4 Sep (Sat) Up pre-dawn. Thus begins the big Labor Day weekend visitor onslaught and jam-bo-ree so my goal, as always, is to greet the masses before they commit their minor many crimes. Redtop and I got underway early. Literally tons of people on the trail today. Many small groups mixed in with one randomly dispersed club outing strung out in dribs and drabs over a couple of miles, small clusters and singletons going at their own pace. Their “leader” was that funny old coot with a crooked eye who I met last summer—John Innskeep. (The usual dilemma of deciding Which one do I look into? was moot, since his right eye pointed way down and away.) John’s a trip leader with the CMC—California Mountain Club. Sort of a Sierra Club rival but more focused on peak-climbing. Last year when we met he was by himself as no one had signed up for his trip. This year he got 22 sign-ups and there were no cancellations like there almost always are. So he got permits for two separate groups. Under these circumstances, the two groups are supposed to not camp near each other but, in my experience, usually do anyway. I actually fielded several complaints (well, more like comments) from backpackers. “Hey, ranger, did you see that huge Sierra Club group?” I gave John, heading for Upper Piute and eventually Tower Peak, tips on where to camp and said, “I’ll talk to you later!” (Old ranger trick: helps keep ‘em on their best behavior since the Law might show up again at any time.) ◦◦◦◦◦ Many long talks, from on my high horse or standing on firm terra looking at maps. Did a good job with contacts today; can’t always say that, alas. Had energy and was matching everybody’s expectations with individually tailored ranger jive. Gave everyone time and attention with enthusiasm and sincerity. Answered loads of questions. Many communicated their gratitude to which I sometimes sang out, “Hey! I’m a public servant—you’re paying my salary!” Hokey line but people do seem to appreciate the sentiment. ◦◦◦◦◦ Here comes two more—man followed by a petite woman, a fine looking German shepherd at her side. I spoke to the guy first then glanced over at the woman, eyes invisible behind dark sunglasses but who’s grinning at me fiercely. Recognition. “Well, darn my socks! It’s Marilyn Muse!” (Haven’t seen her since…???) She’s with this friend visiting from Alaska, where they met while she was up there on a temporary FS detail. On their way to Dorothy Lake. Marilyn worked here in Bridgeport for a couple of seasons as an interpreter but moved on, up to Tahoe to take the enviable position of Snow Ranger. She checks out all the commercial ski areas on FS land for lift safety and does avalanche control (recently got her license to work with explosives and is just now being trained to fire the fixed mortars). Skis for free at five areas…first tracks on virgin slopes, tosses grenades onto cornices, probably wears a very cool uniform, the envy of everyone she meets. And she’s the woman for the job, indeed yes. Sage the wonder-dog is a full-on certified Search & Rescue K–9; every so often the pair get on a jet and fly halfway ‘round the world to help locate people trapped in earthquake wreckage, etc. Marilyn is a truly remarkable woman who’s lived a remarkable life—former backcountry ranger, Desolation Wilderness…Eleanor Lake Ranger (Yosemite NP), where she lived in a sprawling house perched above a huge dam on a huge lake which she patrolled by canoe and on foot…Yosemite Valley horse-patrol ranger. Formerly married to the amazing Jim Harper, now a carpenter for Yosemite NP. (He was the guy in charge of rebuilding the avalanched Wilma Lake cabin a couple years back, last time I saw him.) Those two were Tuolumne Meadows Winter Rangers for something like six seasons. Along in there somewhere they also spent a summer as the sole backcountry rangers in Gates of the Arctic NP/Preserve up in northern Alaska where they carried rifles ‘cuz of grizzlies. (I vividly recall her telling me once how they only saw two people the entire season and that it rained almost every day.) More than perhaps any woman I’ve known, Marilyn went for quality-of-life and adventure over family, fiscal security, and status. We’d probably be great friends but this one can be hard to take in long doses—a bundle of raw nervous energy, she talks real fast without completing sentences (or thoughts). Way too over-sensitive…candidly cops to being completely mad…suffers from irrational and vexing doubts and fears and wild waverings, poor thing. But so good-hearted and genuine. Marilyn was one of a handful of cherished “Foresta friends” during my Yosemite years. Her lovely home burned in the A-Rock fire three years back. Jim designed and built the place, which was absolutely gorgeous. She lived there alone after the divorce and told me she just can’t face going back. I get that. Don’t know what she’ll do when Sage goes, how she’ll manage it; shepherds don’t usually live to a ripe old age and Sage is already eight. That dog is her world, near as I can tell. ◦◦◦◦◦ Speakin’ of dogs: earlier in the day, my horse—with me on board—were fully attacked by a dog. (Ironically, a German shepherd.) This was definitely a first for me. Rode up on a young couple with two big dogs. The guy was clipping the leash on one when the shepherd attacked, without any warning whatsoever. He was just calmly looking us over as we rode up but all of a sudden charged, barking and snarling, flashin’ ivory. Red went all Hi-Ho-Silver! on me, got up on his rears and danced around, the humans standing there in shock crying feebly, “No! No, stop!” Red reared again, rank terror in his rolled-back eyes, whites showing. Never good, when you see those white bits. I saw where his gaze went and looked over my shoulder. The dog had a hold of Red’s tail—lips peeled back, mouth fulla horse hair, growling and shaking his head the way dogs do when you try to take away their stuffed-animal play toy. Red spun to the left then spun to the right, dragging the dog around in tight arcs. (Might’ve even been airborne at times, or maybe I’m just imaging that….) I was saying to myself, Do it, Red! Do it! Now! LAUNCH HIM! But nobody ever taught this sweet-tempered horse how to kick so the dog lived. Eventually he gave up, trotted back over to his “masters” and flopped down with that canine-esque smug look of accomplishment. I shouted some things after him that were, ahem, not very professional of me then turned to the couple. Of course they said, all whiny, “He’s never done anything like this before!” That universal excuse for bad-dog behavior. Heard it before. “Don’t matter!” sez the ranger. I was pumped-up on adrenaline and came down on them pretty hard. Said, not bothering to point out that I could easily have been hurt bad or killed outright, “What happens when Fido there attacks the horse some total greenhorn’s riding, one of those pack station outings, and an innocent person gets thrown into a pile of sharp rocks? You’d feel pretty bad, wouldn’t you?” Also, informed them that many horses and any red-blooded mule would’ve sent their friend straight to doggy heaven with one swift kick. “The rule is: ‘Dogs must be under control at all times.’ That can be verbal control. But YOUR dog, plainly, is NOT under control.” Finally lightened up toward the end as my adrenaline wore off but I left those two pretty wilted. They looked visibly shrunken. ◦◦◦◦◦ After meeting so many people on the trail, decided to ride all the way out to the campground and ask Estella to stop issuing permits for the rest of the day. Chatted with her and Bill [camp hosts], anxiously hoping Red wouldn’t take a big dump right in front of their trailer. ◦◦◦◦◦ To the pack station, dropped off mail, and was headed back upcanyon at 3:30. Not many folks on the way in but it was too late by then to visit Fremont Lake as planned. Home at dusk. Had my river bath in full dark and gobbled some cold leftovers. A long day.
→ 92 visitors, 40 encounters (personal record, I believe) → 600’ lopped
→ 1 lb. trash bits → 22 miles → dog attack!
5 Sep (Sun) Up at 6:00, grudgingly. Movin’ slow…feeling kinda washed out, no surprise there. Got a later start today and headed for Cinko Lake, hoping to catch everybody moving on beyond Fremont. Only one camp at Cinko, one on the West Fork (unoccupied), and none at Long Lakes. Hello??! Anybody home?Where’d everybody go? On down to Fremont Lake by the backdoor trail and found it nearly deserted. Amazing! They all must’ve packed up and left in a big hurry this morn. ◦◦◦◦◦ Stopped in at Bart’s basecamp and got myself invited to dinner with the Wild Bunch. The “Amenti party” is an extended family group with friends who come up every year, varying permutations around a core group of thirty-something siblings and their spouses. (I started calling them “the Wild Bunch” following our first dinner encounter…a story recounted elsewhere in this log.) Fun people, smart people, happy campers all. I’d planned to check in yesterday. This year’s crowd a more, shall we say, “sedate” version. Nice visit and great camp-made chow by backcountry chef Lynn: roast pork, prawns sautéed with garlic and mushrooms (ate a giant pile of them suckas, yum), rice, fresh-baked reflector-oven rolls, steamed veggies, apple pie. Yowza! I was ready for it. No flaming cocktails this year. ◦◦◦◦◦ Moon finally arrived around 10:30. Good thing—planned on using it. Almost everybody had gone to bed by then (early rise for departure). Saddled Red, flashlight between my teeth. Stellar ride home. Moon topped the trees right as we left. Crisp, not cold…a pleasant buzz on. One utterly riveting vignette as we were gliding along the shore of Upper Long Lake: Luna coursing behind pines on the ridge line, their perfect reflections cast on the skinny lake together with ten thousand stars…silhouetted bushes and trees swiftly passing in the foreground as I rode along. Layers of night-dreamy scenery moving past one another at different rates of speed, the foreground faster, background slower, but all together in flowing unison. Aside from the sound of horse hooves’ soothing clompity-clomp, totally silent and still…haunting silence and stillness, lake a glassy mirror, light from the heavens above. A most beautiful movie to watch from the saddle. I love love love riding by moonlight! One of the very best things of all. Cabin just before midnight.
→ 33 visitors, 11 encounters → 3 lbs. trash → 700’ lopped
→ 18½ miles → very first yellow aspen leaves!
©2021Tim Forsell
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