High country horse packing adventure

Could have been worse.

The wind was cold. Not freezing cold or strong, but enough to punish. There was snow on the ground. Not much, just the kind that covers the shady places and looks like the kind that covers the four-year-old venison in the bottom of your freezer. It’s dark now and a long ways to go. It’s my own fault that I’m here.

Earlier in the year, three of my friends (and hunting partners) and I went to the Sportsman’s Show. After shopping around a while, we had the great fortune to be offered a rare opportunity to hunt mule deer in the most remote part of the state — and as part of the package we could make a summer fishing and scouting trip into this area so that we would be familiar with the area — at a big discount.

Sounds good to me. “What do you guys think?” I asked my friends. We put 50 percent down, and we were booked.

The summer trip actually went pretty well. Rode horses to the high country, slept on saddle blankets, ate fresh brook trout for breakfast, ate some pepperoncinis, drank a few beers and raced horses through the mountain trails. Actually had a pretty good time.

Finally hunting season arrived, and it was time to meet the outfitter at his ranch to load up the horses and gear and drive to the trailhead 60 or so miles away. Well, there was more to do than load up the horses and gear. There was loading some hay into and on top of the horse trailer, catch the horses, load the saddles, make some phone calls, etc. So we got a late start.

A few miles down the road, the outfitter pulled into a gas station and filled the 2-ton truck with gas and said he needed $55 to pay for gas. He would credit that toward the final bill to be paid at the trailhead. OK!

So we got to the trailhead, unloaded the horses and gear, roped the manties, filled the panniers, saddled the horses, and of course paid the final amount. He would give me back the $55 when we got back to his ranch at the end of the trip. I’m beginning to get a little uneasy.

So we got everything loaded, saddled, packed, and paid for. Time to hit the trail; we have 16 miles to go.

“One thing I forgot to tell you guys,” the outfitter says. Oh oh!

“Guys” he says, “there was a mixup on the dates for this trip, I have another group of hunters coming in behind you. So I’m going to go back to the ranch and get them loaded up and guide them up to their campsite at the high lake. I figure you guys know where you are going since you were there this summer. So I’ll stay at their camp tonight then work my way up to your camp tomorrow and make sure you guys are all settled in.”

So after a few minutes of “discussion” — heavy on the “cuss” part — he hopped in the truck and was off to get group two. I don’t think I’m going to get my $55 back.

After I don’t even remember how many hours in the saddle, we came to the place where the trail divides between the route straight ahead toward our destination or left toward the high lake destination of the group coming in behind us. By now we had driven a long way to the outfitter’s ranch, worked our butts off loading the gear, traveling to the trailhead, and finally wrangling the pack string to this point. We decided to make a camp here, have something to eat, and get some rest. We decided to unload the pack horses and demand that the outfitter repack them in the morning, and we would finish the trip to our destination.

It was late in the afternoon by now, so we set to work unloading stuff and getting a simple camp set up. We decided to have something to eat, drink a few beers, and then get the horses completely unloaded and secured for the night. It took us a couple of hours to get the camp set up, get something to eat and rest for a little bit before taking care of the horses.

About then the outfitter rode into our camp with his other clients. He wanted to know what we were doing setting up camp at this location. After about 20 or so minutes of more intense “discussion,” it was determined that since I had experience with horses (we had horses on the ranch I grew up on), I, me, Lanny Olson, would guide the outfitter’s other clients up to their high lake destination. The outfitter and my hunting companions would repack the horses and the outfitter would meet his obligation to guide us into our camp, help set up our camp, and take care of the horses. Then in the morning he would take out the horses, and then return in six days to pack us out as had been contracted for.

So I am introduced to the group as the guide who will get them to high lake camp. Some final words from the outfitter before heading out: “Rest the horses just before heading up the long steep climb and rest them about halfway up; don’t get them tired out.” I’m not liking this.

The other hunters and I mount up and head out for the high ground and high lake camp. The string consisted of myself leading, followed by four pack horses, and three hunters.

About an hour and a half into the ride, we reach the point where we will begin the steep incline, so we stop to rest the horses. After a rest (longer than I wanted; it’s getting late), we start the climb. So we climb for about 30 minutes and I hear the largest hunter’s horse grunting, so I stop the parade and rest the horses again. It’s dark now, but fortunately I’m riding a great horse. I don’t have to do anything, he knows what to do and can see in the dark and apparently knows where we are going.

We are just at the point where I think we should take a break again when all hell breaks loose behind me. We are on a hillside steep up on the left and steep down on the left. The second pack horse missed a step, lost balance and rolled off the downhill side.

Fortunately, the following pack animals pulled back hard, breaking the pig string and remained on the trail. But it was dark, and I couldn’t exactly determine exactly the situation. I called to the hunters and they were all OK and on their animals and still on the trail. In fact, all the other horses were on the trail.

I told the first hunter to take the reins of the horse behind him and hold him. I told the second hunter to dismount and to come and take the reins of my horse.

Someone came up with a flashlight, so things would now be easier to sort out. The horse that had gone over the side had not gone far, but he was laying on his side with his feet uphill and his head facing downhill. The packs were all turned around and were under him and on top of him. In addition to the manties, stuff had been tied on top and behind so it was a heck of a mess.

I got to the underside of the horse (I know, not a good thing to do) and cut any strings, ropes, leather straps — anything that would free the load. We pulled what stuff we could away from the animal (that had remained remarkably calm), and then managed to get his head aimed in the correct way and got him to his feet. He stood up, shook himself off, and jumped back on the trail. I took whatever I could and tied it on the horse in any fashion I could. After a while (I don’t know how long) we got everything loaded on an animal or hunter and headed uphill.

We got to high lake campsite after 11 at night. I helped the hunters unload their stuff, which included a huge military dark green tent that was circular and held up by a pole in the middle, and weighed at least 200 pounds. Mr. Big wanted to know why I wasn’t helping get their camp set up. Isn’t that what I’m being paid to do?

“Sir,” I said. “I’m just a city guy who works a high pressure management job with AT&T, and a member of the hunting group back down the mountain, who volunteered to help get your sorry fat ass up here.”

With that, I lined up the horses, pigged (tied them together with piece of bailing string) them up and headed down the trail.

I guess I can’t blame these guys for their attitude. Things were not going exactly as they had planned, either. Plus, they did not know that I had spent the last 35 years in the Seattle area working as a marketing manager traveling throughout the country, and that the only experience I had with pack horses, manties (canvas wrapped supplies tied to be loaded onto a pack animal), pig strings, etc., was on the summer trip we made before this hunting trip. Plus, I was paying the same as they were to be packed into the high country.

I really learned to respect horses. They can see in the dark, and dark it was. The only thing I could see was sparks when a horseshoe hit a rock.

Somewhere coming down, a branch knocked my cowboy hat off. It was a cherished hat that had been a lot of places with me, but it would be foolish to stop the string to look for it.

So it was almost 4 in the morning when I got to our camp. The other guys came out and took care of the animals while I sucked the bottom out of a beer, then guzzled another just for fun.

It snowed while I got some sleep. The following day two backpackers wandered into camp with my treasured cowboy hat perched on top of a backpack. Yes, I told them, I had lost a cowboy hat and that was it.

The following days we scouted a lot of country looking for deer. I have a good pair of binoculars mounted on a tripod that allow me to be pretty good at seeing deer, but on this trip, we did not see a single deer and only a few tracks. So, when it came time to head home, all we had to worry about was if the outfitter would show up to extract us from this adventure.

He did, and I didn’t ask about the $55.

It could have been worse.

- • •

Lanny Olson is a Coeur d’Alene resident. He is also the Mayor of Mahoney, which is likely somewhere near his “favorite place in the world.” Per Olson, “To tell exactly where Mahoney is would be like telling everybody exactly where your best huckleberry patch is, or maybe where your elk honey hole is. So, I will tell you only that it is accessible only by airplane, is extremely remote, and all of its citizens are hunters. Mahoney citizenship is a fairly exclusive group — of the best kind of people.”

Olson can be reached at mahoneymayor1@gmail.com.