This entry is about a Sierra Club group that lost their burros—on purpose. In general, losing your packstock in the backcountry is a real cause for concern, if not panic. In fact, most stock-users spend a fair amount of time and energy trying to NOT lose track of their animals. And when they do, they go after them. Pronto. That’s what made this story so strange—and unique in my ranger career. It got told quite a few times to my “western” (e.g., horse-riding, packer-type) friends, with lots of laughs and head-shaking.
17 Aug (Tue) Woke at six to the sound of bells across the river. What the heck!? Into my clothes in a hurry and ran over to find nine belled and haltered burros of all colors and sizes milling about on the hillside, slowly drifting over the top of the fence (← a strange comment if taken literally and not western-ly) so I just opened the gate and let ‘em in. More “unplanned visitors.” ◦◦◦◦◦ Bit later, happened to look out my window and there’s a doe trying to get at the salt block on the stump but Spooner [my Abyssinian cat, barely out of kitten-hood], who weighs not quite three pounds, is taking swipes at her when she comes in—standing on his hinds, both paws. Doe very curious, not too intimidated, but when she’d nose in he’d go for her with obvious glee and gusto. I’ll tell you, it’s an amazing sight to see a tiny domestic (if wild-looking) cat-let trying to play with a most-definitely wild deer. I hope he survives to adulthood. Finally Spooner got bored—boring old doe wouldn’t play—so he ambled back over to the cabin and she finally got in her licks. ◦◦◦◦◦ Burros still grazing happily when I left the cabin, heading for Long Lakes afoot. Someone must have lost them for real and the trail’s getting colder…hope I don’t have to haul ‘em outa here. Radio-ed Bridgeport to let them know in case somebody calls who’s looking for nine missing burros. ◦◦◦◦◦
18 Aug (Wed) At about nine this morning a guy knocked on my door, come to pick up his burros. He’d found the note I left on the signpost at the Long Lakes junction yesterday. (It amused him—on the outside of the folded paper it said only “Missing some burros?”) Now here’s yet another strange-but-true ranger story: This guy is co-leader of a Sierra Club outing camped down around the Long Canyon junction. If I’d ridden downcanyon yesterday as originally planned I would’ve been able to tell them in person where their missing stock were. But they weren’t concerned…yesterday. He matter-of-factly told me that they didn’t come after the nine deserters “because we didn’t need them.” He seemed completely unconcerned by my concern and told me the group actually enjoyed searching for lost pack animals. This was a “thing” they’d done before, it seems. The guy explained that they take pleasure in tracking them—on foot (no horses)—and it was part of the overall fun. He smiled tolerantly (I could see him struggling not to roll his eyes) when I suggested it was maybe just a bit irresponsible to let his rented livestock wander around in the mountains unattended. Reckless even. There are ways, actually, that burros can get in trouble. Many ways. I asked, “What if my gates had been open? They would’ve just cruised on over Kirkwood Pass and then who knows where.” It did seem to get his attention when he heard I was planning to take them with me when I left in two days. And if I’d left the cabin today, and they weren’t camped by the trail, I would’ve taken their burros to the trailhead with me. (They would’ve naturally followed the horses.) Also told this nimrod I didn’t appreciate the extra burden on my small pasture. Still more absurdity: the group carries radio collars they use to track the four-leggers with since they did lose them big-time one year. But he’d forgotten to bring the antennas (!!!) so it was back to the old system of trailing footprints and fresh piles and listening for bells. And, final irony: this string is owned jointly by Rock Creek and Agnew Meadows Pack Stations. I knew about these animals! The pack stations rent them out on occasion to Sierra Club groups. This is the string Jan [a friend who was a trail cook for Rock Creek] told me about, years ago. One of these Sierra Club outings (this same outfit perhaps?) killed a burro some years back. Apparently the poor critter had a superficial leg injury—lotsa blood maybe, but not life-threatening—and the group decided to kill the burro. Put it down, that is. Don’t recall how they did it. But it was a real debacle, Jan said. (Can’t wait to tell her about this encounter, next time I see her.) ◦◦◦◦◦
Copied inside the front cover of this volume of the 1993 Piute Log:
There is nothing in external nature but is an emblem, a hierogyphic of something in us.
Emerson, journals
True affluence is not needing anything.
Gary Snyder
“I don’t want to be happy. I want to be alive and active.”
Secondborn, in “Buoyant Billions” by George Bernard Shaw
©2018Tim Forsell
23 May 2018
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