I think of it often

Sept. 15 and it wasn’t unusual to have already experienced a snowstorm or two by then.

A storm dumped two feet of snow on the mountains Sept. 9 when I was working for an outfitter in Cooke City in 1970. I’d never seen such a thing. One day it was summer and the next it wasn’t even close. Half of the horses ran off during the night. When it came time to take the hunters into camp on the 14th we had to borrow stock to fill out the string.

I ended up riding a black mule. The critter had no withers and the saddle rode up on his neck. However, he was well broke and tolerated me sitting up around his ears when the trail went downhill.

I can’t remember what pack horses I led on that trip, but I do recall we had no wrecks. The mule was short and there was no issue with the lead rope getting under his tail.

That was a major concern while riding a few of the other horses in the string. Quit paying attention to the angle of the lead rope and you could be in for a rodeo.

And it was easy to quit paying attention in the dark, all hunched up in the saddle trying to stay warm, snow stinging your face. Then the lead pack horse – often a tall white mare named Spook -- would follow too closely, the slack in the rope sliding under my horses tail. He’d lock down on it, get a rope burn on his tender parts and kick Spook. Panic would ensue. One way or another I’d usually end up on the ground. The horses would have to be untangled and occasionally repacked, and this was usually all done in the dark or at best under the illumination of a flashlight held in my mouth.

I’d remount, line out the string, and pay better attention for awhile. But in the dark it was easy to let my mind wander. All I could see were the occasional sparks when horseshoes hit rock and the only sounds were those of horses moving up the trail.

I haven’t ridden a horse in years.

But I think of it often.

Especially when I hear there’s snow in the Beartooths.

Parker Heinlein is at

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