Having a Great Day

Have you ever knelt next to a mountain stream and felt the water with your hands as it washes over them and thought of how important these precious resources are to our lives. I'm not just referring to methods in which we refresh our bodies needs but the whole picture. These mountain streams are life's breath to millions of users whether it is human beings, animals or plant growth. From one small river, thousands of homes are powered, millions of seeds are sprouted, and enough food is produced for the benefit of mankind.

As I've witnessed these streams, creeks, and rivers here in the Rocky Mountains, it never fails to amaze me how great and powerful they are. My thoughts are always thinking about the scheme of life and just how important to our societies this water is. If you sit back and think about it a minute while you're out and about in these pristine mountain settings, you can't help seeing an all omnipotent hand print on the whole blueprint of life. A designing hand that is much more advanced than the likes of mankind.

One year I was on a horse pack trip into the Frank Church wilderness or as some might call it the "The River Of No Return." It was in the fall, and the mountain vista took on the appearance of fire. The leaves were in full colors and the mountain meadows were teaming with animals. One particular day I had ridden my horse out from our spike camp and was in the process of scouting an area previously unknown to me. I had been in this particular place once before, but I had not traveled south of the area where our camp was located that day.This path took me down closer to the main river. After several hours of winding back and forth on an old worn trail, I found myself next to the rushing river.

I dismounted and decided this would be a fine time to do some fishing. I hobbled my horse and set about putting my fly fishing outfit together and proceeded to cast into the stream. It didn't take but four casts and a large rocky mountain cutthroat trout leaped out of the water and did his tail turning dance on the surface. I played the fish and in several minutes, I had secured two nice fat trout for the pan. I made a small fire and cooked the delicious trout. Now, when I say delicious I mean finger slamming hardly breathing-swallowing good. If you've never eaten fresh pan fried trout at 9500 ft. elevation then you're missing a real treat. The best part of this morsel meal is that you caught it with a hand tied fly, cooked it up yourself in the pan and didn't need any table manners to put the food down. Another bonus is no dishes to clean up, and the frying pan I dipped in the river, and a shirt sleeve applied for the towel off. All this I accomplished while taking in one of the most dramatic sunsets ever witnessed.

Saddling up my pony and making ready for a late evening ride out of the river canyon, I thought I noticed something on a large cliff outcropping. I made my way over to the strange markings on the cliff face and nearly fell over in astonishment. There before me was a wall full of petroglyphs. In studying the ancient carvings, I could see evidence of at least three separate generations of indigenous nomads that had precluded my arrival at this site. I was amazed at the grandeur of the moment as I stood where ancient peoples had communicated with one another over a period of thousands of years.

I walked back over to my horse and pulled out my watercolors and sat down and proceeded to take it all in. In fact, I became so engulfed at the moment that I lost all track of the sunset and the evening shadows as they fell into the canyons recesses. Hearing a sound behind me, I turned to see a beautiful herd of Rocky Mountian elk making their way down the opposite side of the river to partake of the fresh river water as it flowed through the rocks creating small pools for access. My elk permit was not legal for that side of the river and to take an elk on the opposite shore of that full river would have made for waste. I just turned around and watched the herd make their way to the waters edge and cautiously dip their noses in the river's eddies. What a magnificent sight this was. Now this is when a man feels real small in the world as compared to the enormity of the makers hand on things. There I sat in this beautiful setting with nature in full bloom including the wild ones and the only thing that seemed out of place was me. It was like I didn't belong but in my mind, I surmised that it was all created for my enjoyment and pleasure.

I can't describe how intense the colors were on the Aspen as I tried in vain to match the floral with my man made watercolors. The background of black pine against the yellows and burnt orange leaves of the aspen made for a contrast almost unbelievable to the human eye. The elk looked as natural as if they had been placed there by a magical hand thousands of years before. The wild river flowed past on its way to the lowlands, and the deep river canyon glowed with a dark purple hue. I remember having a feeling of wonder as I took it all in that afternoon on the mountain. Sitting there watching that natural display of the forest and all it had to offer a thought kept creeping into my mind as the time slipped away. How great was this day in my life to witness such an event that continues over and over again through each season. And how great a day the Maker was having when he created all of this for his children to enjoy.

Well, the evening turned to dark shadows, and before I knew it, I was staring at a darkened sky. Suddenly the thought of riding out of that winding canyon in total darkness was not such a pleasant thought. I had stayed at least two hours longer than I should have and by the time I raised up from painting and taking it all in I was in for a long cold, scary horse ride in the darkness. Chalk one up for watching the ants in the grass while the buffalo herd runs over the top of you. I was pulling leather cinch straps faster than I could get my fingers out of my gloves and in real quick time I was in the saddle and putting my horse on the trail at a fast walk.

Now in those days, we were strapped with the old fashioned D cell battery flashlights. You might remember the ones that you had to keep knocking against your leg or something to keep them lit up. Well, this was my lantern for the long ride back to the spike camp. Not only was this a problem but I had not put in fresh batteries for several days and I had used the light each morning riding out to hunt in the dark until the morning skies light up the mountains. That plastic flashlight lasted about an hour and then it totally quit the trail on me. There I was alone with my horse on the trail in a night sky with no moon and black pine forest surrounding me with all the noises that a forest can make, and my only source of light just bit the dust. Not to mention ole Mister Grizzly and the Mountain Howler were out on the prowl as well.

As I write this, I can remember the feeling that engulfed me. I had gone from a purely awe- encompassing experience down at the rivers edge to riding hell bent for leather before I had to stay out on the mountain all night in the timber. These and many other thoughts were racing through my mind as I came to realize the error in time judgment I had made. It was a good thing for me that my horse had all the brains in that situation, and if I had just known to leave him his head, he would have had the whole situation under control. Instead, I made matters worse by second guessing his every move on the ride back to camp.

I knew my hunting partners would be worried if I tucked up for the night and just waited out the morning. So the only choice I had was to press on. We finally topped out of the river canyon, and I knew from that point that it was another two hours to the spike camp if I could find it in the dark. The only place that I had been on a trail of sorts was down the river canyon. From the spike camp to where I was located that night, my horse and I had to pick our way through a thick pine forest weaving back and forth through the trees and openings. It was at this point when I struggled with my horse, Cactus Eddie, as he was named and his decision to take this left and that right. I knew more than him because I was the human and he is the animal being ridden, or at least, that's the way I thought it should be. After what seemed like a long time, I finally gave into his intuition and gave him his head. I cursed him for being a knothead and threatened him with the old mink feed story if he didn't get us home that night and I believe he ignored me the whole time I was ranting.

Sometimes when you are in a stressful situation and pressures of the moment start piling up, we humans can get a thing called nervous bowel syndrome. That's the politically correct version of the Rocky Mountain quick step, the galloping trots, or the Hersey squirts. Now I found myself riding at a pounding pace through the night on a horse with a compass between his ears and nature taking its course on the old Kester when I had to pull up on the reins and bring the whole show to a halt right there in the thick timber. Those Rocky Mountain trout were swimming through me like they were going upstream to spawn. Or maybe it was that extra dash of Tabasco sauce I had put on the pan fish; that stuff never liked me anyways.

Well, as I stepped down out of the saddle, I thought I noticed Eddie looking at me through the night air with a puzzled look like he was asking why we were stopping out here in the middle of nowhere. Well, I didn't have time to debate him right at that moment, so I tied the reins to his lower front legs hobble style and pulled the TP out of the saddle bags and ducked into the darkness. Now I won't go into details here but if you can put yourself into my situation on a wilderness mountain in the pitch black darkness around midnight partially lost and natures ringing the fire alarm you might get the point. When, where and how are words that might describe a midnight stroll through the timber to relieve one's self without a light. All I could think of at the moment was the two-bit flashlight and how it had deserted me in my time of need. It never crossed my mind until writing this tale that it was a total malfunctioning operator error and that the dang thing required batteries to work properly.

Well, after painting the pine needles in all directions and carefully watching my steps I literally felt my way back through the trees to find my horse patiently waiting for the sun to rise or something else to happen, he gave me the look once again as I pulled for the stirrup. We made good time and after several hours, Eddie found his way to the edge of the meadow where the spike camp was located, and his sweet grass reward awaited him. The boys in the camp were all sacked out in bedrolls, and no one seemed to notice but me that it was well after 3 am. I guess I got all worked up for nothing, and the whole excursion was just another day and night on the mountain.

Starving and half famished I pounded down four cold biscuits and six rice crispy treats. I washed this down with the sweet river water in my canteen and rolled out my bedroll and looked up into the stars as I stretched out and took it all in. I had made some mistakes that day and come away with some lessons in life but through it all, the good Lord had seen me safely to the end. You might say he and I were having a great day after all. Oh, and by the way, that little bottle of Tobasco sauce made its way to the fire pit once and for all that night.