Читать книгу Dutch Clarke - The Early Years - Brian Ratty - Страница 13

It was midday when I stopped at a large grassy ridge atop the last foothill before Thunder Mountain. Using my binoculars, I had a good view of the mountain some three or four miles ahead. The top of the monolith, 6,500 feet high, was hidden in a shroud of dirty white clouds. The place where I’d cross would be almost 4,500 feet up. I’d been told by an old trapper that there was a rough game trail that snaked up the east side of the mountain and down the west side. Unpacking the mules and taking the saddle off Blaze, I wanted all of us to have a little rest before our ascent.

With the animals safely hobbled, they began to graze on the thick grass. Pulling a bite to eat out of my pack, I began planning my climb up the mountain. From my perch on the ridge, I munched on a sandwich while looking north-northwest with the glasses, making mental notes of the terrain. The weather was looking threatening, with large black clouds moving down from the north. These dense clouds hid the top 1,000 feet of the mountain. Below the clouds I could see an outcropping of gray granite rocks. Here, I believed, I’d find the pass that would lead me to the other side.

Another 2000 feet below this outcropping was the timberline. In this rough and rugged region, there really was no distinct timberline, as some wind-blown trees had grown up to the top of the large mountains. But there was a place, about two or three thousand feet up, where the dense forest slowly blended with the much thinner trees that grew out of the granite face. Most of this high surface was blue-gray glacier-type rocks with patches of green. Through the binoculars, I could see areas were there might be a rocky trail leading up and over the pass. It looked like the last thousand feet above the dense timberline would be quite steep and that I’d have to walk and lead my animals up the trail. The path to the summit looked to be a narrow passage, some 1,500 feet below the top of the mountain. I took a bearing with my sighting compass and made a mental note of the general direction we’d have to take through the forest to emerge at the base of the rocks that would lead us up to the pass. As I packed the animals, it started to rain, light at first, then heavily within a few minutes. Pulling my poncho from the saddlebag, we began our wet ascent from the ridge.

The trail in the forest got steeper and steeper as we rode up the base of the mountain. I could hear the mules and even Blaze breathing heavily as we moved through the trees and underbrush. The temperature must have dropped 20 degrees since we’d left the ridge. It was still raining hard, but with the dense forest canopy we didn't seem to get as wet. A familiar pattern emerged—I’d lose the trail, then find it and lose it again. We settled into this kind of travel pattern for most of the afternoon. Late in the afternoon, we emerged at the thin timberline. From my recollection on the ridge, we were just below where the pass should be. As I looked up the last thousand feet, I couldn’t actually see the pass, but knew pretty much where it should be. The trail up looked a lot steeper standing at its base than it did from the foothill. The route would wind up through outcroppings of rocks with some trees and brush growing out of the crevasses in the granite. Moving my little pack train to the foot of the trail, I started up slowly. This time Gus didn't take the point and instead wanted to follow Harriet, the last mule. Without the canopy of the trees to protect us from the rain, the way up was wet, muddy and slippery.

It was a cold, miserable trail. Still riding Blaze, I got no more than up the first section of the trail where it switched back to another direction. Just then, Harriet suddenly stopped, almost pulling me off, and over the back of Blaze. She started making that horrible noise, "he haw... he haw." Gus began to bark at her and she kicked her hind legs at him. Letting go of the lead rope, I dismounted and moved Blaze and Harry up to a larger and safer spot. On the short trip back to Harriet, I was cold, wet and angry, calling her every name I could think of. As I approached her, I grabbed her rope and reins and gave them a hard jerk. She wouldn’t stop her frantic and annoying braying and she continued to kick to the rear. With a misstep, I was afraid she would slide off the trail, dragging the gear and me down with her. The route was too narrow and steep for her to look back and I think this frightened her. Back in New Mexico, Red and the cowboys taught me that the first thing to do when working with mules was to get their attention. Taking off my leather gloves, with my open left hand, I hit her hard along side the nose... once, then twice. Finally, she stopped her fussing and looked me straight in the eye, rainwater running down her face, her breath showing in the cool air. My slap seemed to calm her, as if letting her know I was in charge made her feel better.

Grabbing her lead rope, I slowly walked her up the path to the switchback area. By now I knew she’d be trouble all the way up the mountain, so I took two of the trail bags off and placed them on some rocks. Lightening her load would mean making two trips up the trail, but I thought it was the best option. Then I motioned for Gus to take the point, as I thought maybe he being behind her had added to the problem. Gus at first hesitated, and then moved forward up the steep trail. Mounting Blaze, I soon had my party moving again up the narrow, rocky track. My horse proved to be strong and sure-footed as I rode him at the lead of the mules.

About an hour later we arrived at the pass. The trail here had widened with large rocky cliffs above us on one side and a steep ravine on the other side. Scattered about were some fallen trees lying across the rocks. Looking around, I searched for protection from the north wind, which was now howling though the pass.

Soon I found an outcropping of large rocks with a dead tree lying up against the granite. Hobbling both Harry and Harriet, I positioned my saddle rope, stringing it from a small growing tree to the dead tree so I could also tie them up. Next, I unpacked and unsaddled the mules, laying the trail bags behind some small rocks. Then, I placed their packsaddles on top of the supplies for weight from the wind. Turning from the stack of provisions I told Gus, with both voice and hand signals, to stay with the mules. He wanted to come back down the trail with me but soon understood what I was trying to say and remained behind. Blaze and I moved down the trail again for another load. With rainwater pouring down the granite path, we walked and slipped all the way down to my remaining saddle packs. It was another hour and a half before we finally reached the summit again. By this time, in the cold harsh wind, the rain was changing to snow, then back to rain, then back to snow again. Gus had found a dry place, under a fallen log not far from the mules, I shouted to him to join me as I led Blaze back into the pass. But he was too smart… he was going to stay dry under the log.

By now it was starting to get dark. With no chance of moving on until morning, we would have to spend the night here. Unpacking Blaze, I hobbled and tied him to the rope. Surveying the camp site I spotted an opening that looked like a cave or perhaps some type of animal den. It was a large fissure deep in the crevasse of two boulders. Not wanting to find a sleeping bear or other wild animal inside, I removed a candle from one of the trail bags. Returning to the opening, I lit the candle by protecting the flame with my back to the wind. With my pistol in one hand and a candle in the other, I slowly crept inside the cave. It was eerie with the candlelight dancing off the inside rock walls. It took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dim light, but, as they did, the cave looked empty. It was small, about 25 feet deep and 15 feet wide, with a ceiling at the highest point of about 10 feet. There were some signs on the dirt floor that a bear and other animals had used the cave in the past, but they seemed to be long gone now.

Finding some dry wood and twigs at the rear of the cave I soon had a small fire going near the opening. Going back outside with Gus watching from his protected area, I carried all the trail bags, saddles, my bedroll, knapsack and saddlebags into the cave. My legs and arms were soaked to the bone. My boots had about an inch of mud all over, making them as heavy as iron bricks. But before I could rest and dry off, I would have to care for my animals. Soon I found the trail bag with the oats and feedbag. Before leaving the cave again, I made some coffee, placing the pot close to the little fire to brew. Then, filling the bag half full of feed, I took it out and slipped it over Blaze’s head. The rain and snow mixture had now changed to a heavy snow with big, wet, white flakes. The animals had no grass for grazing and no water to drink. Returning to the cave, I motioned and called for Gus to join me inside. He looked at me but still didn't make a move from his dry spot under the dead tree.

From the trail bags, I took out three thick pieces of beef jerky, two for me and one for Gus. Leaving the cave again, I retrieved the feedbag from Blaze and gave each mule a smaller, quarter full, helping of oats. On my final trip I threw the piece of jerky under the tree where Gus was. At first he just sniffed it, not knowing for sure what it was. After a few more sniffs he ate it with one gulp. Returning for the last time with the bag full of all the remaining water I had, I let the animals drink their share. As I stood there in the dark, waiting for each to drink, I could hear cries of wolves over the howling wind. Chills ran down my spine. The old trapper had told me how bold the wolves were up in these mountains. Finally, with the animals as secured as I could make them, I returned to the warmth of the cave and tried to dry out my clothes and clean my boots.

As I ate some warmed up beans from a can and drank hot coffee, the sounds of the wolves seemed to be getting closer. Beginning to worry about my animals I knew that I couldn’t just sit there in the relative warmth and safety of the cave without watching out for trouble. It had been an exhausting day, but if I lost my animals, I would be much more than exhausted, I could be dead. Throwing more sticks and branches on the fire, I unrolled my sleeping bag at the cave’s opening. Spreading out on my bag I had a view of the animals and could see some of the approaches to the trail. Putting on my wool coat and stocking cap, I wrapped a blanket around myself. With my back resting against a rock, I faced the night and my animals. My rifle was on top of the blanket, propped between my legs. The swirling wind was whistling through the pass and sometimes blew the snow on my face and coat. Straining my eyes to see the animals in the dark and blowing snow, I could still hear the cries of the wolves over the wind. Half of me was warm from the heat in the cave, the other half cold from the wind and snow. My nerves frazzled; I was dead tired, yet alert; hungry, yet fed; not alone, but lonely; cold, yet warm. It was going to be the longest and most miserable night of my life and I had to struggle to stay awake. Soon the snow turned to smaller flakes and I was sure we would have inches if not feet of snow on the ground the next morning. Drinking the last of the hot coffee, holding the warm tin cup in my cold hands, my mind began to wonder: Was this as cold and lonely as I had ever been? Maybe by weather conditions and place, but not as cold and lonely as I had felt growing up with Grandfather at Fairview.