Since there have been some confusion of the time of these stories, I thought I would relate a bit of history. In 1995, Two years after John and I were married we bought the outfitting business and thus began our great mountain adventures. Regulations and red tape are funny things, especially when it comes to the Forest Service, Montana Fish and Game and outfitting. The first year John had not yet acquired his Outfitting license due to afore mentioned red tape but the FS required that we have so many guests in our hunting area before the permits could be transferred to us. We operated under the former owner’s license and since we had not had time to advertise and get clients we invited our friends to come into camp and hunt the area. John did pass all his tests and the years following, we did have “real” clients, I will be relating some of those stories later. We owned and operated Wilderness Riders Outfitting (already named) for 5 or 6 years, but once we moved to Trego MT the distance to travel and the demands of running a ranch were such that we deemed it prudent to sell the business. I did run trail rides in the summer in Trego until we left the area. Don’t be surprised if some of my Trail ride adventures find their way into my blog also.

Kitchen boxes set up in kitchen tent

TROUBLE ON THE TRAIL

The Day Stormy Stormed

            John heaved the 70 pound wooden kitchen box against Stormy’s side laying it carefully on the pack saddle.  The handsome bay gelding stepped nervously away from us causing John to nearly drop the cumbersome box.

“Easy Buddy, take it easy now,” I crooned, as I rubbed the dark red neck.  I moved the rope, John had previously hung in place for the basket knot, around the box and pulled the end until it was cinched tight.  John held the rope while I eased around the fidgety gelding to pull down on the metal rings of the pack saddle acting as a counter weight while John tied off the rope on his side.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked, as John came around the horse’s rear and lifted the other box, resting it on the pack saddle.  Stormy shifted away again and I rubbed his neck, talking gently to him.

“Whaaat?”  John grunted while holding the heavy box.

“Packing Stormy,” I worked on getting the rope in place and pulling it tight. “Okay you can let go.  Are you sure you want to pack Stormy?”, I continued while my husband tied off that side.  “I can ride him.  Or maybe we should put the boxes on Sunny.”

The 4 by 3 ft. boxes held all the kitchen utensils, pots and pans, plates, eating utensils and other sundry supplies for the kitchen in our hunting camp.  To insure against any rattles or thumps I had carefully packed the boxes wrapping and cushioning the contents with towels, cloths and even our clothes. There shouldn’t have been any rattles, but the boxes tended to squeak a bit against the saddle and bump the side of the horse.

“Terry said he’d been packed, I’m sure he’ll be okay once he gets used to it.”  John moved to grab a pack of light gear rolled in a canvas manny.  “Just steady this,” he said as he placed the pack on top of the pack saddle.

Stormy, a seven year old Quarter horse we had borrowed from John’s cousin, stomped his foot as he stood with head up and ears twitching. I rubbed him with one hand and steadied the mannied pack with the other.  John carefully slid the rope over the pack and began his intricate weaving and knotting to keep the bulky pack and boxes in place for the 9 mile ride up the mountain to our hunting camp.

Once done Stormy was left to stand at the hitching post to ponder his unfamiliar burden while we repeated the steps of loading the other three pack horses, except with these we used panyards, or pack bags, that were strapped to the pack saddles.  Partner, also borrowed for the first time from Cousin Terry, was blind in his left eye and had to be approached from that side carefully, never from the rear since he tended to kick when he heard sounds he could not identify. Partner danced around and fidgeted some, but once the pack was securely in place he settled down and seemed to take it in his stride.

This was our first year as outfitters and we, as well as the horses, were learning the ropes.  We had done some packing that summer into the high mountain lakes, but now it was hunting season and time to set up our hunting camp on Cache Creek in the middle of a roadless, wilderness area on the rugged Montana/Idaho border.

We had also borrowed from Terry, a, gentle palomino gelding and I had opted on Lucky’s steadiness to ride while leading packhorses up the rugged trail.  Especially horses that were not seasoned in packing.  John decided I should lead Stormy since he was familiar with Lucky and he would lead the other three pack horses.

After checking cinches, I mounted Lucky, and John handed me Stormy’s lead rope and told me to lead him around a bit to make sure the load would ride okay.  Stormy calmly followed in a couple of circles with head low, ears forward, seemingly unconcerned.

“Okay,” John said as he walked towards his riding horse, Blue, and the other three horses who were tied to the corral fence, “seems he’s okay with—”

Suddenly the rope was jerked from my hand as Stormy leaped forward and started bucking, heading straight towards John.

“Watchit!” I yelled, and John jumped to the side.  Stormy bucked past the other horses making them jump and pull on the lead ropes. With the heavy boxes flapping and thumping his side, the horse bucked his way around the large corral then came to a stand still not far from where Lucky and I watched with wide eyes.

“Easy Buddy,” I slid off Lucky and eased up to the shaking bay, “its okay now, easy boy.”  Grabbing the lead rope, I rubbed Stormy’s sweaty neck and crooned to him.

John checked knots and cinches, “Well at least the load held,” he said with a grin.  He grabbed Stormy’s lead rope and led him around.  The gelding followed quietly, with his head behind John’s back.  Stopping John rocked the boxes back and forth and thumped them against Stormy’s side.  Stormy stood still with head down.

“Seems he got that out of his system, he’ll be okay now.”  Then he handed me the lead.

All right, okay, he’ll be fine.  I told myself, as we headed down the trail with John in the front leading Rocket with Sunny and Partner piggybacked behind. Real reassuring when you think of it, we had Stormy, Rocket, Blue the Boo-boo and a one-eyed Partner.  Luckily we had a calm Lucky Strike and once healed of his cut, Sunny shinned as a mountain horse. In fact he never stepped off the trail again. (from a previous story)

I gripped Stormy’s rope as if I was hanging off a cliff.  Stormy followed meekly behind the quiet Lucky, head down, calmly plunking one hoof in front of the other.

“That’s good, ole Stormy boy, nothing to worry about here.”  I kept talking to him as we meandered up a gentle slope through wide spaced timber.  Calm settled on my shoulders like a cape of warm wool on a nippy morning.  I breathed deep the tangy scent of pine, fir and the decay of summer’s growth.  Tipping my head up, I watched a hawk sore in the blue expanse of sky.  The trail cut across an open slope, I could see the canyon ahead winding its way up the mountain.  The sun shone on the golden larch trees that littered the steep canyon sides among the dark green firs. Peace flooded my soul and the cares of life seemed far away.

As the trail leveled out in a patch of dog-hair, Lodgepole pine, I realized I still had a death grip on the lead rope and Stormy was dogging Lucky as calm as could be, so I relaxed my hold.  Yep, he’s fine now.

A minute later something banged my leg as a red streak flashed by and the lead rope jerked from my hand.  Stormy stormed again.  Running and bucking, he headed right towards John’s three loaded pack horses.

“Watch out!”  I yelled and held my breath.  The tornado of banging boxes and flying hooves landed right in the middle of four horses and there was a melee of horses, packs and John’s hat. I kept my eyes on Stormy who was carrying my kitchen.  The before mentioned cyclone, bucked amongst the thick timber, the boxes thumping and clanging and banging on trees.  I could just imagine kitchen utensils and dishes strung all over tarnation.

Rocket followed suit and ran out through the trees bucking until his load slid to the ground.  Partner stood on the trail, head high, but not moving an inch and Sunny after jumping and whirling around, breaking the twine that held Partner to his pack saddle, drug his lead rope to follow Blue, who John tied to the nearest tree.

I jumped off Lucky and eased up to Partner before he decided to de-load also, and tied him to a tree.  Then I surveyed the damage.  Stormy stood a few hundred feet off the trail with one box dangling from his side, the other box a few feet away on the ground, sleeping bags and pads littered the forest floor.  Rocket completely denuded of saddle and pack was walking calmly towards us through the trees as if to say, “so that’s how it’s done.”

Stomping after John towards Stormy with my hands fisted, I growled, “If that horse has ruined my kitchen I’m shooting him!”  Course anyone who knows me, knows I could no more shoot a horse than dig a hole to the core of the earth.  But I was seeing red!  You don’t mess with my kitchen!

John wisely said, “Go get Rocket, I’ll take a look here.”  By the time I had gathered up Rocket, grumbling the whole way about, “stupid horses!”  John had the box untangled and the pack saddle off Stormy.  Who now stood calmly with his head down and his sweaty sides heaving.

“You won’t fool us again with that calm act,” I growled to the meek looking horse.  I expected to see broken boxes and kitchen utensils scattered amongst the forest growth, but not a box was open. They both held tight and were undamaged.

However the girth straps on Rocket’s saddle were broken, so saddle and the load had to be left behind until the next trip when we could repair it.  John put his saddle on Stormy, very brave fellow he is.  And we packed the boxes on Blue since Rocket was too small for the big boxes. So after an hour or so delay we once again made our way up the trail.

Once John tried using Stormy to pack fire wood into camp, and low and behold if he didn’t up and storm again, stringing firewood a hundred yards through the timber.  However, Stormy was a fine riding horse.  John rode him, I rode him, a guide we hired rode him, his owner rode him when he came into camp, but never again did we try to pack Stormy.

Psalms 29:3-11                                     A Storm.

“The voice of the Lord is over the waters.  The God of glory thunders!”

Black clouds roil on the horizon, rolling swiftly before the wind.  Thunder rolls across the prairie like a bowling ball, rumbling across the dark sky.

“The voice of the Lord is powerful!  The voice of the Lord is full of majesty.”

Wind tears across the prairie grass, laying it to the ground.  The wind bends the trees almost double.  The wind screams around the house and roars in the tree tops.

The voice of the Lord breaks the cedars yes, the Lord splinters the cedars of Lebanon. He makes them also skip like a calf and a young wild ox.

Tall pines crack and splinter in the wind.  Huge branches fly to the ground.  Captives of the wind, tumble weeds roll and bounce across the prairie.

“The voice of the Lord divides the flames of fire.

Lighting streaking across the sky, horizontal to the earth.  Bolts splitting and shooting through the clouds, exploding brilliance from horizon to horizon.

“The voice of the Lord shakes the wilderness.”

Thunder crashes, the ground shakes, the house shudders, the hills quake.

“The Lord makes the deer give birth and strips the forest bare.”

Nature, animals, tornados, floods, earthquakes, hurricanes, great storms, God controls it all.

“In His temple everyone says, “Glory!”

Glory to the Mighty One!  Holy, Holy  Holy is the Lamb who was slain!

“The Lord sat enthroned at the flood.

The flood was God’s idea, He created it, He made it happen. He controls all things. He brings good and he brings bad, for—

“The Lord sits as King forever!”

Forever and ever He is King over all!

“The Lord will give strength to His people.  The Lord will bless His people with peace.”

When the storm rolls in, when there’s trouble on the trail, when the night gets black as ink, when the lightening streaks, when the thunder crashes, when the ground shakes,  when the wind snaps the trees, I can have utter trust and complete peace that surpasses understanding, because I know God is in control.  He is with me always and gives me strength during the storm.

Job says, “But He is unique, and who can make Him change?  And whatever His soul desires, that He does.  For He performs what is appointed for me, and many such things are with Him.” 23:13-14

God does what God desires, nothing and no one can change Him or His plans.  He performs for me, what He has planned, and He has many plans for me.  I believe with all my heart those plans are for  good.  Even when they don’t seem good.

Job also says, “But He knows the way that I take, when he has tested me,  I shall come forth as gold.”

God knows about the storm, or the terrible trouble, or my small problems. He knows and He allows or causes the tests for my good.  So that I may come forth as gold.  Gold to shine forth His glory!  So that I may stand in His temple, where ever He is, and shout “GLORY! Glory to God!”

“Give unto the Lord, O you mighty ones, give unto the Lord glory and strength.  Give unto the Lord the glory due to His name.  Worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness.”  Ps. 29:1-2

At base camp, left to right, Lucky, Stormy, Rocket, Blue, Sunny

The Cache Creek trail, Larch trees on the hillside

Blue and Sunny tied to the highline

String of pack horses, hauling hay, Partner in rear

Loading and hitching–not sure what we had going there

Arriving in camp before tents are set up, We even packed Misti, the dog.                               Rocket in foreground

On the trail, probably near where Stormy stormed