Leavitt Meadows are turning into autumn yellow.

David, crazy Terminator and stubborn mules

A break shorter than a fortnight was soon over, and we were on the road again. This time with a bit of unknown. Already in summer we had reserved a two day horse trip for me and Sid at Leavitt Meadows, planning that we would leave the children at home with granny. Our packing was no routine affair this time -- we had to ponder what to pack and how to fit into a weight limit for a mule. Vendula loaned us a bear-proof barrel for our food. We hesitated over our sleeping bags and warm clothes -- still, early September in the mountains may bring us many a surprise.

We started on Thursday at eight p.m., reached Strawberry by midnight, and crawled into sleeping bags in our car. Sid got up by alarm clock in the morning -- I was up since seven, so much used to Lisa's regular waking. At nine we showed up at Leavitt. We spend some time poring over maps with Craig, the pack station owner, and weighed our options. Craig said that we could ride all the way to Bonnie Lake; we were going to see how it develops.

Roosevelt Lake

A trappers' cabin

Sid was issued Farnsworth again. I made accepted with the idea that I would be given Egypt again, but instead they brought me a relatively large horse named Willie. Egypt is said to have trouble with her knees and can't go on longer rides. David, our guide, rode a blue-eyes horse names Spotty, and pulled two mules behind him -- one with our stuff and the other with a load of food for the animals. Spotty is a very poorly behaved horse, who does not understand walking the trail much yet. Mules -- you know how you say stubborn like a mule? It exactly fits our freight animals. David was always busy to keep his three-headed circus in the desired direction. Sid's Farnsworth, for a change, would procrastinate and pretend not to be able to maintain any faster walk. As soon as he lost the head of our team from sight, he whinnied desperately, but would not speed up -- in this he reminded me of our Lisa. My Willy was the only problem-free quadruped of the whole expedition, and so I have the feeling that I was the only one who could really enjoy our beautiful trip.

Our lunch stop had improved our morals, but getting back up in the saddle was noticeably more painful than in the morning. Somehow I had convinced Willie to go last, to stop Farnsworth from dragging behind. It improved the overall pace of our progress, but Sid's rumbling about his aching knees was growing louder. On Piute Meadow we declared another break and subsequently spent some time deciding what next. Eventually we nixed our plan to reach Bonnie Lake, and chose overnighting "somewhere near". David claimed to know a nice spot nearby, and he was right.

Sid with Farnsworth on a trail among rocks

Sun is very deceitful -- it was horribly cold!

Even my Hippo ceased complaining, when we stopped in a spacious grove with green grass and a bubbling creek surrounded by sandy banks. There were even some log stumps to sit on, but unlike in state managed "campgrounds", we found no abandoned fireplaces, heaps of garbage or any other filth. Many tiny frogs frolicked at the creek and our spirits went immediately up.

We erected our tent on a sand bank (after men laughed about my worries of flood water), cooked dinner, chatted for a while -- and turned antisocial by crawling into our sleeping bags by eight thirty. We slept on sand in royal comfort and after a whole day of toil, we had absolutely no problem falling asleep. I would like to insert a little explanation at this point. Many people are of the impression that being CARRIED by a horse takes no effort and don't understand how one could get tired by it. The only problem such people admit possible, is SORE BEHIND. So: you won't be sitting much on a horse that walks on a mountain trail. Either the horse is going uphill and then you need to brace your legs and shift your weight forward, to allow him pulling you up. When the horse goes downhill, you must brace your legs and shift your weight back, lest you fall across the animal's head - and thus actually most of the time you balance an inch above the saddle.

I woke one hour before Lisa's regular time. When I could not bear the boredom anymore, I crawled out of our tent. David was still sleeping, Sid snored, and I wanted to enjoy a quiet morning. Still hot from my dawn sleeping bag stuffed with fleece insert, I splashed in the icy creek -- and began to gradually add layers. In spite of the morning sunshine, it was pretty cold. I ended in several coats of clothing, and wrapped in a blanket. Spotty nicknamed Terminator, who seemed to be bored as well, began to whinny, which woke Sid and David.

Little frog.

Resting mules.

We had a slow and thorough breakfast, packed at length, and readied to move on. I had an apple core left over from breakfast and I went to bribe my Willie. I was surprised how eager he seemed to be, even wanted to snuggle and be petted (or he was checking me out for more goodies?). Either way I reckoned he began to take notice of me, and remained a much more attentive and interesting horse for the rest of the second day.

How the horses knew we were headed back home, I really don't know, but even Farnsworth with Hippo on his back would trot merrily on occasions. And how would they act once we reached the river! Terminator rushed into the water with his whole torso, submerging his head. Willy performed various maneuvers, trying to get ahead of David and his mules. To accomplish this, he was willing to jump in a deep pool, which I did not allow -- it was enough that my shoes got all wet; I did not care for any more thorough bath.

Walker River

My over-active Willy was eager to jump through the deep pool.

A mountain meadow scene.

Compared with Egypt, who the other day brushed me with all surrounding bushes, Willy was a much more sensitive buddy. We had even carefully avoided a nasty, sharply broken branch stump at the level of my head, which I spotted in the last moment. I shouted over my shoulder to Sid to be careful, but he underestimated nature and attempted to simply push the aged limb away with his hand, and the tip of it caught his hat. Farnsworth kept marching forward, unmoved by the struggle of his rider, who was fighting for his own life. The branch won the encounter and screaming ensued from which I concluded that my Hippo had at least gotten mauled by a bear. He ended up with a torn ear and a ripped cord of his hat.

Our journey continued across beautiful mountain meadows, another range and past a chain of lakes, to Walker Meadow, where the pack station keeps a base camp. They bring customers there and leave them to their own resources (let me mention that those include a well stacked supply tent, live cook, roofed camping tables, permanently maintained campfire and similar civilization benefits). From here, travelers may undergo excursions into the wilderness, go on fishing trips, or alternatively rent horses for more days of riding. Such a lifestyle seems too domesticated to us, but I understand people who like it. After all, we did not protest against sitting down on a chair, in a shade, while munching our lunch meal. David had originally promised us that the base would have beer, but we were out of luck -- we had apparently arrived on a day following some successful evening, and all their stash had been guffawed away.

We had entered into a long-wound discussion with one of the locals and Sid had soon noticed that he had found a kindred paranoid soul. By two in the afternoon, David was like sitting on needles, but our debate continued to be passionately political. I even have a feeling we had offended another camp inhabitant; at least he had left our debate while making some angry statements, and proceeded to keep in a safe distance. Eventually I had managed to drag the fired-up Sid away to the horses and convince him to leave. We still had some four hours in saddle ahead of us, hoping to make it during daylight.

A view of Flatiron Butte and Tower Peak

We met Austin by the first ford; she was missing one lower trouser, pulling a small herd of mules and horses to the base camp. For a moment, a wonderful confusion ensued, with our mules wanting to join the greater herd, while mules belonging to Austin wanted to turn in our direction -- home. Willy seized his opportunity and pushed ahead onto the trail as first. When I tried to turn in the minimum space the mountain path offered, David called that it was OK, for he could thus try to teach his horse to walk in the train.

Well, I don't know how Terminator liked it, but my Willy was filled with joy. Finally he could keep his own pace -- running up the hills, resting in flat spots and taking time, while no one would stop right in front of his nose on our way downhill. Furthermore, we were moving in the desired direction (home) -- and nobody was stirring up dust before us. I was enjoying this phase of our trip tremendously. Landscape ahead, absence of dust -- and Willy under his saddle, who obviously knew where to go, and who watched over me like Minnie the other day. There is a difference between riding a horse who regards you equal to a sack of potatoes, and a horse that turns his head towards you, responds to mere hints, and stops and waits before a more difficult step, so you can get ready in the saddle. Willy once began to trot in a moment I was turned back and not expecting it; it had quite jerked me. He immediately slowed down to a walk and sped up only after I was ready again.

There are many hours of downward ride ahead of us.

... and still downhill.

Then a really difficult descent came up and David had chased us back into the line. Willy was having a very hard time dealing with that, tried to get ahead in another ford, but this time he was not allowed. I have to say that by the time we had reached Roosevelt Lake, from where it is only one hour ride to the pack station, Sid kept cursing in a low voice, and I had a feeling that my legs would fall off from my knees down. We simply had to endure till the end.

It was to be interesting as well. The return trail to the pack station leads THROUGH a corral. The station was apparently deserted (it seems that the crew goes to the town on Saturdays), with the corral full of horses and mules. They were welcoming our steeds by loud neighing, and overall it looked like a beginning of a great horse party. David had stepped down from Spotty and opened the corral gate. Willy pushed forward and headed for another gate to the yard, where harnesses get removed, and where one can expect a bucket with something nice to munch. Farnsworth was pacing behind us in his deliberate way. Suddenly Spotty tore away from David and proceeded to merrily run up and down the corral, and succeeded in having all its other inhabitants join him. Whenever it seemed that they would slow down and relax, Spotty rushed between them, true to his nickname Terminator, and restored confusion.

... through a difficult landscape - at least our horses don't experience vertigo.

The sun is setting at Roosevelt Lake - another hour of ride ahead of us.

I was quite glad that we had not opened the other gate -- I imagined the whole madhouse released into the station yard... then the stampede got really near us and I regretted not being somewhere out of reach of all those crazy hooves. Willy snorted and threw glances in my direction, it was clear that he would very much like to join the running, but he was holding back. Sid backed Farnsworth into a corner, until the commotion moved into the next corral. I could not hold Willy any more and he followed his colleagues, fortunately for me at a moderate pace -- and when they poured back into the large corral, he stayed relatively quiet.

In the end I had managed to leave my saddle with dignity, in the right time and in the designated place. Soon we re-discovered our ability to walk, although we first felt that knee-level amputations would be the only merciful solution. We had paid all that was due (horse riding is not a cheap hobby), waited for David to finish whatever had to be done, and took him to Walker, to have a few beers together. Only at the pub I realized that David was nineteen and could not legally drink! As he has been our horse and wilderness expert, I always regarded him as my peer, and it never occurred to me that he was less than half of my age.

A dinner and a beer at Jeff's in Walker were great -- but we drove out home by half past eight. I was driving through Sonora Pass and was grateful of Sid taking over in Oakdale -- you can't use cruise control in the mountains, I had to step on the pedals a lot, which was not doing any good to my horse-tired legs. We made it home by one thirty -- and guess what? Lisa was up at seven a.m. and we found ourselves in our old tracks.