahead of us this morning on the trail to George Lake, and we didn’t want to wander around and mess up their hunt. Actually we probably didn’t want them to mess up our hunt, but in any event we decided to go “up” the mountain.

The salient word here is “up.” I took a GPS reading at the bottom and discovered we were just a little over a mile from the place where Matthew and I had been yesterday. It was just over that little “hump” of mountain. From the bottom Matthew was going to run up there and take a peek over to let us know what was on the other side. Once we actually engaged the hill the running slowed considerably.

So, we started out, that is“up.” We were able to ride for a few hundred yards, but then thought we should spare the horses and lead them up. So we commenced the “run” Matthew had spoken so optimistically about. The horses carried our rifles, and some gear, we had our back packs on, for a while, until we could find a way to tie them on the horses, and the mule carried all of our other stuff. He was not heavily loaded for that matter, but was carrying more than the other horses.

“Up” we went step by step, often taking as many as two steps at a time before stopping to rest and blow. We attempted with varying degrees of success to get our horses to go ahead of us and pull us up as we clung to their tails. When that works, it is a wonderful thing. Of course that doesn’t always work that well, with no trail, particularly. Luke was leading the way and seemed always like he had a little more gas than the rest of us. As we proceeded, it became obvious that it was sort of every man and horse for himself. Since the mule was the extra critter we experienced horsemen knew that if we just turned him loose, he would follow us. Some idiot made the comment that you couldn’t keep him away from the other horses with dynamite. This was when the others noticed that the gift of prophecy, if ever present, seemed to have departed.

The mule didn’t keep coming, and since he had all of our gear and food that aroused no end of interest as we gazed down upon him from uphill. When we were perhaps 2/3 of the way up it became painfully obvious that someone would have to go get the mule, who was perhaps ½ way up, and encourage him to come along. It never dawned upon us, of course, that perhaps the mule was smarter than we were. In hindsight, we should have all gone back to him, gone on down the hill, and moved smartly out of the area.

Smartly, of course, was not yet in our vocabulary. The day was young, it was a beautiful day, you could see the whole world from our vantage point, and there were flocks of elk just waiting to “enter the ministry.” All we had to do was press on and bag them.

It was, after all, Matthew’s mule, right?

Luke was far up the hill and certainly didn’t want to come clear down past us giving up the hard fought High ground for a lowly mule. All of us older guys were about out of juice, so Matthew started back down for the mule. He got to the mule fairly quickly, and in his enthusiasm at being reacquainted decided to be a good Samarian and help the mule out. So he grabbed up the top pack from the mule consisting of our sleeping bags and some other stuff, and started leading the mule up. It was slow work. I felt like it wouldn’t be the Christian thing to leave Matthew and the mule alone, so I waited for him to get up to me. Apache was interested in being with the other horses, but I persuaded him to wait with me. The others finally, no doubt conscience stricken, waited for us to get up to them before pressing on to the top. We arrived at the top, and sure enough we could see lots of swell territory. George Lake and surrounds were beautiful off to our left, and Doctor Lake was lovely off to our right. We got to the top around 2:00 p.m. or so, plenty of time to find a camp, get Ernie and Tim home, and for the rest of us to scout around for the big elk.

We stayed on top for an hour or so. My feet were very sore from walking in the very first day. They were no better up on top. I copped some moleskin from Luke and put it on hoping that would help. It may have. Future events, though demanding the use of my feet, temporarily took my mind off of them.

Both Ernie and I had a GPS, and we knew exactly where we were on earth. Isn’t it interesting that knowing where you are is not always all that helpful. It is knowing where you need to be and how to get there from where you are that is more significant. I had printed out topo maps of the area and Ernie had a topo map on his GPS. We all came to the conclusion that it was much less steep going down to Doctor Lake than going back the way we came. A map wouldn’t lie, right? We knew where we had been and really didn’t want to go back.

That is sort of how it is with experience. As a youngster you think nothing can be worse, for example, than “this” job. Later in life we look back at “that job” as the “good old days,” as we now have many worse situations to compare to.

This is how it was with the “path less traveled” that we opted for. The problem was there was no “path.” But, no doubt about it, it was indeed “less traveled.” We diligently looked at our topo maps, looked visibly right down there at the very spot where the nice trail left Doctor Lake, and knew we needed to get going, as the day was advancing. We had no water, which over time when you are working hard can become a factor. And, Ernie and Tim still had to ride back to camp another six miles once we got them to the trailhead. Oh well, they could ride the main trail some in the dark if needed.

We started down the other side. The salient word here is“down.” In fact the salient word here doesn’t really do justice for it. It wasn’t bad to start with, and in fact we reached a small former creek bed, now dry, that we really made some time on. Time, that is, going, as I may have mentioned, “down.” This little ruse of nature worked to suck us into an ever increasingly steep vortex. When we were leading our horses we had the lead rope up overhead and behind us. If the horse couldn’t stop, as we ourselves often couldn’t, we were going to have rather close fellowship with these beasts of burden. They actually, having 4 wheel drive probably did better than us at certain points. At other points they were nearly helpless.

The day was evaporating right before our eyes, and we knew going back “up” was not an option for this day, because then we would still have to go “down,” and by the time we could get back “up” it would be dark, and we would have to go “down” in the dark and then out the nasty trail. The thought of going out that trail through the mud bogs, and incidentally by the Grizzly, after dark was not real high on anyone’s idea of a good time.

So, there was nowhere to go but“down.” As we got nearer the lake, it got nastier and nastier. Cliffs abounding, deadfalls everywhere, no trails through the alders, and it was a very hairy business. The horses were off and on, for the most part, on their own. We would connect up briefly momentarily before the next descent, but it was too steep for us to control them and stay out of their way. The pack, interestingly enough kept coming off of Matthew’s big Canadian. We had transferred the pack to him up on top as we surmised that the mule was too tired to pack it down. This was a very fine way to test the theory that the Canadian could pack. Turns out he could, and even though the pack came off a few times over his head and so forth, he bore up pretty well for a green horse. It never ceased to amuse us, however, as we were trying to get the pack back on when it was so steep we ourselves could scarcely stand, and never quite sure where he was going and how he would do it. You can imagine that it was a simply hilarious and jovial time with much levity and jocularity.

Since he was loose quite a bit of the time, the Canadian would often charge back up the hill and to or through the other horses, or down the hill to catch up, so this was quite an entertaining time for all as we pondered each moment what he might do next.

When we were within ¼ mile or so of the lake, which does not seem like very far on your average map, we could see a fine beach just a few hundred yards to our right. We could tell that if we could get there, we could make it the rest of the way. Daylight was now fading fast, and it was probably an hour before dark. It was not looking at all good for Ernie and Tim to make it back to camp at all, and I had left four horses tied on a highline at camp. I was concerned because we had no water at all up on the hillside, there seemed to be no way down to the lake, and it was so steep there was absolutely no way to spend the night where we were. One way or the other we had to get to the lake.

Matthew went on ahead scouting and got down to the lake on foot. Of course this now left two horses completely loose. We had radios and kept asking Matthew if there was any way to the lake. He reported that there was no good way. He kept moving off to the right to see if he could make it over to the beach we could see, but there were too many cliffs and slides and down trees to make it at all with the horses. We were tantalizingly close, but ever so far. We pressed on down the steep banks until just before dark we made it to a little place on the edge of the lake where rocks jutted out into the lake and the lake started right out at the shore 20 or more feet deep. There was no place that the stock could even reach the water for a drink, but we were able to pump ourselves some water to drink and had a cooking pot to get the horses some water.

There was no place to hardly stand for man or beast, but with some digging around we were able to get a tiny place to spend the night. Just before dark Ernie decided to go to our left around the lake the far way, and Tim went with him. They took Ernie’s two horses, as Tim had been riding one of them for the day. They made it perhaps 100 yards away and got to a tiny little place where the horses could stand on level ground. It was small enough that their back feet were in or nearly in the water. There was nothing, of course, to eat. Ernie and Tim and the horses were stuck and could go nowhere else. Then it got dark. Ernie and Tim decided to leave the horses there and come back to where the rest of us were for the night. It was not easy for them even to get back on foot with the help of flashlights.

But, we had three sleeping bags, we had the tarp, and we had enough food for all of us to get something to eat. We started a little fire, dug some places into the side hill so our behinds could sit in them to keep us from sliding into the lake while we slept, and sort of dozed our way through the night.

At some point during the night we noticed lights moving across the lake, and then a fire started. Some other idiots were obviously out there after dark as well. Whoever it was might as well have been on a different planet, but we certainly wondered what anyone was doing there. They no doubt wondered the same thing, and if they knew the country at all must have thought we walked on water, as no living idiot capable of building a fire would come down the mountain to where we were. At some point in the night or early morning we saw what looked like a mini forest fire where their camp fire had been. It blazed up for a little while and consumed a few little bushes and trees as we watched from our prison.

Even before we had reached the water Ernie and Matthew were talking like our only way out was going to be to“swim” for it. After all, it was only a few hundred yards to the fine little beach. And Matthew knew that his paint mare could “swim like a fish.” He had earlier that year taken her for a swim across another mountain lake. I have subsequently heard a little about this exploit from others who were there, and Matthew had very nearly checked out on that little excursion, as his body locked up in the frigid mountain lake water. But, his horse could swim.

After we had made what we euphemistically referred to as “camp” for the night, we had time to talk and try to figure out what to do. Swimming the horses out with all of our gear was definitely not high on my list of priorities, but I had to admit our options were fairly narrowly defined. The thought of going back over the top didn’t even really enter any of our minds, at least for long. My feet had been sore for several days, and this little adventure had not helped them any.

We survived the night. The weather was actually not at all bad. We had been blessed with wonderful weather up to this point, which is a blessing beyond comprehension in the state we were in. The morning dawned cloudy and the day did produce overcast and some rain, but the night had passed without a drop of rain. Throughout the night four of us were sort of sitting/laying in a row. We had laid the tarp out under us and then behind us and had run a rope between a couple of little trees to form the back and top of our little shelter. Matthew was sort of laying at our feet during the night with his feet toward the fire and the lake. Several times he was in hazard of going right into the lake. Had he rolled wrong in his sleep he would have had a rude awakening to say the least.

With the morning the plan unfolded. We would gather up everything we could carry, leave the horses where they were in two little clumps, hike to the right around the lake to the little beach, set up our tarp for a shelter, start a massive bonfire, as we were all going to be major wet, build a raft, come over and get the rest of our gear, and swim the horses out of there.

This plan was not nearly as sound as it may at first blush seem, but, like I say our alternatives were rather narrowly defined. We loaded all we could carry, our backpacks, rifles, the tarp, etc. Luke carried the “top pack” from the mule with as much as we could get into it. Some of the going was merely miserable. These were the good parts. If you have ever gone through a steep side hill covered with alders, you know that they grab everything. However, as steep as it was, we were glad for the alders, as there was nothing else to hang onto at times. For each of us there were several hairy places where one slip would send you clear to the lake in a heap. It took us several hours to make it to the beach, but finally we arrived.

Tim began building a fire as we set up the tarp. Ernie and Matthew started building a raft using whatever driftwood and logs we could find and tying them together with lead ropes, and whatever extra rope, twine, or parachute cord we had. After a few hours, it was probably now around 2:00 p.m. on Thursday, we were ready to “launch” the craft. The lake was deep and even with 20’ poles Ernie and Matthew could not reach the bottom so they had to use these long poles as “oars” to try to get back to the horses. They made fairly good time to the first batch of horses and the mule where we had “camped.” They loaded up the pack boxes, gear, saddles, and tack onto the raft and then were talking about what to do next. Ernie navigated his way on foot down the lake farther to where his horses were stuck.

The theory was that Ernie would get on Mizzou and ride him into the water. His other horse would follow. They would swim past the other horses and mule where we had camped, and continue on to where Luke and Tim and I waited with a nice fire. As they regally passed by, the other horses would then be led or pushed into the water, and the whole parade would swim to the beach, where we would load up and head down the trail to camp. This theory was just about as sound as the“getting elk” theory had been.

Luke and Tim and I could look across the lake and see Ernie trying to get his horses into the water. Mizzou wouldn’t go, so he tried the other one. The other one went all right, but was so stiff he couldn’t swim and began to sink. His head went under the water, which got his and Ernie’s attention. This generated no end of interest in all of us as Ernie, who was in various positions, all of them hazardous, tried to get the horse headed in the right direction. The horse tried to climb up on him, which was not helpful, and Ernie’s head went under.

Believe me this does something for your prayer life! Matthew later reported that he had never prayed so much in his entire life as in these past two days. I know I was certainly calling upon the Lord for help, because there was not one thing we could do. Ernie could have drowned right there, and there was absolutely nothing we could do about it. We were absolutely helpless. So we prayed. Fortunately God is not helpless, and Ernie and the horses survived the ordeal. They were still stuck with no way out, and now Ernie was thoroughly soaked, but still alive.

He had been gone from the shelter now for probably a good hour in his underwear. As Ernie’s horses plunged and fought to get back up the cliffs they looked like walruses or something leaping out of the water, falling back in, over and over until somehow they got to a place they could stand next to and partially in the lake. Ernie had to leave them and get back to where Matthew was. At that point he gave his horses up for goners. There was no way out. It was swim or die, and they wouldn’t swim.

He made it back to our “camp” where Matthew and the remaining horses and the mule were. They decided to try getting those horses into the water to save them. But how would they get them into the water? There was no nice shallow beach to lead them out in. It was probably a drop of about 4-5 feet into the water from the rocks where the horses were. So, they would lead one to the edge of the rock and push it in. It would immediately, of course, begin swimming around frantically looking for a way out. While they would try to get another one in, the one in the lake was desperately trying to get out. Horses were being pushed off the rocks one by one, like a revolving door. It was quite a sight. Again however, the desperate situation did not lend itself to the thought of “humor.” These guys were fighting for their lives, and trying to save the stock.

Finally they got all four of the animals in the water at once. They milled about for a while, not knowing what to do. We were frantically calling to them hoping they would come to where we were, but to our horror they finally lined out swimming the wrong direction. Every little while they would stop and try to get out, but there was no place to get out. It was like trying to get out of a punch bowl with the steep rocks going right into the water all around. We could imagine all of them just drowning right there as they fatigued and sank one by one. All we could see was their little heads above the water across the lake now directly opposite of us, and farther away than ever.

Ernie’s horses never did join the other four as they swam past.

Ernie started back in the raft with the gear, now alone, totally soaked, in his underwear, with only a pole for an oar, and the wind blowing some, often against him. Finally after what seemed an eternity he got within voice range, probably 50 – 75 yards away from the shelter, but couldn’t get the raft the rest of the way to shore. We couldn’t reach him, and he didn’t seem to be able to get the raft in. He was just about exhausted, and I think almost in shock. We were trying to get a plan.

Mathew was just wearing pants and a white cotton T shirt during this ordeal. We could see his white T shirt heading after the horses. He was getting farther and farther away from us with each moment. We could see him but couldn’t communicate with him. We could shout, but all you could hear was a shout.

Ernie at last made it near the shore and threw the gear and tack 15 or 20 feet to shore. Then he came ashore. We had talked of me heading back to camp on foot, bringing back the rest of the horses to help. I was about to head out until we reasoned, what would that do? It would be at least a 12 mile round trip alone, and I would have to come back alone in the dark with the horses with no tack. My enthusiasm for the trip was not high, but we had to do something.

Finally we decided that we would all go or all stay together. The horses on the highline at camp would just have to get by another day and probably another night.

Meanwhile the horses in the water had gone to the complete opposite side of the lake and found a little level spot where a creek entered the lake. There was some grass there, plenty of water, of course, and they were hungry, not having eaten much since the morning before, and what they had been able to obtain while on top of the mountain for a little break. So they were, for the moment, OK, although we did not know that. And, of course, they were a loooong ways away with no way to get them, and it was now probably 4:00 p.m. or later. (Dark was around 7:00 p.m., and if we had the horses and were ready we still had at least six miles back to camp.)

We were naturally worried about Matthew now, as he had been out for several hours with no gear, unarmed, wearing only his pants and T shirt with no way to make a fire or get shelter. The weather was intermittent showers and probably the temperature was in the 40’s or so. Ernie was not in good shape having been in the lake and on the raft, so he was pretty well needing the fire for a while. Neither Luke nor Tim knew much about horses. My feet were really sore, but somehow we had to get Matthew. I elected to go and try to get him, and although no one was thrilled about me heading off, there seemed no alternative. I knew that to circle the lake the way we had come would take hours to get to him. We didn’t know about the other way, but it looked like much the same.

I turned the radio on and headed around the lake to the right. When I got to the trailhead where Matthew and I had been so enthralled two days earlier, I kept going. I started around the beach, and hadn’t gone 50 yards before I knew this wasn’t going to fly. So I started climbing to go around higher. I was afraid I was hours away from Matthew, and then when I got to him he would have to come all the way back just to get to some shelter and heat. I actually feared for his life, and now the party was separated with no way to communicate, with Matthew at least, until I got to him.

As I began to climb I encountered a fresh blaze on the trail. Believe me, that was shouting ground, because a fresh blaze means some sort of trail. Psalm 119:105 says “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.” KJV That is what that blaze represented at that moment. It was to me a clear sign of God’s intervention in a situation that was out of our control. That blaze and the trail it identified may have saved Matthew’s life. Then I encountered another fresh blaze, and another. I don’t know what those folks the night before were doing or why they were there. But, for whatever reason they thought they were there, I am convinced God had sent someone to build that trail at the precise time we needed it. That must have been the light from the night before. As I went along I encountered the place the mini forest fire had been.

I kept going and lost the trail at a point where an open slide area was, and called Luke on the radio. I started into the alders, but I wasn’t going through here. Luke finally saw me across the lake and guided me to where the trail through the alders went. I had to go down the hill about 50 yards, and there it was. About this time I hollered for Matthew. He had no idea I, or anyone, was coming. He was nearly in shock, and later recounted that he was ready to lay down. He thought it was hopeless. The horses wouldn’t follow him, and he didn’t know where to go anyway. He had been through an ordeal of his own crawling along through the alders unarmed through bear scat and scaling cliffs. At one point he had reached for a rock and it gave way. He was just able to grab some brush to keep from falling down the cliff.

He expressed that he was very happy to hear my voice asking him if he had a brand inspection on those horses he was with.

As I made my way through the alders, I could tell that people were not the only things that had been that way, and my hair stood on end as I heard noises a few feet away just above the trail. I do not yet know what that was, but one’s imagination does have a way of offering suggestions.

I was able to make my way through the alder patch to a “sort of trail” down to the lake where it ended at the little creek near the beach. Matthew’s horses wouldn’t leave and he couldn’t persuade them to come up to me, but he was able to lead Apache to me and with my coaxing Apache came along to me. I tied him up and went for his Canadian. With Matthew inspiring him from behind and me leading him, he came along and I tied him up. Then we did the same with his mare.

Once again, we just knew that if we brought all the horses out the mule would come. Once again we were wrong. But at that point we had to get Matthew back to shelter and we figured the mule could fish or cut bait. Actually, I would have bet the farm, in fact, I guess we actually did bet the mule, that he would follow. He was unencumbered, wearing only a halter, and all the rest of the stock left. Still he stayed. Go figger. That did dent my perception that the mule was really smart.

I had never ridden Apache bareback and Matthew had never ridden his Canadian bareback, but it seemed like the best option. We both jumped on and back we went. This was not a great trail. It was steep, up and down hills, through creeks and ravines, over and around logs and rocks, but brother compared to where we had been, it was a great trail! We made rapid time back to the “most beautiful place” trailhead, but still had to get back to the shelter where the other guys were waiting. They knew we were coming, but I think were taken by surprise at how quickly I had made it over and how quickly we were able to make it back. I had asked them to blaze a trail from the trailhead to the shelter. This never got done, so we lost more precious time getting back to the shelter, perhaps because they assumed they had hours to do it and we were back too quickly.

Riding bareback with just a halter while bushwhacking is an experience. I train all my horses with only a halter, and ride most of them that way all the time, so for Apache this part was not too bad, but staying on when you are going down steep hills and up them is not easy. Matthew did fine also. We made it back to the shelter with daylight still lingering, but not much time to relax. Now we had only three horses, but tack for 4 plus the pack boxes. Ernie’s two horses were still fully tacked up locked beside the lake. We had to break “camp” again, weigh out the pack boxes, load up the horses, and prepare to walk back to camp the 6 miles. We loaded up the Canadian with the pack, loaded up Matthew’s paint mare with two saddles, and Apache with all my gear and such.

Matthew was not in good shape, as he had almost no time at all to regroup, had eaten little, had been completely around the lake and been hours in the cold poorly equipped. We just made it back to the shelter and had to really get moving. But, we either had to spend another night here, which we considered and rejected, primarily because of my four horses still on the highline having spent now two complete days and one complete night without food or water, or we had to hike out of there and leave Ernie’s two horses and the mule, who never did follow us out. The thought of the warm tent with the stove and good food was also a consideration.

So we loaded up, and then had to endure the ordeal of getting from the shelter to the trailhead, which was no small task. I have discovered that maps do occasionally lie. A quarter mile on a map can be a very long distance indeed. Once at the trailhead it was put your head down and walk through the mud. It had rained most all day, we were soaked, the trail was a mud bog and we had to cross numerous creeks, now swollen from the rain.

It got dark about the time we reached Shaw cabin, and we kept going in the dark. Now we had to find the trail that cut off to our camp. We finally did, and as we approached the camp our horses whinnied, and I heard the return whinny from camp. I knew at least one of my horses had survived. As we got closer, we could see that they were all there and all fine. Again I thanked the Lord for His grace. There are an awful lot of bad things that can happen to a camp with four horses tied on a highline in 36 hours or so.

We turned them loose to graze and get water, unsaddled those with us, and turned them loose too. We got the stove in the tent going, had some dinner, and after the chores of getting the horses gathered back up, went to bed. That was a fine thing. Well, it was at least semi fine. We were all in one piece, were semi dry, had eaten, and all the horses we had with us appeared to be OK. In everyone’s mind, of course, was what about Ernie’s horses and the mule?

It rained all night. Hard. It was a soaking rain. The whole world was wet.

We now had to go back and look for Ernie’s two horses and the mule. Both of Ernie’s horses were at or in the lake, and had been fully tacked up since Wednesday morning when we set out on the splendid search for Wapiti. The mule, the last we knew, was beside the lake where he and the horses had come out of the lake after their wrong way swim. He only had a halter on.

The plan was that Ernie and I would take my main mare Rosie, and my paint mare Kootenai, who had both stayed in camp, ride them to the lake, separate them so they would holler at one another, then wait to see if we could hear Ernie’s horses and the mule, and then find a way to get to them. Matthew wanted to go, and thought his Canadian was up to it, so the three of us set out.

We made it to the lake in pretty good time, but were all thoroughly soaked before we got there. We separated Rosie and Kootenai, and sure enough their whinnies brought back an immediate response from at least one of Ernie’s horses. This was an unbelievably“joyful noise.” At least one of them was still alive! They appeared to be across the lake where they had been left. Now, however, we still had to get to them and get them out, which we had been unable to do the previous day. It was probably about noon by the time we got to the lake.

We had brought my air mattress to use as a float of some sort if we were going to have to get into the lake again.

Well, now we knew there was a trail on the far side of the lake from the horses at least as far as where I had picked up Matthew, so we started out. Again, it was not easy, but it was wonderful. We made it to where the mule should have been, separated the horses so they would whinny, but never did hear the mule. We could see that the trail went on a ways, so we left Kootenai tied there while Ernie scouted ahead on foot. Matthew and I followed on horses and on foot as terrain dictated until we crossed the creek. The trail kept going around the lake. We encountered some elk sign, and kept going. We were now at the other end of the lake, but on the same side as our “shelter” and our “camp” had been. As I kept riding a ways, I encountered a trail that kept going on towards where we wanted to go. I called the others, and they left the Canadian tied up there and followed on foot. As we kept going the trail was not great, but did appear to be a trail of sorts, and soon we figured we were somewhere near above the place where we had camped. Somehow on Wednesday we had to have crossed this “trail” on our downward slide, but missed it. And at that time we had wanted to go the right as that was the closest way to the trail out of there. The trail we were on would have taken us to the left all the way around the lake.

At one point on our downward slide on Wednesday, Apache had gotten separated from me and actually got on what probably was this trail. The others were already below me and I mentioned that this looked sort of like a trail, but they didn’t want to come back up to find out, and at the time I just figured it was a small game trail and probably led nowhere. So I retrieved Apache and followed the other lemmings to the sea.

We came to a place where they decided to start down after Ernie’s horses. I said I didn’t think I could make the trip down and back with my feet hurting as they were, and besides I had Rosie, and I sure didn’t want to take her down and back up. So I stayed on the trail where I could roam back and forth and whistle and make noise to guide them to where they needed to be.

They had probably been gone from me for less than ½ hour when I heard them say over the radio that they were directly above the two horses and that they appeared OK and the tack appeared in place. It was absolutely soaked, of course, having been in the lake AND having been out in the rain all night, but it was there. They still had to get them out of the hole they were in, which was by no means an easy process. They would go a few feet and cut a path for the horses to scramble up. It was slow tortuous work, but as we were in touch by radio that helped. As they began to get a little elevation they asked me to move back and forth and blow my whistle so they could know where to go. Hearing someone on the radio gives no sense of direction. Little by little they honed in and scrambled up on the trail. That was another “joyful noise.” Man, that was rejoicing to see those two guys alive and intact, and the horses also.

We walked ½ mile or so back to where we had left the Canadian. We readjusted the tack and mounted up and rode out of there in the rain. We were as soaked as if we had been in the lake. I had worn my wool pants and like an idiot had put them inside my big packer boots. I should have known better, of course, but in any event I bet my pants weighed 40 pounds, and my boots another 40, as my pants wicked all the water in the world into my boots.

We rode back down the trail and picked up Kootenai, and then proceeded to the trailhead for the trip out. We just kept on going the six or so miles back to camp. Luke and Tim had been there all day praying and waiting for us, having no idea what to expect. It had been so wet they could hardly keep a fire going in the tent. Everything was soaked, but inside the tent was pretty cozy. They helped us untack the horses and all. My hands would hardly work. I had not been all that miserable throughout the day, even though soaked all day, but my hands just sort of were numb and clumsy. But we got that done, got inside, got warm, and rejoiced a bunch that we were alive and well and had most of the stock and gear.

Tim and Luke had made provision for what they hoped would be our arrival. We had no way to communicate all day, naturally, and it was nearly dark when we pulled into camp. They had cleaned out ½ of the tent, had us just take everything we had off and leave it outside in the rain as it was already soaked. We got into some nice dry underwear, had some nice steaks, and life was good.

The next morning was Saturday, and we had to leave. Everything was absolutely soaked, so breaking camp was a challenge. And, since we were one animal short we had to have one horse carry two pack saddles. Fortunately we were lighter on food and horse feed, but still with one horse short, someone had to walk all the time. Ernie started out walking, Matthew then walked quite a ways, and then before we started up and over Gordon Pass, Luke started walking and walked up the pass and down all the way to the truck. Most of us walked quite a bit of the way in the mud and rain and slop.

As we started out toward home, my map showed that there was an outfitter camped up Shaw creek from the cabin a mile or so. I left the rest at the cabin to continue on out, while I rode to the outfitters camp. I was hoping, of course, that the mule would have come out (Since he had been into the lake with Matthew, Rosie and I on Tuesday, and should have actually known the way out.) and perhaps had shown up with the outfitter’s stock. When I got there, however, it was absolutely deserted. There were a few deer in the corral licking the salt. So I rode back to the cabin and started out after the rest. I caught them within a few miles and we made the rest of the trip fairly uneventfully.

Except, of course that when we got back, nearly at dark on Saturday night, I had a flat tire on my horse trailer. Fortunately we found a fellow nearby with a compressor who aired it up and we made it home fine.

All in all it was a terrible …..and wonderful …… trip.

We still haven’t heard from the mule, but we are hoping since it was an old forest service mule that it would have sufficient savvy to stay alive and take a trail out of there. We had hoped he would show up when the outfitters and all came out of the woods. Never happened!

We got home around 10:00 p.m. Saturday night, and I had to preach Sunday morning. I had done most preparation ahead, which is a wonderful thing, but didn’t have too much time to reflect on the trip by the time I got my stock unloaded, untacked, and put away.

The next morning I went to our early service, and just as we got underway I saw Ernie and Dawn. Suddenly it struck me freshly what we had been through, and I was nearly overcome with joy, with camaraderie, with thanksgiving, and a jumble of emotions. Matthew appeared a moment later, and again, I was struck with the goodness and grace of God and how an ordeal such as this can bind one with others.

Many had asked me “how was the trip?” A seemingly simple question, eh? But “fine” just didn’t seem to do it justice. As the service proceeded I thought that perhaps it would be well for us to take the time between our two services, which is normally used for Sunday School classes, to share some of the story. Several people called friends or family to come to this time, and we actually had a pretty fair crowd in between services as Ernie, Matthew and I shared our perspectives on the trip. My wife, Rena, was alert enough to tape it, so we do have a verbal record of some of our immediate recollections.

It was a profound time in my life, and I think in the lives of the others on the trip. All throughout the trip I kept feeling like the enemy was trying to destroy us, but that God was doing a great work in our lives. Even looking back it is hard to think of how we would have made any different decisions with the information we had at the time. One thing is certain in my mind, and that is that God sent a plethora of angels to protect us at each step of the way. We still had to do what we needed to do, and God did not answer my prayer for “sunshine” and pleasant weather throughout the ordeal. But He did save our lives and the lives of our stock … except for the mule.

It really seems to me to have been a Divine appointment that we had the crew we did on this trip, as every person made some unique contribution to our survival. And throughout the entire trip there was not one note of whining, complaining, or blaming.