Wolves III

Nights were spent in a tent. Karina and I had taken sleeping bags and two small pillows. The sleeping bags occupied the entire floor of the tent, but we were lucky enough to have an extra tent set up for us that we used as a closet. That's where we put our duffle bag and two other bags. Wagons West provided pallets so we had some cushioning.

The altitude made for heat during the day, but at night it got below freezing. We would get up in the morning to find frost on the ground and on the tables and benches where we ate. In the afternoon after resting up from supper, Paul would play the guitar and sing or recite his own cowboy poetry, Col. Sanders would do tricks with a whip, but a lot of us wanted to go to bed early--well, okay, Karina, me and Mary. The night sky was unbelievable: we saw shooting stars, the Milky Way (which I hadn't seen since I lived in Michigan), and a moon so bright you didn't really need your flashlight as long as it was above the horizon.

After supper the horses were let loose. They had cowbells around their necks so that in case one or more failed to return, the cowboys would be able to locate them. It made for a surreal and beautiful experience: the horses would mill around close to camp for quite a while, cowbells tinkling, and then as it got later they would all go off far enough so that we couldn't hear them. Then, very early in the morning before sunrise, they would return. All of us waited for that moment. The sound of the bells was crystal clear in the icy air, and the horses would walk right through where our tents were set up, so we heard not just the bells but the thud of their hooves as they went past the tents. We all fell in love with the sound of the horses returning.

One night we heard the yipping of coyotes, and then shortly after that, the howling of wolves. The wolves had been very close, barely a hill away from us. They are not the Rocky Mountain wolves that are native to the region, but huge Canadian gray wolves weighing in at some 200 pounds, brought in by some government idiot who decided to even up the prey-predator situation. The result is that the Canadian wolves have almost eliminated the moose population and are making terrible inroads in the elk population too. They have killed off the native wolves or displaced them. The cowboys said they had lost only one horse to wolves in the time Wagons West has been operating (over thirty years), but the presence of wolves outside the unreachable mountain wilderness areas is disquieting. They may be getting hungrier and bolder.

The fires for cowboy coffee would be started around three-thirty in the morning. Karina and I decided the stuff is addictive. Mary and I were the first up, and we would hang out around the cooking fire and drink the brew while Mary warmed her feet near the flames and I managed to get two cups down. During the rest of the day, we were asked to always have our canteens with us in the wagons or on rides because insufficient hydration could lead to altitude sickness. As a result, Karina and I drank water until we were ready to pop, and our urine became so diluted that it was like water itself. This I know because on our first Dixie cup expedition into the woods, I managed to douse myself with most of the contents of my Dixie cup when I tripped trying to get my riding pants back up. By the time we left, I had the whole operation down to a science, but it was a considerable relief not to have to ride back to camp that afternoon smelling like pee!

On Wednesday night the talent show was held. Everyone had to participate, talented or not, and the cowboy crew did a great skit for us. Karina took the event by storm when she read her ideas for a new Wagons West brochure, that included the attractions of bathing in three ounces of water and experiencing terminal butt fatigue. It was so funny that Mary wanted it, and I wouldn't be a bit surprised if you find it included in the next Wagons West publicity info on Internet.

Next on the blog, the Trail Ride From Hell.

Wolves II

Karina and I were picked up in Jackson Hole by Col. Sanders. His real name is Paul, but since the head wrangler is also Paul, most people identify the Col. by his mustache, beard, and hair. After almost two hours we got to the camp. All in all there were 22 guests on the day we arrived, and we were immediately matched to our horses or assigned our wagon for a trip into the countryside. I had a full-time horse named Rooster, a young horse; most of the horses were older, but they were all sure-footed and sound. And it's a good thing, because we went up steep slopes, down steep slopes, through the woods, and along the edge of huge drop-offs where I opted to keep my eyes on Rooster's ears. Each day we rode out of camp and along a new route through the countryside. We rested at noon at some idyllic spot where we ate our lunch, then back we rode to camp by yet another route. People in the wagons sometimes fell asleep because the ride was so smooth and the scenery so soothing. That's because they didn't teeter on the edge of cliffs, get smacked in the face by branches that the greenhorn in front of you allowed to swing free, didn't have the horses try to stop to snack every couple of minutes, nor did they arrive at the camp having to be hauled bodily out of the wagon the way some of the riders had to be lowered off their mounts.

There were people of all ages. There were children and elderly folks, and almost every one of them rode at least once a day. Our dear Mary (in the picture with Karina), a lady of some 71 summers, was there for six days and she rode every day but one. John and Pat, in their late 60s, were full-time riders. John had had a heart attack (though not during a ride...) and open heart surgery. He had to be put on his horse by three cowboys and lowered down the same way, but this was the fourth trip for John and Pat to Wagons West.

And the food! We were fed into a coma. At breakfast, the girls fired up the dutch ovens and the grills under the chuckwagon awning, and cowboy coffee was ready from around six in the morning. The recipe for cowboy coffee is simple:

3 huge coffee pots and a wood fire

water

a large amount of coffee

socks from the day before

Place all ingredients together and boil until the liquid in the coffee pots is totally opaque. Serve into a cup, preferibly stainless steel which can hold up to the coffee. You can either consume the coffee with knife and fork, or simply strain it through your teeth.

There was no such thing as a single-egg serving at breakfast. Eggs were poured onto the grill in batches of two. There were rolls and toast, biscuits and gravy, bacon, saugage, fruit, and pancakes. For lunch, we made our own and put it into a cooler that was taken in the wagon to our mid-day resting spot. Supper could have been anything from pot roast or turkey with vegetables and stuffing and rolls to giant burritos smothered in cheese. For dessert you could have spice cake and other good stuff. There seemed no way you could eat everything piled onto your tray, but we managed to do it. I ate things I wouldn't have touched with a barge pole because of their calorie content, such as biscuits and gravy, yet we always felt like the mountain air and the altitude (over 8,000 feet) were sucking the calories out of us. Whatever the reason, we were always hungry enough to clean our trays. We didn't lick them 'cause other people were watching. You could go back for seconds but shame kept us from eating another batch.

In the next blog, our sleeping quarters and the nights in the Grand Teton mountain range.

The Wolves Howled Outside Our Tent...

Karina and I have returned from our fantastic adventure with Wagons West, and let's get your most burning questions out of the way here at the outset: no, there were no showers. Your washing options were a tin basin you filled with cold water, then warmed by adding hot water that was boiling over the wood fire. A wagon with four fold-down wooden shelves on the outside served as your washing-up area, and on one of the shelves a hand-held mirror had been propped. Karina and I avoided that like the plague. We really didn't want to know how we looked.

The other option was the creek, or "crick", as it is pronounced in them thar parts. The waters in this creek were about 42°F. One of our companions, Mary (more about her later), said she just wanted to see what it was like to wash her face in water that cold. One of the cowboys, probably Jack (one of the cooks), said you could find out easily enough by getting ice out of your freezer and rubbing it on your face. On our second day at the camp, several people jumped into the van that would take them to the creek; two of the Wagons West crew went along and actually bathed, at least partially, in the creek. They looked a little blue when they returned, but

on the other hand, if you, like the cowboys, have spent days and days in the wilderness, the cold was probably better than having to smell yourself.

The potty facilities were of course more important than the bathing amenities. Here you have them: "The Ladies". "The Men" was on the other side of the wagon. The chemical toilets were fine, but there were indeed nuances. You needed a flashlight to find the potty wagon at night, and it was cold as all get-out. At least it seemed that way until you sat down on that seat inside "The Ladies", when the term "cold" somehow did not quite cover the experience. It is a miracle our butts didn't stick to the seat, forcing others to pry us off like a tongue stuck to a popsicle.

Another problem was the fact that we didn't change our campsite on the third day, as was scheduled, because the farrier showed up to shoe the 30-odd horses we had with us. By day four "The Ladies" was being studiously avoided by most of us, unless the urgency of the situation made it impossible not to visit the place. Let me put this as euphemistically as possible: there are certain natural functions the products of which one would wish to remain at a distance, and the greater the distance the better. By day four, "The Ladies" had cut that distance down to an alarming extent, and several people chose Imodium over relief just in order to avoid the experience.

As for the trail rides, well, let's just say that Karina and I became experts at Dixie cup facilities and even began to prefer them over "The Ladies" by day four.

In our next blog, more pictures and comment on the adventure itself.