By Patricia Probert Gott

Friday evening, my boss Greg Fallon who owned the dude ranch where I worked, told me he wanted me as an extra wrangler on a pack trip that would leave Sunday.

He explained, “There’s a lady named Sara who has booked a trip for her father, two brothers, sister and herself. They’re from New York City and have never been on a horse pack trip before. I’m thinking I need you to go along and hold her hand and smooth things over if things get rough.”

Me a PR person! That’s different, I thought. However, I smiled and said, “Sure, I’ll be glad to.” I looked forward to a week’s break from ranch work.

Duffel packed with a warm sweater, wool socks and long underwear and wearing chaps, light jacket and gloves, I tied a heavier jacket and slicker onto my saddle and stored a scarf, extra socks and another pair of gloves in my saddlebag. Knowing rain or snowstorms commenced quickly in high elevations, I wanted to be neither wet nor cold.

Early Sunday morning, Jason the guide and Todd the other wrangler, transported seven black Percheron packhorses, Jason’s guide horse, Todd’ wrangle horse, Lila the cook’s mare and my mare Beauty along with five guest horses, in two horse-vans to the trailhead. The trucks also carried horse tack, folding canvas chairs, tents and tarps. Lila and I followed with another truck filled with food-stuffed panniers, and cooking equipment.

As soon as we arrived at the trailhead, we fed and watered the animals and then started sorting and packing. It would take three to four hours to get it all done. Packing horses was very precise and difficult work. Fortunately, Jason and Todd had a lot of previous experience and began strapping on the packsaddles. Lila carried equally weighted food panniers to each pack animal. The men placed cook gear, bedrolls, duffels, and tents on top of the panniers, covered them with tarps tied down with ropes. I groomed and saddled our nine riding horses.

The van carrying the guests arrived. Sara introduced her father Frank, sister Carol, and brothers Ned and Ted. Jason assigned a riding horse to each. Todd and I fitted their stirrups, giving them a few basic instructions, i.e. do not lag behind, and do not crowd each other on the trail.

Jason said, “Mount up, let’s move out.”

From the trailhead, the pack team immediately crossed the North Fork of the Shoshone, with Jason leading a string of four packhorses and Todd leading a string of three. Lila followed next, then the guests; I bought up the rear.

The Shoshone ran swift and deep in places so Jason said specifically, “Follow my horse, stay in a line, and do not try to find your own way across.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the youngest brother Ted tried to overtake his sister Carol. His horse stepped in a hole and Ted was soaked up to his thighs in cold river water—mountain snowmelt. I shook my head saying, oh well.

Jason continued riding, wet and unhappy.

Once we were on the trail, everyone settled into line enjoying the tranquil forest. Sara even spotted a moose hiding in some swamp brush watching us. The trail gradually ascended hills then descended toward Fishhawk Creek. At noon, Lila, the guests, and I stopped alongside the creek and ate cold bag lunches while the packhorses and guides kept traveling toward the campsite.

By late afternoon we arrived at Fishhawk Meadows. The guests’ tents stood erect and the cook’s tent was assembled. Jason was chopping wood for the fire; Todd was tethering two of the mares; the packhorses were grazing unrestrained nearby.

I turned the remaining horses loose to graze after I’d unsaddled them, placing each saddle, with blankets and bridle, on a long log and covering them all with a tarp in case of rain. Next, I collected my duffel and set about putting up my own tent.

Soon I heard Sara and Carol complaining to Jason, “We found pine needles in our tent,” Sara said.

Being a quiet polite guide, he simply handed her a dustpan and asked, “Do you need anything else?”

“Yes. Where is the bathroom?” Carol inquired.

Jason showed them the spade with a roll of toilet paper on top and said, “Anywhere you want as long as you bury it.”

They huffed and strode back to their tent. They might just start turning brown with constipation if they did not learn how to potty in the woods before we got back on Friday.

After they left, Jason said, “I think they expected a five-star hotel with a chocolate on their pillow and an attached bath. Guess they’ve never camped in the woods.”

“Obviously not. This week will be an enormous learning experience for them,” I answered as I helped Todd put out the canvas chairs around the campfire.

Morning brought fog and a bull moose grazing behind my tent in the tall grasses. I watched him for a while before telling the others. I found the fire roaring and coffee hot. Pack trip coffee was not brewed not instant. A metal coffeepot filled with water sat on the open fire until it boiled; Lila dumped a handful of loose coffee grounds into it and set it aside. A few minutes later, she dropped an eggshell into the coffee to collect the grounds to the bottom and it was ready to drink– strong but good.

At breakfast the men guests complained about the ground being hard, and the ladies were late for breakfast. Lila roused the NYC lady guests out of their tent at nine. Breakfast had been at seven.

Before continuing up the pass, Jason asked if I could soft-talk the guests and gain their cooperation and understanding.

Tact was never my strong suite; however I did have empathy for the guests, as I was once a dude myself.

“Okay, listen-up everyone,” I said. “Before we go over Eagle Pass into Yellowstone, I heard a lot of complaining last night and this morning about too dirty, too cold, too hard, etc. The brochures that you received said this trip is ‘a progressive trek for six days and five nights, covering fifteen miles each day on horseback over mountains, and sleeping in two-person tents on the ground at night.’ It was not billed as a plush, easy ride with hot showers and a feather bed at the end of each day.

“So let’s ‘cowboy-up’ and enjoy the rest of the trip. Jason is one of the best guides in Wyoming. He’ll show you wilderness you’ve only dreamed about, and will keep you safe in the process. If you have a real problem, one of the crew will gladly help; but let’s stop the petty complaining and grumbling.”

Everyone was silent.

The pack trail climbed steeply through forested switchbacks until reaching the summit of the Continental Divide nearly 9600 feet in elevation. There the trail crossed open cliffs.

Looking over the trailside at the terrain dropping a few hundred feet caused most first-timers to become anxious. Carol was petrified. Her horse was as cautious and surefooted as a horse could be, but Carol was not mollified. She wanted to get off her horse and walk but of course there was no place for her to dismount. The trail was only a couple of feet wide.

Jason, the guide, had reached the summit and upon hearing Carol’s crying, tied his horse and his pack string. He walked back, urging the others to find a tree or shrub and tie up at the summit near his horses. I was behind Carol and unable to pass or dismount to help, so I spoke to her calmly, “Carol, just stay on your horse and Jason will come back for you. See, here he comes now.”

He appeared agitated, “Carol if you’ll just stop crying and sit quietly, I’ll lead you the rest of the way to the summit. Are you ready?”

She held back her tears and nodded, yes.

Everyone took a badly needed break enjoying the vista, before descending to Howell Creek and easier riding. Jason placed Carol between his pack string and Todd’s. Riding drag behind the trekkers was peaceful and quiet again…Thank you, God.

We were now in Yellowstone Park. We set up camp on the Yellowstone River. Ned and Ted erected the guests’ tents without assistance. Todd asked Frank if he would like to join him fishing and they caught a few of the legendary Yellowstone cutthroat and brought them back to camp. Thus, we feasted on pan-fried trout and potatoes for supper. Ted, Sara’s older brother, opened two bottles of Merlot wine, sharing them with everyone. Tasty cherry tarts cooked over hot embers were dessert.

No grumbling; no complaints. What a relief!

Lila and I shared a tent, as it meant one less tent to put up and take down. Before dawn we heard rustling outside. Something was nuzzling our tent. Neither of us dared unzip the tent flap to look out for fear of facing a grizzly or some other fierce night creature. We waited silently until we heard Jason and Todd talking in the cook tent. The rustling turned out to be the horses grazing around our tent!

However, later that morning, following the Yellowstone, Jason pointed out a female grizzly and her two cubs across the river and Todd found large grizzly paw prints in the sand where we stopped for lunch. These were constant reminders of the presence of grizzlies. Nightly, Jason and Todd hoisted our food supplies 10 feet high and between trees, out of grizzly reach.

We followed the river valley to the confluence of the Thorofare and Yellowstone Rivers, and then rode east to a ranger station. The log cabin, barn, and corrals, now empty, were historic structures nestled next to a hillside.

Jason said, “This territory around the ranger station is considered the most remote place in the continental United States. The region is called the Thorofare because it is wide and easy to travel. For centuries, Indians and fur trappers used this route. Mountain man Jim Bridger named nearby Bridger Lake. This valley is approximately fourteen miles long and three miles wide and remains just as wild and free as it was 200 years ago. We Americans are fortunate to have such a designated wilderness area as this.”

We set up camp along the Thorofare River just beyond the ranger station. What a spectacular place to camp; it was all set up by mid-afternoon. The sun was shining brightly and blue skies were abundant. There was plenty of time to take a hike and explore, or take a swim in the peaceful, sublime river.

The guests chose to relax in the folding camp chairs and read. Jason was replacing shoes on a couple of his horses. Todd was digging a pit for Lila to cook a roast in the ground for tonight’s supper. The sisters went to test the river water to feel how cold it was, as they wanted to swim and wash up.

“Brrr,” Sara said shivering, “This water is colder than the Atlantic Ocean in New England.”

Todd stopped digging to watch them; he laughed, “Of course the river’s cold; it’s snowmelt directly from those mountain tops over there,” pointing northeast to snowcapped peaks no more than five miles away.

“We were trying to be brave and ‘cowboy-up’ as you say,” Carol answered coquettishly.

“I’ll heat water over the fire and you can use a wash pan like the rest of us cowboys do. You’ll be a lot more comfortable,” he offered with a smile.

“Thank you,” Sara replied, “that would be wonderful.”

The aroma of hotcakes, bacon and eggs frying permeated the air drawing guests from their tents the following morning. Jason had told them that today’s trek would be easy and they actually looked forward to riding. The group rode south and west around Bridger Lake and then followed the Yellowstone River again north to Mountain Creek. The ride up the valley was quiet and effortless. The guests enjoyed it; and pleasing them was important.

We camped at the joining of Mountain and Howell Creek, not far from where we had camped two nights ago. Apparently, it had just dawned on the city slickers that we had been slowly ascending in altitude and that mountain peaks stood directly ahead on the trail.

In a state of panic, Carol asked Jason, “Do we have to go over another pass?”

“Yep,” he replied.

“Can’t we go home another way?”

“Nope.”

“Is there any way I can get home without riding a horse?”

“Yep, you can walk, we’ll lead your horse.”

“Can you call a helicopter to come get me?”

“Nope, not unless you break a bone or have a heart attack. You’d be wasting their valuable time and I won’t do it.”

“I think I’m going to be ill.”

“We’ll help you the best we can. Have a little faith in us. We’ve been packing over mountain passes for quite a few years and we’ve never lost a guest yet.”

Just before dawn the next morning, the camp awoke suddenly to rattle, bang, clatter, and clang. “Oh no, I don’t even want to think about what that noise is,” I whispered to Lila as I buried my head under my pillow.

“I’m staying inside this tent until sunup or until I hear familiar voices outside,” she replied.

When the sun surfaced, Jason told us that there had been a bear rummaging around in the cook’s tent.

“Ordinarily I would have shot over its head to scare it off, but guns are illegal in Yellowstone Park. They want us to use pepper spray,” he said rolling his eyes. “I carry a 44-magnum in my pack but I’d use it only if it was a life threatening situation. I think it was a black bear being nosey not threatening, so I rattled a few pans to scare it off.”

Well now, this day had started out exhilarating. I wondered what excitement Eagle Pass would bring.

Jason had convinced Carol that it was safer to ride her horse across the open ledges of Eagle Pass and down the switchbacks than for her to walk it herself. While everyone stopped at the top for a breather, he took me aside.
“Pat, will you lead Carol from your horse? Keep her close and keep her mind off the steep terrain.”

“Sure, I’ll turn around and talk her through it. My mare has the instincts and agility of a mountain goat. We’ll be okay.”

I told Carol to look up the mountainside, instead of ahead or down the fall line, and tried to make conversation with her until we were past the steepest terrain. When we reached the meadows below, she said, “Pat, thank you so much for being patient with me.”

“Your welcome. You’re not the first guest to become frightened riding over these passes,” I said with a reassuring smile.

We rode the length of Three-Mile-Meadows, stopping at the last unused campsite, as was customary among packers. This was done as a courtesy to other outfitters camping in the valley, so they would not have to pass through a herd of horses grazing free on the tall meadow-grasses.

Lila and I put our tent on the outskirts of camp that night…too much noise and chatter around the campfire and we were tired.

&ldquoldquo;Listen,” I said as I awoke to an owl hooting just before dawn.

“I don’t hear anything,” she replied sleepily.

“That’s the problem—no noise. No snorting, blowing, whinnying, no bells tinkling, no hooves stamping or grasses rustling. Too quiet. I’m going to awaken Jason and see what’s up.”

Unfortunately, our horses did not stay close that night; they mingled with another outfitter’s horses that had camped at the other end of the meadow. Jason and Todd saddled the two tethered mares and set off to find the other horses. Soon Todd came back with five of the blacks. “Pat, you need to saddle a horse and help. Our horses are all intermixed and we need to separate them and bring ours back.

“Ebony here hasn’t been ridden for a long time, but I think he’s saddle broke. Lila, can you halter the other four so they don’t follow us.”

I threw a saddle on Ebony who was a sixteen hand half-Percheron. He was full of nervous energy as I had to lead him to a tree stump to mount up. Immediately, he crow-hopped across the campsite before finally settling into a consistent trot following a grinning Todd.

“Hey cowgirl, I didn’t know you could ride a bucking bronc. Good job staying on,” Todd said as we rode up the meadow looking for any stray horses along the way.

“I didn’t just come off the city streets, you know; I can ride” I said indignantly. “But, truthfully, it’s a good thing he stopped bucking when he did…I don’t think I could have stayed on much longer.”

We spotted Jason and the other outfitter each attempting to cut out their own horses from the combined group of nearly thirty. With Todd’s help and mine, the cutting was more successful. Todd roped Elvira, who was a half-sister to Ebony, handed the lariat to me and said, “Why don’t you lead her back to the campsite—start slowly. Jason is roping Adobe, who’s another dominant horse, and will lead him back too. I’ll round up the rest and hopefully they’ll follow you guys.”

They did. Crisis over.

We spotted a bull moose at the far edge of the meadow and jumped two mule deer out of a thicket of brush before leaving the meadow. The return trek was quiet and uneventful.

The guests were serene and melancholy upon reaching the trailhead. Carol, Frank, and Ned shook our hands and thanked us sincerely for getting them back safely.

Ted said, “I’ll never forget this trip.”

Sara added, “We’ve had the experience of our lifetime.”

She did not clarify if it was good or bad—I did not ask.