Mexico’s Copper Canyon Adventure

 

In October 2010, as the fall winds and rain pummeled our Seattle area home, we headed south to the sun. The goal was Mexico’s Copper Canyon, the Grand Canyon of Mexico. To reach our destination we signed up for a Grand Circle Travel tour that, over a two week period, would sweep south from Tucson Arizona through Casa Grandes and Chihuahua to Divisadero. After a train trip through the Copper Canyon the tour would head for El Fuerte, on the west side of the mountains, before turning north to San Carlos for a few warm days on the Gulf of California. From there it would be back to Tucson and, finally, wrapped in rain gear, home.

     It seemed like a good idea when we signed up for the trip. By departure time our attitude had changed. According to the press, drug violence and unrest was sweeping the border area and the U. S. State Department had a “do not travel” advisory in place for the State of Chihuahua, our first stop. We considered cancelling but didn’t want to forfeit our entire trip fee. Grand Circle assured us the area was safe and that “previous trips had no problems.” That didn’t mean our trip would be so lucky but, with a sense of adventure, we packed up and headed south.
     (We later learned many Mexicans are very frustrated with the news reporting in the U.S. While there are drug related killings it is usually druggy to druggy, isolated to a few small areas and tourists are not involved. But the news has devastated the tourist industry which is very important to the Mexican economy.)

Day One; La Posada Hotel, Tucson
     There is much to do in Tucson if you have a car. It is hard to get to the sights in the sprawling city without one. We rented a car, shopped and visited the Pima Air Museum, an 80 plus acre collection of planes from the 20^th century. Some are nicely restored and inside for viewing. Others are sitting out in the dry sun waiting for love and attention. If want to see about every plane made the last century this is the place.
     We returned to the hotel in time for the 6:00 trip briefing from our leader, Bacho Lopez. Bacho was an experienced Mexican national who had an answer for every question the guests could pose. Most guests (37 guests, guide and driver) were veterans of at least one other Grand Circle trip. We were the rookies. We found it interesting that he addressed one bus trip issue head on; bus etiquette.
     Guests can get territorial about their bus seating. They grab a seat on day one and won’t give it up until the tour ends. Some are ok with that and others find it very annoying. Bacho informed guests that each day they would move back two rows from where they were the day before; no quibbling. The decision went down ok so I assume most guests had faced the issue before and knew it was an equitable solution. It reminded me of a school bus driver dealing with elementary students. Oh well….
     Not yet knowing any of the other guests we climbed in the car and headed for a nearby recommended Italian restaurant, Guiseppe’s Restorante Italiano, for dinner. It was jammed, unusual for a Monday night. We ate at the bar and had a wonderful meal with great atmosphere.
     Returning we set to packing, ready for an 8:00 AM departure.

Day Two: Tucson to Nuevo Casa Grandes
     The tour began, bright and early. Luggage out at 6:30, bus on the road at 8:00. It made sense as we had an eight hour trip ahead of us.
     We headed east on I-10 toward New Mexico where, at Deming, we turned south for the border. After a few rest stops we passed through the little town of Columbus, near the border, whose claim to fame was being raided by Pancho Villa in about 1916. We crossed the border at the Mexican town of Palomas. It was pure Mexico border town with unfinished buildings and a chaotic customs check point. The bus was passed after a dog went over the luggage. We were allowed to drive into town for lunch while our paper work was processed at the nearby immigration office.
     Lunch was at the “Pink Store,” a combination craft shop and restaurant. Our order had been phoned in so the lunch for our big group was handled with wonderful dispatch.
     Rolled into the Nuevo Casa Grande and the Hotel Hacienda about 6:00 with rooms efficiently pre-assigned. The hotel was clean and well run. In the US it would be a 2 to 3 star but here it was very nice and there were no complaints. We were assured the water and ice were ok but we were cautious anyway.

Day three; Wednesday, Nuevo Casa Grande and Mata Ortiz
     Day three was devoted to tours in the local area, the furthest spot being about 20 miles away.
     First a bit of geography. Casa Grande was the big town in the area until the railroad arrived early in the 20^th century. The line bypassed Casa Grande so a new town, Nuevo Casa Grande, grew up several miles to the north on the rail line. Now the new town boasts a population of about 60,000 vs. only about 5000 in the old town.
     Our first stop was a lapidary shop in the older town, Casa Grande. Fearing a standard tourist trap I was skeptical but the owner provided an excellent demonstration of how they made jewelry grade stones from local sources. They make jewelry and sell polished stones to artists all over North American and Europe. It was an impressive, well run operation.  
     Then we were off to a small Mormon community, Juarez, that dates back to the time of Utah statehood. To join the Union Utah had to prohibit polygamy. Mormons that practiced it fled to Mexico and set up new communities. Juarez is a survivor of that exodus. Polygamy is no longer allowed. The town of 1200 is home to a small but beautiful Mormon Temple and the entire town is orderly and clean, reflecting the Mormon influence. About half the current population is Mormon. Most farm, raising apples or peaches. It was quite a lovely little oasis in a green valley. A local provided a tour and history for us.
      Mata Ortez was the next stop. In the 1970’s a local revived a lost pottery making tradition in the small, declining town. Now pottery is made in small shops all over town in a very traditional way. We received an excellent demonstration of the pottery making process. It is interesting that they are able to do most of their work with materials they find in the hills surrounding the town.
     Then lunch in Nuevo Casa Grande, a stop at the cash machine and return to the hotel. We were on our own for dinner and found excellent steak at Pompeii’s, next to the hotel.

Day Four (Thursday) Nuevo Casa Grade to Chihuahua via Paquime
     The day began with a bus ride to Paquime (900 AD to about 1250 AD). The ruins were discovered last century and efforts have been made to excavate and understand the people who lived here. The civilization disappeared before the Spaniards arrived so they can’t be blamed for its demise. After a quick lunch at the hotel we set out on a four hour ride to Chihuahua.
     We arrived at the Sicomoro Hotel about 5:30, settled in and then did a brief walking tour of the area. The hotel is modern and clean. The bathrooms rate four stars. Chihuahua is a big city but very orderly and clean. Traffic moves with good order and, overall, it defeats the stereotypes created by tawdry border towns. There is a modern mall next door and we were about a block from a large grocery store.
     After a welcome drink from the hotel it was dinner on our own. Later one of the bellman surprised us all with a wonderful piano concert in the bar.

Day Five, (Friday) Tour Chihuahua
     We had a lazy 9:00 AM start with a new, local guide. We wandered around the town, visited a park, the “state capital” (we ran into the new governor in the hall) and cathedral. We wrapped up the tour with a visit to the Pancho Villa home and museum. In the U.S. we tend to view him as an outlaw largely because he raided and burned a city in New Mexico in 1916. But here he is a hero of the revolution. I guess it’s a matter of perspective.
     Back at the hotel for lunch on our own. The guests went their separate ways, some siestas, some shopping and a few just sitting around the pool. It was a nice time to do nothing. We swept through a few stores, hiked about a mile to Starbucks and then settled into the room.
     Dinner was at private homes in the Chihuahua. One group went to Bacho’s and others to the home of family and friends nearby. Everyone had a good experience. Some of the hosts spoke more English than others which added to the adventure.

Day Six, (Saturday) Chihuahua to Divisadero on the rim of the Copper Canyon.
     A long day on the bus was broken up by several excellent stops along the way.
     Our route took us on a gentle climb toward the mountains. The gain in elevation brought a change in temperature and the types of farms we passed. The sameness of the desert was soon left behind. Apple, pear and other fruit orchards appeared. Then we wound through rocky country that reminded us of the high desert of eastern Oregon, in the Blue Mountains.
     Late morning we visited Mr. Parker and his family at Village B-2 in a Mennonite colony near the highway. He invited us into a meeting room where he answered questions about the history of the colony and their faith in general. His wife and daughter then opened up their home and were waiting for us with coffee, cookies, local crafts and cheese for sale. Very enterprising!
     The home itself was very Spartan reflecting the teachings of his religion.
     Further down the road we pulled into a gas station and boarded a yellow school bus for a 3 km dirt road ride to a delightful restaurant in an apple orchard. It was like an oasis in the farm country. Bacho had called ahead so tables were preset and hot soup and cider was waiting at each place.
     From there it was into the winding mountains and finally to Divisadero and our hotel which, as advertised, was right on the canyon rim. Bacho warned us that this hotel was more “rustic” than others on the trip but most guests found the place charming and more than adequate.
     For the first time on the trip we were advised not to use the tap water for anything but washing. Bottled water was available in the rooms and a large container of purified water was spotted on each floor near the rooms. The night was cool and some had trouble keeping warm in their chilly rooms but our Seattle blood kept us comfortable.
     All meals were included and served family style in the restaurant. Choices were limited, a minor inconvenience for those on a special diet but we found the meals tasty and interesting.

Day 7, (Sunday) Divisadero and the Tarahumara
     The day dawned sunny but chilly. However, as soon as the sun reached us the chill was driven away. Our coffee maker was kaput so we nobly suffered until the restaurant opened for breakfast. We could now say we were really “roughing it.”

     Most of the group opted for the Tarahumara Village tour. In two vans and a suburban they bounced out of the hotel parking lot at 9:00 on a 45 minute trip to the village that included 7 km of exciting dirt road driving as they descended into canyon to reach the village. The villagers were gracious hosts and, in addition to being able to purchase crafts, guests were able to see how the villagers lived and worked.
     In the afternoon we bussed along the canyon rim, stopping at viewpoints and visiting the new tram that takes visitors across an arm of the canyon for some “up close and personal” views of the canyon. Sadly the newly opened tram was experiencing some electrical problems and was not taking guests.
     That evening we joined two other couples for a sunset party on the canyon rim with wine, crackers and Mennonite cheese.
     Divisadero was a laid back place where life progressed on a routine, 24/7.
Without air conditioning and little traffic the rooms and hotel were very quiet. Morning began with the crow of the roosters giving the place a farm-like feel. We would rise and take a shower with an interesting water system that spurted and spit water before settling down to a steady steam. The sink faucet performed the same little prelude.
     Meanwhile, in front of the hotel the regular native vendors would arrive and spread their baskets, carvings and other wares on the ground, on bulkheads or on crude tables. It was as if each had a pre assigned spot that was respected by the others. Once set up they would sit on a blanket and weave baskets while waiting for customers. For many of the women weaving was like chewing gum. They did it unconsciously. They talked, they named their prices and interacted with each other without breaking from the weaving pattern.
     Across the narrow drive, in the formal market area at the train station, other vendors arrived and set up their stalls. Most of them were Mexican selling crafts they had purchased from others along with standard souvenirs; t-shirts, baseball caps, etc. At the top, beside the train tracks, the food vendors set up their stoves and began food preparation so they were ready when one of the infrequent passenger trains arrived at the station. The food smells were delightful, attracting a regular canine population which hung around the station and the hotel grounds. (We assumed none of the local dogs made it into the tacos!)
At the end of the day, as light faded, the vendors faded as well, leaving few traces of their presence. The native vendors would wrap their wares in bundles and trudge away while the more formal vendors would box up their goods, load them in trucks or SUV’s and disappear. The next day the routine would be repeated.
     The evening would end with an occasional dog fight or just a lonely howling dog sitting somewhere near the hotel.

Day 8 (Monday) Divisadero to El Fuerte via the Copper Canyon

     While waiting for the noon train our guide took us on a short walk in the woods above the hotel. The Taramaras knew we were coming and, even in the woods, there were chances to purchase crafts. That would seem intrusive but they apply no pressure. Instead they sit, weaving their baskets, awaiting your inquiries. We passed several homes cut into the rocks on the canyon wall; very primitive.
     At noon we boarded the Chepe taking our assigned seats in our assigned car. Our train was made up of the engine, dining car, bar car and three passenger carriages. They were very comfortable and the air condition worked well. The first half of the six hour trip was a surprise and slight disappointment. We expected to find tracks carved into the canyon rim with expansive views. Instead the train wound through rolling cattle country; pretty in its own way but not what was expected.
     Later that changed as we began our descent from the high country down a series of narrow and scenic canyons. The track twisted, turned and doubled back on itself through a series of trestles and tunnels—an impressive engineering feat.
     It was nice to move from the passenger car to the bar car from time to time to change the view and take a bit of refreshment.
     Finally, after over six hours of travel, we arrived in a darkened El Fuerte. November 1^st, the night of the dead and the cemetery we passed on the bus was crowded. On that day family members bring food, gifts and picnics to the cemeteries in a show of remembrance for the departed.
     The gaily colored Hotel El Fuerte was a delight after a long day of travel. Our room opened onto an exterior corridor as did the others. After dropping luggage in the room we gathered for a welcome drink and dinner.

Day 9 (Tuesday) El Fuerte and the Mayo Village
     After breakfast it was back on the bus and off to the Mayo Village, Teheuco.
     First stop was the village cemetery, which was still recovering from the previous nights festivities. The cemetery was covered with flowers, gifts and candles for the dead. Bacho was embarrassed by the amount of trash the visitors had left behind. But the rest of the village and all of the homes, was very tidy so it was clear the cemetery mess was an anomaly.
     The old and nearby church was visited and then we walked to our first home visit; a family making corn tortillas. They demonstrated how they made them from the corn to the frying pan. Served with beans and onions they were very good.
     We moved a few doors down to a mask makers home. There is a certain mask design, native to this area. We would see more of the masks at a later native dance demonstration.
     The homes are simple, clean adobe structures. Low trees provide shade to the homes and yards. They have an inside kitchen, for winter cooking, and an outside area, under cover, for warm weather cooking. They live much like they have lived for centuries. Electricity and an occasional TV are the only apparent concessions to modern times. The residents, themselves, dress and look like any other Mexican nationals; no “native” dress for this tribe.
     Next stop was the village school. Grand Circle travel has a foundation that provides support for projects in communities they visit. In this area, the school is the beneficiary.
     Though the school and most shops were closed to commemorate the day of the dead teachers and many students were on hand to greet us at the school. Each guest was matched with a child/guide. Kathy was matched with Thomas, a first grader well turned out in a crisp red and white checked shirt. We toured the banos, paid for and constructed by Grand Circle. Then on to the classroom which grew quite stuffy with 40 adults and 20 ninos scrunched inside. The students sang, the visitors sang, school supplies were presented and then we moved to the covered outside play area for a student dance demonstration.
     We bid farewell to the kids and moved to the front of the school for a native dance demonstration. New dance forms and instruments were on display.
     We felt very welcome in the village and the adults and kids seemed to enjoy showing us around.
     We returned to El Fuerte for lunch. Most ate at the hotel while eight of us opted for a recommended restaurante, El Meson Del General, across the main plaza; very good.
The hotel provided us with local dancers for happy hour—very energetic and colorful.


Day 10 (Wednesday) On to San Carlos
     Off to a 9:00 am start for San Carlos. Had a little confusion on the bus seating as some of the “kids” were unable to get the seats they wanted. But all was worked out and a strained peace reigned.
     The trip north, on highway 15, the main road along the west coast to the Arizona border, was uneventful. At noon we stopped for lunch in Navojoa at the home of a family that runs a hotel in El Fuetre and a restaurant in San Carlos. It was a spacious old place that is only available for special events and Grand Circle tours.
     Then in Obregon we had our first taste of Americana; a Walmart. We swarmed the place purchasing tea, wine, snacks and souvenirs before reboarding the bus. The air was dry and hot all day, in sharp contrast to our time in the mountains. While ok in the shade it was scalding in the sun.
     Arrived in San Carlos at sundown and settled into the rooms before a dinner at the hotel.
     San Carlos is a pleasant little town, much like I suspect Cabo San Lucas was before it exploded with tourism. This area has a delightful marina which is relatively quiet this time of year. Noted for spring and summer fishing efforts have been made to boost tourism and there are many half empty subdivisions in the area. Our hotel, the Marinaterra, sits in a complex at the boat harbor. It is some distance from the restaurant strip and most of the shops which can be reached by cab or bus (or walk if you don’t mind dusty streets.) A large pool with smaller kiddy pools and a cold hot tub are located on a deck below our room. A separate pool and beach complex is available for guests about 200 yards to the west so we had choice of two pools and a beach to select from
San Carlos was a relaxing way to end the trip.

A Word About Stone and Tile in Mexico: In a country short of wood, stone and tile predominates as a building material and even the simple red bricks create beautiful designs. In our San Carlos hotel, for example, the floors were surfaced with a marble looking stone tile. The outside deck was a simple square red brick tile and the deck railing was topped with a large glazed ceramic tile of some sort. Similar beauty and variety was present in all the hotels on the trip.

The old and eclectic Hotel El Fuerte was perhaps the most beautiful with its bright colored ceramic tiles on walls and floors.

Travelers in Mexico should keep their eyes open to the variety and beauty of the stone like materials that have been a mainstay in Mexican construction for centuries with impressive results.

Day 11 (Thursday) San Carlos
     Our room faces a nearby twin peak that stands as a regional landmark. The Spanish name, inspired by the shape, means upside down goat udder. At night the sun goes down behind it leaving an orange sky in its wake. In the morning the new sun paints the peaks with a golden brush. The peaks are stunning whether the sun is coming or going.
     Today we are going on our last “included” tours. We have chosen to pass on the sunset cruise, nature cruise and desert ride and get as much pool time as possible.
First stop was a cactus field where Bacho did an excellent job explaining the role of the cactus in the desert environment while showing the various types that are found here. Then it was on to Institute of Monterrey’s pearl farm. We were skeptical about that one but it was very interesting. The owner showed how they “farmed” oysters to achieve consistent results in a relatively short time. By raising oysters in the farm they avoid depleting the natural stocks. .
     The first two stops took us to well into the afternoon so I would have been happy to skip the tour of Guaymas but, since it was in the brochure, we did the drive tour and stopped briefly at the waterfront where we learned that Holland America has added this port to some of its cruises. Since the town has not been spoiled by too much cruise traffic it might be a nice stop but, in the heat, we were ready to move on.
     Bacho dropped some of us at the other end of San Carlos so we could lunch at Charlie’s Rock, a waterfront restaurant with open air seating on the upper deck. The view and food was wonderful—fish and shrimp—but the flies (non biting) were an annoyance. The bus returned to fetch us back to the hotel where we could finally head for the pool at about 3:00.
     The poor sunset cruise people barely had time to sit before they had to mount up and head to the marina.

Day 12 (Friday) San Carlos
     Today was the day to relax; no tours, no schedule, no nothing until dinner. The only challenge was deciding which pool to visit and then, once there, which lounge to settle into. We headed to the “beach pool”, riding on the hotel golf cart. After wandering on the beach and sunning by the pool we moved back to the hotel.
     Before settling in at the pool I walked along the edge of the marina in an effort to reach the opening where the bay met the Gulf of California. It was a nice walk but the beach ran out before I reached the Gulf. It was then back to the hotel pool for the rest of the afternoon.
     Dinner was at the Cotton Club, a wonderful discovery at the end of a dirt road near the former Club Med. It is hard to imagine how a fine restaurant can survive in such an isolated location but I hope it does. The beach front location and facility were wonderful.

Day 13 (Saturday) San Carlos to Tucson
     Homeward bound we were on the bus at 7:30 on the way to the U. S. of A. Mid morning we took a potty/craft break at the home of an ironwood carver. It was an interesting demonstration of the carving art and resulted in the addition of several objects d’art being added to our collection.
     Some distance south of the border we passed through a Mexican check point where we removed all the luggage from the bus and passed it through a screening. I’m not sure what they thought we might be trying to take out of Mexico but those were questions one doesn’t ask of a person with a machine gun. A few miles further on we passed through a second screening. This time we only stopped while the guards walked through the bus.
     The big inspection loomed ahead; the U. S. border. With some foreboding Bacho indicated border waits from one to seven hours had been experienced on past trips. We were fortunate, slipping through in 90 minutes with a bit of adventure tossed in.
     As expected the bus was diverted into an inspection area and all the luggage was removed and scanned. While this was going on we were able to watch the dismantling of a Jeep Cherokee in the next bay. Apparently the drug dog had detected the scent of marijuana. That info plus whatever other data they gleaned from their electronic detectors led them to the gas tank which they were in the process of removing when we arrived. While we watched they removed the tank and then proceeded to lift about 140 pounds of marijuana in plastic wrapped brick sized blocks from the gas tank.
     We were advised the driver was in government provided bracelets and the Jeep now the property of the U. S. Government. It will soon be available for purchase at auction in Tucson.
The drug dog handler, a friendly young man, handed one of our travel mates a marijuana laced purse to demonstrate the dog’s olfactory ability. The handsome black lab paced through the group before sitting beside the purse carrier, its trained response when it finds drugs. A very interesting demonstration.
     Mexico had been most interesting and fun but it was nice to feel the U.S.A. under our feet. By 6:00 P.M. we were rolling into the La Posada Hotel in Tucson and the tour was winding down. Bacho and Grand Circle had done an excellent job. The trip lived up to its expectations. it seemed like we had just departed it was nice to be almost home.

     We had traversed the Copper Canyon, learned a great deal about Mexican history and culture and made new friends. Now we could remove one more item from our bucket list.

Showers of Mexico; An Aqua Adventure

We recently completed a two week trip to Mexico with the Copper Canyon as our ultimate destination. Nowhere on the trip was there more variety encountered than in the hotel showers adding a sense of adventure to what should have been routine bathing experiences.

In Tucson mineral deposits on the head sent about 20% of the water jets off in random directions. Rogue streams might drill your eye, hit your hair and zip by your ear while you tried to stay in the main stream.

In Nuevo Casa Grande the stream was fine but only one temperature was available—HOT. We twisted and turned both knobs to no avail. The temperature never varied. It was on the edge of human tolerance forcing us into a lather and quick rinse cycle. We came out of the shower feeling like well done Maine lobsters.

Chihuahua was perfecto—no complaints. Any temperature you wanted directed where you wanted.

Divisadero, a rustic place in the mountains, offered a rustic and entertaining shower. The water was wonderful, warm and undrinkable when it arrived but its arrival was preceded by irregular bursts of air and banging of pipes; most charming.

El Fuerte was nearly perfecto. A three inch round head, like the spout of an old watering pail, dispensed a satisfactory flow; not hard but steady and sufficient.

San Carlos, in one of the most modern hotels of the trip, provided what we believed to be a water conserving shower head. Rather than a spray it delivered a high pressure fog-like mist that enveloped the bather. No amount of adjustment could alter the fog pattern. The shower head would have been excellent for fire suppression and provided a decent shower as long as you didn’t mind a London fog-like experience and getting your hair wet each time.

Returning to the original Tucson hotel, assigned to a different room, we encountered a more random shower than during our first stay.. Trying to adjust the head and eliminate some of the random spray only introduced new water jets where none had before appeared.

Travel can be an adventure and, in this case, the random shower designs only added to the stories we had to share at the end of the trip. Hot or cold, mist or jets we were glad to have a chance to freshen up at the end of a day on the road. And we appreciate the home shower even more!

Creatures of the Bus; A Grand Circle Tour of Mexico

During a recent tour of Mexico I was fortunate to add seven observations to my creature life list and I was able to accomplish the task from the comfort of a seat on a luxury tour bus without the need for binoculars. Here, in no particular order, are the creatures spotted.

1. Seatgrabber: The Seatgrabber can be spotted boarding the bus early and claiming their preferred and prized seat before others have an opportunity to board. Once a seat is claimed it is, in their mind, owned for the duration of the trip.

On this trip the Seatgrabbers were neutralized by a seat assignment policy imposed by the guide. The guide assigned all the seats and changed the assignment each day so the guests could experience views from different parts of the bus. While effective, this process caused some level of discomfort for the perennial Seatgrabbers which was interesting/fun to observe.

2. Seatclaimers: Closely related to the Seatgrabber, the Seatclaimer employs similar techniques to achieve their goal; board early and stake a claim. But the Seatclaimers can also use their skills to claim seats for friends who are not on board. A Seatclaimer will swoop onto the bus and, much like a wolf marking its territory, will drop books, coats, purses or other personal effects onto a seat thereby claiming it for themselves or their friend.

Foiled by the seat assignment policy on this trip, the Seatclaimers focused their efforts on “off bus” seating; in restaurants, at craft demonstrations, on trains, etc. In those venues they were still effective, though sometimes they had difficulty exiting the bus quickly enough to “mark” the best seats.

3. Firston/Firstoffer: The Firston/Firstoffer is closely related to the Seatgrabber. They have a genetic disposition to be the first to board the bus, exit the bus, reach the lobby, reach the baño, reach the tea supply in the market, etc. It matters not if the seats are preassigned. You can slow them down by placing obstructions in their paths—canes, luggage, block the aisle—but they will usually prevail and it is often better to clear their path to avoid personal injury.

4. Aisleblocker: The Aisleblocker is not unique to the bus tour industry; they are most visible on planes during boarding and exiting. But they employ the same traits in both travel environments. Once they reach their assigned seats they linger in the aisle while they stow their luggage, remove their wraps, direct their travel companion and a range of other activities, many of which could be conducted after they take their seat.

Short of being rude, there is no defense. After years of observation I’ve concluded that Aisleblockers cannot be cured short of a new 12 step program focused on that affliction. If you encounter an Aisleblocker just relax. They will sit down eventually.

5. Rovers: The Rover is most prevalent in environments where the seats are preassigned. As soon as roll is taken and the bus is in motion they will begin to rove, seeking a better seat assignment. Some may simply ask a fellow traveler to swap seats. But more often they will prey on the single traveler and grab the vacant seat beside them.

If the Rover is a pleasant person, this can be beneficial to both parties. The Rover finds a seat they prefer and the single traveler has a companion for the day.

However, if the single traveler is seeking privacy and/or would rather not sit with the Rover, awkward situations can occur. There are several defenses a single traveler can employ to resist a Rover onslaught.

• Place knitting, books, bags, etc on the vacant seat.

• Sit in the aisle seat, making access more difficult.

• Don’t bath and/or wear excessive amounts of perfume/after shave.

• Cough and sneeze or otherwise feign illness.

6. Questionasker: Also known as the Nonlistener, the Questionasker exhibits an inability to hear instructions from a guide. This creature can best be explained by example.

Guide: “When we leave the bus the restrooms will be in the red building on the left. Everyone should be back on the bus by 9:30.”

Questionasker #1: “Are there restrooms?”

Guide: “In the red building on the left.”

Questionasker #2: “What time are we leaving?”

Guide: “9:30.”

From years of observation I’ve concluded that this species will survive mankind.

7. Overtalker: The Overtalker can be found anywhere in the bus. They insist on talking when announcements are being made so they, and those around them, cannot hear the instructions. Overtalkers are often also Questionaskers. Those around them, who might be good listeners, are often mistaken for Questionaskers because, despite their best efforts, they were simply unable to hear the instructions due to the background noise generated by the Overtalker.

Bus trips can be long and tiring. But having the opportunity to spot and observe new bus creatures can help pass the time and enhance the quality of the entire experience. I look forward to future trips where I might be able to add to this list and enrich my soul.

The Iron Goat Trail; A Stevens Pass Hike

Steve and Cameron

Summer, 2010

 What an incredible combination; a warm summer day, an energetic, inquisitive grandson and a mountain destination steeped in history. In 2009 grandson Cameron first heard the story of the 1910 Wellington disaster, a winter snow slide that crushed a passenger train near Stevens Pass, taking nearly one hundred lives. The most dangerous section of rail line was later abandoned and in 2000 reopened as the Iron Goat Trail. Cameron was determined to hike that trail.

A Word About the Wellington Disaster: In March of 1919 a heavy winter storm trapped a west bound passenger train in the small rail town of Wellington, just west of the current Stevens Pass summit. The train was stranded for over a week as crews vainly tried to clear the snow from the line. Snow slides were not unknown in the area and some sections of track were protected by snow sheds which, effectively, put a roof over the tracks. Even without such protection Wellington was considered “safe.”

A combination of snow and temperature conditions combined to bring down a colossal slide the night of March 1st. The idle train was swept from the tracks and crushed on the slope below. With tracks still blocked rescue crews had to climb a steep slope at Windy Point and hike three miles on the still dangerous and snow covered track to reach to accident site. News of the Wellington disaster swept the country.

The rail company later changed the name of Wellington to “Tyee” so the name would not appear on future timetables. But the new name didn’t “stick” and the name “Wellington” survives to this day. More and stronger concrete snowsheds were constructed to protect the route. In 1929 a new longer tunnel was constructed at a lower elevation and this stretch of rail was abandoned.

For further reading on the disaster read “America’s Worst Train Disaster” by Don Moody. Info on the history and the trail is available at an Iron Goat website.

The entire trail is about nine miles long. However, with its winding route, shorter segments offer variety for those with limited time or energy. Mile markers on the trail indicate the distance from the Great Northern Railroad headquarters in Minnesota. The east end of the trail is mile 1711 and the west is 1720.

A permit is required to park at any of the three trailheads and can be obtained at the Forest Service office one mile east of Skykomish on Highway 2. When we saw how well the parking, restrooms, interpretive signs and trail was maintained we didn’t mind supporting the permit system.

Cameron selected the east, or Wellington end, as our starting point. It was reached by turning north, off of highway 2, at highway milepost 64.3 just short of the Stevens Pass summit. Eastbound the left turn can be dangerous so we proceeded on to the summit, turned around and headed back west, making a right turn. After about three miles on the semi paved road a right turn onto a gravel road took us to the trailhead. Four wheel drive is not required.

First we headed east, about 200 yards, to the mouth of the first Cascade Tunnel, completed in 1900. For safety reasons hikers are not allowed in the tunnel and a washout had destroyed the final portion of the trail to the mouth, but we could see the tunnel and make it our official starting point.

Returning to the parking area we began the main trail down the mountain. Huge concrete snowsheds, constructed after 1910, frame portions of the trail. Trail makers identify the features of the old town of Wellington though no buildings and few relics remain. An occasional rusty pully or concrete foundation are all that remain. One trail lookout jutted over the slope where the tragic slide took place. It looked very benign on a warm summer day.

We could have walked about three miles to Windy Point but, instead, covered about 1.5 miles before returning to the parking area. We used the available picnic tables for lunch and then drove back to the highway and to back down to highway milepost 58.3 and the location of the Iron Goat Trail Interpretive Site, the westerly trailhead head. There we faced two choices. First we could follow the old rail line 3 miles west to the Martin Creek trailhead where a switchback turned the line east again for another 3 miles to Windy Point; six miles total. Second, we could follow the path of the rescue workings and head straight up the slope to intersect the line at Windy Point. The trail climbs 700 vertical feet in one mile.

Never one to shirk a challenge Cameron chose the climb and grandpa, panting, followed behind. Arriving at Windy point we headed east toward Wellington for a short time and then turned, returned to Windy point and began the six mile trail back to the start, via the Martin Creek trailhead. But, it was too late in the day for us to begin a six mile hike so we aborted and turned around. The trail, with its tunnels and history looked very interesting and well worth a return trip.

Back at Windy Point we took the shortcut back down to the car finding (surprise, surprise) that going down is much easier than going up!

Reflection on the Iron Goat Trail: This is a wonderful trail for hikers of all skill levels. Since it is an old rail line none of the grades are steep, the shortcut up to Windy Point being the exception. Because there are several trail access points segments of the trail can be covered. With two or more cars shuttling drivers back and forth a one way hike could be arranged. One family left a car at the interpretive site and then started their hike in Wellington. Wellington to Windy point, 3 miles, plus the mile down the short cut gave them a nice one way four mile trip. The scenery is magnificent, the history is refreshed with well executed trail side signs.

So find yourself an enthusiastic grandchild and take a hike.

Salmon River of No Return: An Idaho Raft Trip

Salmon River Rafting
July 2010

July of 2010 found us in Salmon, Idaho, ready to begin a five day, four night raft trip on the Main Salmon River. While the Lewis and Clark expedition found this section of the river impassable our guide service, Action Whitewater Adventures, was equipped to handle all the river could offer.

After a night in Salmon, on Monday morning we boarded a school bus for the two hour drive to our put-in spot at Corn Creek, a short distance down river from the junction of the Middle Fork and the Main Salmon River.

A word about Lewis and Clark: The Salmon River, which connects to the Snake and Columbia Rivers, would have been an ideal route for the Lewis and Clark Expedition. But much of the river is in narrow, steep walled canyons that are unsuitable for travel by horse. The river itself, with its many rapids, would have destroyed any boats the expedition might have acquired. So a long detour was required that added many weels to their trip to the mouth of the Columbia River. Modern rafts and jet boats can pass up and down the river with ease most times of the year. Lewis and Clark would have envied today’s travelers. For those wishing to learn more about the history of the Salmon read “River of No Return” by Johnny Carrey and Cort Conley.

The launch point was busy with groups launching and others taking out after rafting the Middle Fork. But a cadre of our guides had spent the night at the launch putting the rafts together and getting them packed for a smooth and rapid departure. For river travel the guests were offered three choices:

1. Two, two person inflatable kayaks: This was the wettest and riskiest choice but also the most fun.

2. Two, six passenger paddle boats: Six guests, three per side, paddle these mid-sized rafts with a guide or two in the stern to steer and offer directions. The guests are expected to participate and can expect to get wet.

3. Three large inflatable rafts: These are the big cargo carriers in the group. A single guide, wielding large oars, controls the direction and speed of the raft. The guests are passengers. Four guests could comfortably fit in the bow area with two more perched in the stern atop the well stowed gear.

These large rafts carry an amazing amount of equipment and supplies. Tents, cooking gear, lawn chairs, personal gear for everyone and all the food finds a place on these well designed rafts. And everything needs to be secured in some way on the off chance that the river throws up a surprise and tosses the raft around.

The guests were free to switch from one type of boat to another depending on their mood and availability of space. During the course of the trip everyone seemed to enjoy as much adventure as they were seeking.

Working together at Corn Creek the guests quickly passed the personal gear down to the river where the guides could stow it and we could be on our way.

A word about the group: The guests came from all over the country. Several had done the river before but, since they enjoyed it so much, they had returned. The guest list included:
• Steve and Kathy from Washington State.
• Pam and her four kids (ages 11 to 17) from Arizona.
• Molly and son Cooper from New York.
• Kathy and Doug from Florida.
• Bob and Leslie from South Carolina.
• Laren and Michael from Washington State.
• Mike and Tanya from Ohio
• Joanne and Kyle from Nevada
• Dolly and daughter Sara from Texas.
Five guides and two trainees managed the needs of the guests. Ryan, Michelle, Zack, Vance and Allison were the veterans while Asia and Dustin were learning the ropes.

The first day we were introduced to some of the rivers rapids and developed a pattern that would continue most of the trip. Much of the river is a drift, interrupted by rapids that can get the adrenalin flowing. Late afternoon we arrived at a camp near Devils Teeth Rapid. After a quick tour of the site we formed a line to pass gear from the rafts up onto the beach. Then, while the guests were busy setting up their tents for the first time, the guides set up an elaborate kitchen and began work on dinner.

After a steak dinner Polly and Laren gave an informal talk on the Lewis and Clark expedition.

Day two was surprisingly cool, despite the bright sun. A wet ride and steady head wind contributed to the chill. I started out in the second seat of a paddle boat, behind Pam’s young daughter Laurel. Laurel endured a series of wet rapids before wisely moving to a dryer rear seat and I moved up to the front. The guides like weight and muscle in the front seats. I met the weight standard!

At noon we arrived at Barth Hot Springs, a short hike above the river. Since most were cold from the morning paddle we eagerly climbed up and settled into the man made tub in the rocks above the river.

A series of rapids followed the hot springs and one, Bailey, claimed the other paddle boat dumping four of the six passengers into the river. Since everyone wore a lift jacket at all times the swimmers were cold but unharmed. They would not be the last to take an unintended swim in the Salmon!
Bailey Creek was the site of the Tuesday camp.

Since Monday night had been very comfortable several of us and all the guides slept outside under clear and star studded skies. It was cold; 45 degrees in the morning.

A word about campsites: With so many guides and private parties on the river an allocation system is in place to meter boats onto the river and allocate camping space. Before we launched at Corn Creek the river guides held a drawing for preferred campsites. Most of the large, group sites, are allocated in this manner. But there were some nights when we had no assigned camp site so had to move along until we found a suitable spot.

Wednesday we moved to one of the big rafts with Allison at the helm. Stopped at the site of the Campbell and Jim Moore ranches. On opposite sides of the river, they are connected by a suspension bridge which replaced a ferry some years ago. The river is rich with tales of early settlers who braved this wild country and lived there year around. Now with jet boats and an occasional air strip the ranches are not so isolated.

The trip pace, from sun up to sun down, was proving to be steady but never rushed. Each day was relaxing in its own way.

Made a beer and ice cream stop at the most civilized place we had seen to date, Buckskin Bills. After a brief break we were back on the river. Due to the luck of the campground draw Wednesday turned out to be a long day; we arrived at camp after 6:30 P.M.

A word about Jet Boats: I assumed the rafters and jet boaters would be from two different and conflicting worlds. I was wrong. The two modes of travel have a healthy respect for one another. I was told that our 90 mile drift five day trip can be made in a few hours by the jet boats. Rafters coast quietly down the river while the jet boats power up and down the river at a good speed. The jet boats help the rafters in emergencies and are very important as suppliers for the riverside residents. Some raft guests take a jet boat up to Corn Creek and then return by raft. The jet boat allows people who wouldn’t have the ability or desire to float the river a chance to see its natural beauty.

Thursday was a short day since we had traveled so far on Wednesday. We arrived at the Sheep Creek camp at lunch time and had a lazy afternoon by the river. Trails led back from the river for the hikers in the group. The air was 92 degrees and the river 62 so most of the group made it into the water at some time during the afternoon. The six young people in the group had a particularly good time.

Friday we broke camp and, by noon, were at the Riggin Hot Springs take out. A bus was waiting to take us on a two hour ride to McCall where most of us would spend the night.

Reflecting
Often, when I’m on a trip, the days pass too fast to reflect on the experience. Photos, my journal and questions from friends help me to walk backward in time to consider what we experienced.

Action Whitewater Adventures did a wonderful job putting the trip together. Food, equipment and commentary were all first rate. Good guides can make or break a group vacation and ours were knowledgeable, patient and customer focused.

The rivers rich history came as a surprise. I had heard about the Lewis and Clark visit to the area. But, during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the river attracted a variety of other characters and adventures. Some were after gold. Some wanted solitude. Some were settlers. Access in 1900 was little better than access when Lewis and Clark passed by. One of the earliest and most successful means of transport were large flat bottom, square sided scows. Controlled by sweep oars fore and aft they survived the rapids most of the time and, when they arrived at their destination the scows were dismantled and the wood used for building. The next year a new scow would make the trip.

For most rafters the rapids are the highlight of an otherwise benign float trip. The rapids should be respected but not feared. Guests were barely splashed in the big boats. The churning, unpredictable rapids are more of a challenge for the paddle boats and little kayaks sending adrenalin coursing through the paddlers veins and, if they ended up in the river, a chill up their spines.

The trip, from launch to take out, offered a buffet for the senses. The scenery is ever changing. Tree covered slopes give way to narrow rock passages followed by rolling grassy pastures leaning against the base of the mountains. Even the fire blackened hills offer testimony to the untamed nature of the river.

The warm clean air stands in sharp contrast to the clear cold waters of the river. The steady sound of the river is constant even far from the rapids.

This trip is a “must do” for anyone with a love of the out of doors, western history and adventure.

How do you get there: We drove to Salmon and used a shuttle service that, for a fee, drives your car to your McCall hotel and leaves it in the lot waiting for you. That worked great. An air taxi service is also available to fly you from McCall back to Salmon if you prefer. Most of the guests flew into Boise and were transferred to Salmon via air taxi. After the trip a bus took them back to Boise where they could pick up their flights. Action Whitewater Adventures can assist the guests no matter what option they prefer.

Montana Cattle Drive

Steve’s Travel Journal
Epic Trails Cattle Drive
Whitewater, Montana
May 2010

The following is the journal of our trip to Montana to have a “real working ranch experience.” The brochure claimed: “You will learn to ride herd, throw a lasso and round-up strays. You will experience a whole new perspective as you view the panorama and you will actually help round-up and move more than 250 head of cattle across prairie, between coulees and through farmland.”


The brochure was mostly true! I didn’t learn to lasso (my own fault) and it failed to mention the mud. More on that later.

For those who like accuracy, I apologize for any errors. But reading this journal will give you an idea of what we experienced during our “ranch experience.”

Saturday, May 22; Malta, Montana, The Starting Point
We rolled into Malta at dinner time, towing our little Arctic Chalet travel trailer. We had picked it up in Kalispell that morning. At the time we didn’t have any idea how much we would appreciate that little trailer!


The other guests, arriving from all points of the compass, were gradually assembling at the Edgewater Inn, a classic small town motel/RV park next to Highway 2 at the edge of town. Rather than stay in the Chalet we took a room so we could enjoy our last shower for a week and then joined the others for dinner at the Great Northern Hotel in town. It was the first time the group, minus the still traveling Belgian women, gathered in one place.

It was a diverse group and, we would discover, most had been on the trip before.
• Penny Nicholls and Connie Cox were the trip leaders.
• Steve and Kathy Dennis and Jerry and Linda Cufley were trip rookies.
• Sally Walker had been on other trips but not the Whitewater experience.
• Dave Horsey, veteran
• Don Anderson and Ann Graham, veterans
• Paul Masson and Connie Lodell, veterans
• Kathy Sidaris and daughter Cindy Sidaris, veterans from California
• Ann Nogatch and “Just” Bill Ayers, veterans
• “Real” Bill Coffin, Ann’s father and a rookie
• “Florida” Dave Morres, veteran
• Cloe and Sara Buytaert would arrive from Belgium Saturday morning. Both were new to the trip but experienced riders.

The trip veterans were full of “remember when” stories of past trips and the evening flew by. A few hardy travelers wandered to the VFW hall to see what was happening while we headed back to the “Inn” to “bed down” for the night. (I’m already learning the language!)

Sunday, May23; On to Whitewater
The day dawned sunny and bright. We ate a hardy breakfast at the Westside Café, across the highway, and then returned to the motel to view a video of a past trip. It was interesting and gave us a small look at what to expect when we arrived at camp. Then the guests disappeared to enjoy the luxury of flush toilets and running water one more time.

Cloe and Sarah, straight from Belgium, rolled in at 10:55 just in time for our scheduled 11:00 departure. It was quite a convoy. Eleven vehicles, five horse trailers and two camp trailers formed a loose line and headed north. The first 23 miles were paved and smooth going. We then turned onto a dirt county road which continued about 25 miles passing through the small town of Whitewater on the way. At that point we turned onto Turkey Track Road and the trip became exciting.



Sections of this road were in fairly good shape. But, as a result of the unseasonably wet weather, parts were little more than water filled ruts of unknown depth. We followed and trusted, after a fashion, Penny with her truck and trailer. We were a little concerned about Cleo and Sara in their little Nissan rent-a-car but they soldiered on, dodging the deepest ruts. At times we had to abandon the road and head out across the prairie.

After an interesting drive we passed through the final gate and eased into a gently sloping prairie next to a series of permanent corrals. This prairie would be our home for the next week.

Two impressions greeted us. First was the wide open remoteness of the place. Rolling green hills, crossed by an occasional fence, surrounded our camp area. We later learned that the ZN Ranch comprised 29,000 acres of range land; about 20,000 of which was owned by the Bureau of Land Management or BLM. That is a lot of real estate!

The second impression was of the wind; it seemed to blow all the time. I thought we would have a prevailing wind; it was from the west when we arrived. But that wasn’t the case. Over the week the wind would change direction frequently and rarely let up for any length of time. Connie used his long stock trailer as a mobile wind break, moving it from side to side around the eating area or campfire depending on the direction of the wind.

We were told to set up camp “wherever we wanted.” Kathy wanted a room with a view so we set up our Chalet trailer a little below the cook trailer with a view to the north. Dave Horsey and Cleo and Sara set up their tents in the same area. Paul and Colleen arranged their horse trailer/camp trailer (it had sleeping quarters in the front) near the cook trailer to provide some additional wind protection. The others were scattered on the hill above the cooking area.


Shortly after arrival the horses were simply turned loose. While the area we were in was fenced, the horses had free access to many acres. They loved the freedom and were soon running around the camp and onto the surrounding hills. It was a joy to see them running relatively free. Most of them don’t enjoy such wide open spaces at their home corrals.

A horse or two were kept in camp for Paul to use in the morning when he rode out to “round up” the horses and bring them in.

By 7:00 p.m. dinner was done, the wind had subsided, the campfire was burning and the hardy of the guests were gathered telling tales of past roundups while enjoying adult beverages of various sorts.

The sunset was marvelous.

Monday, May 24th; Gathering the Bulls

Paul left camp early on a task he seemed to relish; rounding up the horses. It is amazing how the sound of galloping horses carries across the open country. Guided by Paul and his most capable steed, the camps horses were soon secure in the corral awaiting their day’s assignment.

The first day on the horses required some sorting out. About half the riders had their own horses and tack (I learned that was the saddle, bridle and stuff!). The rest of us were assigned horses and provided with blankets, saddles and bridles that we would use the rest of the week. Connie has an interesting collection of saddles, many of them won years ago when he was on the rodeo circuit.


Kathy was assigned Jake, a pretty little horse with an independent streak. She would spend the day arguing with Jake. But she wasn’t intimidated and had a successful day without serious incident.

I was assigned Spot, one of the biggest horses in the paddock. Since we were both broad across the stern I guess Connie thought we would be a good match. We got along just fine the entire week.

Soon eighteen guest/wranglers were mounted and ready. Don launched the 2010 cattle drive with the classic words, “…let’s ride.” John Wayne would have been impressed.

And ride we did, trotting off to our first assignment; moving about 14 bulls to a new pasture. Since the riders outnumbered the bulls we had a clear advantage. In any case, they seemed happy just about anywhere there was food available.

The gently rolling green hills that surrounded the camp gave way to steeper gullies as we moved the bulls to their new home. That meant going up and down some steep slopes and, it was on one of those slopes that I ran into my first adventure.

Spot and I were descending the side of a gully when I found myself slipping inexorably to starboard until I was lying unceremoniously on my back in a bush beside old Spot. To his credit he took the whole incident quite well, waiting for me to recover my dignity and feet. With the saddle nearly under him the experienced riders feared he might spook but he maintained his composure and followed me to the bottom of the slope where we could work on the cinch and saddle. Ann and Cindy, veteran equestrians, were nearby and gave much appreciated assistance getting me, as they say, back in the saddle again.

Kathy, Connie, Penny and most of the wranglers were far ahead and had no idea I’d been riding under rather than on my horse. We had to do some riding to catch up with them and the bulls we were supposed to be herding.

The morning ride proved to be a good check out time. Riding up and down steeper slopes was a new experience for me and required some style adjustments on my part. Dave Horsey made rein holding suggestions which were invaluable when I needed to slow Spot down in, what I found to be, panic situations. All the veteran riders were free with help and suggestions and, regardless what they thought of my riding prowess, were patient and kind.

The bulls were deposited in a pasture near the home of Clinton Cox, Connie’s son. We then stopped at his home for lunch out by the barn. It was nice to be on the ground for a few minutes even if the ground was a bit on the muddy side. This was tame mud. In a few days we would learn about real Montana mud.

After lunch we gathered up 14 heifers with calves and moved them closer to our camp so they would be available for branding later in the week.

We arrived back in camp around 3:30 after five and one half hours in the saddle. Nothing was damaged except my pride and the day could be counted as a success. We put our saddle and gear in Connie’s big stock trailer, let our horses loose and headed to our respective campsites.

The weather was beginning to kick up with a strong east wind, slate gray skies and an ominous forecast.

By dinner time the wind had shifted so the stock trailer was moved to a new spot in the “U” that surrounded the tables. Everyone placed their chairs in the lee of the trailer for wind protection. Then the rain began and we improvised.

A large blue tarp appeared and, with the aid of many eager hands, was draped over the top and windward side of the stock trailer, secured with straps and shock cords. Then the saddles and gear, which had been carefully stored in the trailer for easy access, was unceremoniously tossed into the front of the trailer to make room for the camp chairs and many of the 18 guests. Wind rocked the trailer and the rain attacked the blue tarp but the interior was quite comfortable considering the alternatives.

After dinner Don broke out his IPOD music system with speakers and soon the trailer was throbbing with sounds not often heard on the lone prairie. Don also demonstrated his magic camp coat. He could reach into any of the many pockets and produce a beer, foreign or domestic. He was very popular.

Kathy and I finally retreated to our little Chalet trailer, thankful that we had it and that it, so far, had proven to be water tight. At times, during the night, I thought someone had turned a fire hose on the trailer; the wind driven rain just pounded the walls. I considered tying it down but concluded our center of gravity was low enough we would survive the worst the storm gods could provide.

Tuesday, May 25th: Hunker Down in Camp

With the dawn, soggy guests began to wander toward the cook trailer in search of hot coffee and a dry place. We had faired just fine but the tent dwellers suffered greatly.

Jerry and Linda moved into their Volvo wagon. Their tent was still standing but motion and noise had been so unpleasant that they opted for a more stable platform.

Dave Horsey moved to his Jeep. Cindy moved into the cook trailer with her mother.

Ann and “Just” Bill were the only ones to remain in their spacious and, as it turned out, rugged tent home for the entire time.

Cleo and Sara, with a small tent and small car, had endured the lousiest night. When morning came they moved to their little car, wrapped in warm clothes and watched a movie on their laptop. (Later in the day they accepted Don and Ann’s kind offer and moved into their horse trailer for the duration of the trip. Swept clean, with a carpet rolled out on the floor, it turned out to be quite nice and a four star improvement over their compact travel tent.)

Those that started out in trailers or vehicles had survived with minimal inconvenience.

On a positive note, much of the mud we picked up on the cars driving in was washed off by the storm!

The plan for the day had been to brand the calves we rounded up on Monday. But, we learned, you can’t brand a wet calf and the calves were very, very wet

With no assigned work we were free to stay in camp or go riding if we wished. A few braved the elements but most just hunkered down for the day. The cook trailer was very popular with a rotating crew of 5 or 6 most of the time. Our Chalet was also crowded with lots of chatter and a continuous game of dominos.

It rained and blew all day. It wasn’t as nasty as the night before; more of a “when is it going to quit raining and blowing” kind of storm. As soon as someone would remark, “the wind seems to be letting up” the Chalet would get slammed with another blast. It was the same with the rain.
When there were breaks in the weather we would often see “Real” Bill exploring the nearby hills in his bright yellow parka. He often came back with small bits of wood for the evening campfire.

Finally, around 4:00, the clouds parted, the wind died and the sun offered us a beautiful evening, just right for a camp fire.

Wednesday, May 26th; The Day We Earned Our Spurs or A Day in the Mud.

The Tuesday evening sun held; Wednesday would be sunny and nice.

The plan for the day was, to me, a little vague. But it evolved like this: We would do the Tuesday branding in the morning and then move to the Wednesday roundup. What I didn’t realize was that the Wednesday roundup was an all day event covering a fair amount of territory(about 20 miles!) and most of that territory would be muddy, a product of the Tuesday storm. Combining the two events meant a long day in the saddle.

Prior to the branding we gathered the pairs we had rounded up on Monday along with another larger group, about 50 pairs in total, and brought them down to the camp corral. There Connie’s son, Clinton, his daughters and several neighbors were waiting to take the lead role in the branding enterprise. The process went something like this:
• Bring in the heifers and new calves.
• Separate or cut out the calves from the heifers. (This results in a great deal of bawling as they wish to be reunited as soon as possible.)
• Set up a fire, wood or gas, and heat the branding irons.
• Set up vaccination equipment.
• Ride into the calve pen, lasso their hind legs and drag them out to the waiting branding team.
• One person kneels on the neck while another holds a hind leg to keep the calf in position. Then:
 Clinton cuts off part of an ear to mark the females.
 Two people vaccinate.
 Brand with a hot iron or two
 Release and send out to “mother up.”

I don’t want to over simplify the process or the planning for it but those are the essential elements. It takes a village to brand and it is clear the neighbors in “these parts” support each other and help out at branding time. (We would see that neighborliness in action again on Friday, during the “big” branding.)

We took the newly branded pairs back to their pasture after giving them a few minutes to “mother up” as Connie described it. To mother up we simply held the small herd at a fence line and let them mingle until they quit bawling. The lack of noise suggested the mothers and calves had found one another and that all was right with the herd.


Wednesday Afternoon, Part Duex, The Roundup
Following lunch the first group of about ten wranglers headed out for the “roundup.” I was completely turned around most of the day. I couldn’t have found my way back to camp with a GPS, which I didn’t have. I thought we were heading north. A later examination of Google Earth suggests we were actually heading southeast. The directions and place names I use here were obtained after the fact. At the time I didn’t have any idea where we were!

The first assignment fit my perception of a “roundup.” We passed though a gate into a new part of the ranch and then split up to gather all the cattle we could find. Sally and I headed left and rousted several outliers from the gullies. It took less than 30 minutes to run our five head up a ridge to join the rest of the wranglers. Our small group had collected about 60 pair. I was quite pleased with our work; an average of six pair per wrangler. Then Clinton sent us back to earth. By himself, with his three dogs, he took our cattle and sent us off further south down the banks of Sand Creek.

Getting there was not too bad; lots of ups and downs as we descended the coulees along the edge of the Sand Creek depression. I’m not sure how Sand Creek got its name. Clearly the first settlers arrived later in the year. If I was naming it based on our experience it would Mud Creek.

Despite the rains the creek wasn’t much of a water way; more of a series of braded little rivulets wandering around the valley floor. In most cases the horses could step over them with little effort.

The problem was the mud. The soil had retained the water like a muddy sponge. Even in the “firm” areas there was a two or three inch scum of mud on the firmer soil beneath. The edges of some rivulets were even boggier which made Spot a bit leery of crossing them. In other areas, often near the edge of the valley floor, mounds of mud seemed to be pushed from below. While looking firm they could take a horse in up to its knee.

Coming down the creek we had assembled about 30 pairs in a loose herd. Off to the west, on a ridgeline, we spotted some outliers so Penny led a small group that direction to bring them in. After a long wait we were directed to “move’em out” and head for Frenchman’s Creek which meant climbing a muddy ridge with the cattle. A few of our brave wranglers took the cattle to a fence line and then began the muddy climb. The rest of us looked for a better alternative. Spot was struggling on the steep muddy slopes so I dismounted and led him up and down and up again until we reached the top of the ridge.

We joined up with the “fence line” group and were relieved to see Paul and Connie join us with a small herd they had gathered. Their experience proved invaluable and, best of all, they actually knew where we were and where we were going. Hurray.


What I didn’t realize at that time was how far we had to go. It was about 4:00 pm and we were only half way home. We were now by Frenchman’s Creek heading north. The mud was less pervasive but it was still present. We were ambling across level ground spotted with small green bushes. The cattle tried to sample every one. It was a constant push to keep them moving at a pace that would get us in by dark.

Spot, by this time, was one tired horse. He had plenty to drink but the mud was sucking his energy. He was willing to track the herd but reluctant to chase after heifers that would wander off to either side. Connie and Paul were everywhere encouraging both the cattle and the wranglers.

We were pushing about 50 pairs. As the evening approached the herd devolved into a “fast” group and a “slow” group. Paul, Kathy and Dave Horsey were with the fast group. After Paul turned them from Frenchman’s Creek into Kennedy Coulee, which would lead them to camp, he returned to encourage our slow cattle. The group was slowed by their constant bush snacking and by little “Norman,” a very young calf, which was bringing up the rear. He was a game little guy but, like many of the horses, he was just plain tuckered out. I pictured him coming home draped across someone’s saddle, a la City Slickers.

Finally, after eight hours in the saddle, as dusk descended, we emerged from Kennedy Coulee to the welcome sight of the little camp. Spot and his horse friends were most grateful to be unsaddled and released to run free another night.

A late chicken dinner was most appreciated.

Thursday, May 27th, A Lazy Day and Farewell Florida Dave

The plan for the day was simple.
1. Clinton would fly the ranch in his little plane and spot the cows we missed on Wednesday then,
2. We would go get them.

The plan for the day changed.
1. Low clouds kept Clinton on the ground.
2. It was windy and cold so the prospect of a ride was not that appealing and,
3. I’m not sure anyone would have actually gone back to the muddy valley to find more cows even if he could have flown.

So it was a win-win for everyone except Clinton.
1. Any missed cows got another day of freedom.
2. We didn’t have to go back in the mud and
3. Penny and Connie did not have to deal with a potentially ugly wrangler mutiny.

Instead most spent a relaxing day in camp or took short rides when the weather looked most favorable.

Florida Dave had to leave to make his return three day trip home. His van lacked the clearance of a four wheel drive vehicle and we had some concern about his ability to navigate the first five miles of the road considering the rain we had accumulated the past few days. “Just” Bill volunteered to escort him through the worst section so I hopped in his truck and joined him for a morning ride. Dave had no trouble so we bid him goodbye at the county road and headed back to camp.

Kathy was invited to join Connie, Penny and Clinton’s friend Jimmy for a supply run to Whitewater. What she didn’t realize was the ride would be four in the front seat of Connie’s old truck with “four on the floor.” It was cozy. When they arrived in Whitewater they discovered the last store had closed in 2008 which meant another hour of driving to Malta. For the return trip she squeezed into the jump seat with Connie’s tools and tire chains freeing up space in the front seat.

Late in the afternoon we left Jerry, Linda, Penny and Sally in the Chalet with the dominos and joined Don and others for a late afternoon ride to a ridge for a territorial view into the Frenchman Creek valley. It is big country.

Serious rain began just as dinner was served forcing everyone into protected areas. The Chalet, the cook trailer and Ann and Don’s camper became popular gathering places.


Friday, May 28th; The Big Branding

This was to be the big day, the culmination of the weeks work. It was branding day. Neighbors help neighbors at branding time.

There is a country music video, “You’ll Find Out Who You Friends Are,” where trucks, tractors and vehicles of all types arrive to help a country friend in trouble. I was reminded of that scene at 7:30 when, as if on cue, trucks pulling stock trailers began to arrive at the branding area in a nearby pasture. Already saddled horses came out of the trailers and soon the ranch was crawling with neighbors intent on rounding up Clinton’s cattle for branding.

The cattle didn’t stand a chance. Our group joined the neighbor riders creating quite a scene of horses, riders, heifers and calves spread across the rolling green hills. By 8:30 about 200 pair were tucked securely in the Clinton corral.

At that point the branding ritual, not much changed for generations, began again. It was similar to the Wednesday branding but on a larger scale. Calves were cut away from the heifers who expressed their displeasure from outside the corral. Fires were built, irons heated and then, when all was ready, Connie sauntered into the corral. With a practiced hand, he roped the first calf, dragging it out to the waiting hands of two young neighbors.

At full production five riders were busy roping, delivering squalling calves to ten “holders” who restrained the squirming creatures for shots and branding. When one was release another would arrive with smooth timing. There is no “clean” way to hold a calf on the ground and the holders soon had muddy knees and seats to prove it.

At the end Connie expressed the belief that this had been one of the smoothest brandings he could recall. In spite of the fact there were usually five calves on the ground, horses moving between them, hot branding irons waving about and people carrying vaccine guns no one was injured, inadvertently branded or inoculated. And everyone seemed to have a good time.

By 11:30 it was over.

While we were “branding,” Clinton’s and Connie’s wives, Denise and Linda, prepared a wonderful country picnic spread back at our camp. Everyone was invited and it was an all American eating affair.
• Burgers,
• Beans
• Fried chicken
• Chips
• Three kinds of salad (potato, corn, etc)
• A stunning array of desserts.
Everything was homemade except the chips and beer.

It was interesting to watch the guests. The young people ate together while engaging in animated conversation. Most of them had grown up together so were both neighbors and friends.

The adults drifted into two groups; the neighbors and our group of guests. There was some overlap of adults and an opportunity to talk with the men who had worked so hard all morning.

As I chatted with a neighbor over fried chicken I was struck by how different our lives were. I live ten minutes from a doctor; he’s two hours away. I am concerned about the weather so I know if I can cycle; he is concerned because it impacts the grasslands, the food for his herd. I live within five miles of probably 25 coffee shops; he makes coffee in his kitchen. I need four wheel drive to get to the ski hill; he needs it to move around his property or get to town.

We seemed to have more in common with Cleo and Sara, two women from a foreign country, than these hardy men and women from the Montana hi-line country.

The ranchers I spoke to were rightly most concerned about crops, weather, cattle prices and farm equipment. Their homes are so remote they, of necessity, depend on each other for help and support when needed. They struck me as friendly, real, unpretentious people. (That was also true of the people we met at the VFW Hall in Malta a few days later.)

After lunch the visitors went on their way and the rest of us spent a lazy afternoon. Some hung around while others took “one last ride.”



Late in the day Connie moved the stock trailer into “wind break” position beside the fire. Those in camp gathered by the fire and listened to a few more “Connie” stories. At one point he asked the guests to recount their best and worst moments of the week. “Real” Bill, Ann’s spry old father, was just happy to be anywhere with his daughter. Some expressed the pleasure of seeing the horses run free at the end of each day. Cleo thought the trip was all they hoped for, perhaps more. While the weather had presented challenges for everyone there were few complaints. The “best” recollections clearly outnumbered the “worst.”

The campfire was a reflective and satisfying way to end the week of adventure.

Saturday, May 29th; Time to Go Home

Saturday was to be a travel day, not a day of adventure. But there was adventure waiting for us just down the road.

The camp came down as easily as it had gone up. We finished with our Chalet and hooked it up to the Highlander for a quick departure. Connie hitched the cook trailer to his black pickup and moved his stock trailer to the corral so the horses could be loaded.

We waded, literally, into the corral to gather the seven horses that were going with Connie. Penny and Ann loaded their horses as well. Soon, without fanfare, Connie began rolling toward the gate with Penny, Sally, Ann, the Cufley’s and us in train behind. I wanted to stay with the group since I wasn’t sure I knew the way out and directional signs were nonexistent on the ranch and county roads.

Cleo, Sara and David were helping with Don and Ann’s horses and would join Paul and Connie for the next “train.”

It turned out that our drive into the camp had been a freeway drive compared to the drive out. Problems began at the first gate. Five vehicles cleared the pond at the gate but the sixth, Sally with seven horses in tow, was sucked into the mud until it was go-no-mo. No amount of cajoling could get the truck moving so the horses were unloaded, an SUV hooked to the truck and the rig was pulled clear.

Where necessary we avoided the road, driving in the adjacent prairie instead. But alternative routes were not always available. Our little convoy sluiced and slid up, down and across the rutted, flooded roadway. There were many times when I wasn’t sure we would make it but the Highlander soldiered on with the little mud splattered Chalet clinging behind.

Finally, about a half mile from the maintained county road, Sally’s big rig settled into the mud and refused to move. A look ahead indicated we were in for more of the same so the horses were unloaded and began a walk to the county road. Free of its load the big white truck was able to extricate itself and jumbo stock trailer and, after one last struggle up one last slope, made it to the county road. The rest of us, feeling a profound sense of relief, followed close behind.

Even the county road proved to be so slippery that Connie had us assemble on the high or left side out of fear that we would slide sideways into the ditch if we moved to the lower or right side.

The rest of the drive was uneventful. We ended the trip where it had begun, at the Westside Café in Malta. As we were finishing lunch David, in his Jeep, and Cleo and Sara, in their little Nissan, rolled into the lot and told their tale.

They left camp with Don, Ann, Paul and Connie. Don and Ann were in their pickup with a camper on the back, towing their horse trailer. Paul and Connie were in their pickup towing their 5th wheel stock trailer. At some point Don become mired. Paul intended to drop his trailer and then tow Don out. Don and Paul encouraged the others to press on, which they did. Cloe and Sara used a time tested approach to the mud; drive like hell and hope for the best. It worked. Dave’s Jeep did just fine.

At about 5:00 pm, when Don and Paul arrived at the Edgewater Inn, we learned the rest of the story. Apparently Don became stuck and was unstuck several times. Finally he managed to get so stuck that Paul simply could not budge him. With the camper on the back there was no way to lighten up Don’s rig so they had to call a friend, John Deere.

Paul was acquainted with some of the neighbors from previous trips to the area. He went to a ranch with a tractor but found everyone was away at a branding. He made some calls and finally made the right contact who gave him permission to borrow the tractor. Thus equipped he made it back to the road and extricated Don from his muddy predicament.

Most of the guests had lunched in Malta and then headed west on their homeward journeys. We stayed on in Malta along with Dave Horsey, Paul, Connie, Don and Ann. We gathered at the Stockman Bar and Steakhouse for dinner and then spent an enjoyable evening at the VFW hall where country musicians from around the area were participating in a traditional Memorial Day music fest. It seemed like an appropriate way to end a week on the “ranch.”

Sunday it would he off for home for all.

REFLECTIONS

Friends often ask, “how was it? Why would you want to do it? How was your hotel room?”

We try to answer their questions which cause them to be even more suspicious of our rationality.

Cleo and Sara answered the questions the best; they were looking for the “real thing.” They didn’t want warm cabins, restaurant meals and evening entertainment (singing cowboys and dancing Indians.) Lots of “dude” ranches offered that. They wanted to taste life on a working cattle ranch.

And we did.

For five days we were exposed to a snapshot of life on a working cattle ranch. It was just that, a snapshot. We heard a great deal about ranch life but we experienced just a snippet of it. It took ten of us to round up 50 pairs. Clinton does it by himself with three dogs.

We didn’t have a blizzard. We don’t know what it’s like to go to a K-12 school with 40 kids, all grades. We didn’t have to drive two and a half hours to go shopping in Havre.

But as little as we saw I gained an appreciation for the spirit and resilience of people who have chosen to live in such beautiful but remote country. I will never look at a steak the same again.