Piute Log....We've Been Had 1999

During all my 17 seasons stationed at Upper Piute Meadows I kept a daily journal using cheap, spiral-bound steno-pads provided by the Forest Service and have a cardboard box containing almost thirty  “volumes.” Over the years it evolved from a drier, work-oriented record into something more personal—an account of the not-so-mundane events in my nineteenth-century-style ranger world—living like some sort of pioneer in the wilderness with two cats, riding horses and packing mules; crazy encounters with wild animals and extraordinary characters. I’ve never quite known what to do as far as sharing them with an audience but, for now, will start posting excerpts with minimal  editing and explanation. For starters, a humorous entry: my girlfriend, Kristi, was coming up to the cabin with me for the first time…

23 Jul (Fri) 1999     After breakfast and shopping we zoomed out to Leavitt [Meadows Pack Station, where my horses were boarded] and loaded up.·····  Got underway at 2ºº. Ferried Kris across the two creeks and river. Finally taking my sweetie “home” to Piute; that makes this a big day. Most happy to introduce the two—Kris will undoubtedly fall in love with the place.·····  Once across the river I left her—Piute [one of my two horses] walks faster but she’d catch up while I was talking with people. I told her, “Hey: when you walk up, pretend you don’t know me; maybe we can play with it a little.” She was game. (Kristi had been in theater….) There’s all sorts of ways to play with the visitors with a second actor; some of them educational. ·····  At Roosevelt [Lake; the first of two along the trail] three fishermen were coming over the hill, walking out. One vivacious guy hailed me, started going off on what an ideal job I had, what do I do, where do I live. The usual questions and I fell into automatic responses. It’d gone far enough and I was just about to start veering him off so I could do the ranger thing when Kris walked up. She slowed down—looking curious, taking in the scene with horses and uniformed cowboy—and started to walk around us. The guy says to her, “Why don’t you get to ride? Won’t he give you a horse?” Kris and I shot each other quick looks. How did he…? Why had he assumed we were together? He talked on. “Oh, hey! We met two guys who said they were going up to visit you.” ·····  ”What?! Today?! Two guys?!” I was stunned. ·····  “Yeah. They said, ‘We’re going up to visit Ranger Tim.’ Said they were some kinda relatives.”·····  “No! Are you sure? Were there any names? Did they say anything else? Relatives?!” I’m completely flustered. “I don’t believe it!”·····  Right then another of their party walked up and the first guy says to him, “What kind of relative was it, the guys going to see the ranger?”·····  “I think he said he was his brother.”·····  “No way!” I said, brain spinning. But couldn’t get anything more out of them. We carried on. I’m in complete turmoil, furious. Who could it be? None of my relatives would come up here; none of them without contacting me first, and certainly not my brother. Could they have been mistaken? Maybe it’s a couple of old friends and one of them said, “he’s a brother” when those guys asked how he knew me. As much as being mystified I was livid with anger: that anyone I knew would presume to just walk in without checking with me first. On this, of all days! Aarrgh! I later told Kris, “This isn’t a perfect analogy but it’s like someone inviting themselves along on your honeymoon.” She took the news well but for about an hour I was really going, trying to figure out who it might be and what to do. Finally I mellowed and accepted whatever we were in for but was very disappointed. Visitors would ruin the impact and intimacy of Kris’ introduction. OH, WELL! ·····  Met Abe Nance of Hazen, Nevada, on the trail. I’ve seen him before—an odd, quiet, enigmatic man from over near Fallon. Said he’s been coming into this country since the 1940s; looks to be in his late 60s. Riding a fine looking Arab mare who he rides in 100 mile endurance races. Training for one this day, he’d ridden over to Kennedy Meadows and a big loop past Relief Reservoir—probably 40 miles! Hats off to Abe Nance. That ride would’ve killed me. I said, “Hey—there’s a ‘Nance Peak’ over in Yosemite. Is that some relative of yours?” He smiled and chuckled. “Noooo…but I tell people it’s named after my grandaddy.”·····  Going through the lower Piute Meadows, saw a round cobble in the trail freshly pried up by horse hooves. It was a mano! [Indian grinding stone] Like the one I found in Buckeye [Canyon], a nicely shaped granite river-rock but only slightly used.·····  It was 7:00 when we got to Upper Piute [Meadows]. I told Kris, on the last hill, the story of my first arrival at the cabin, how I felt I’d truly come home. She got up behind me on Piute to ford the river and I had her stay up for the last bit to the cabin. Had my gal behind me with her arms around my waist. Gal seeing the meadow open up and the river running through it and by, the rocky peaks rearing up behind. She was entranced and said, “Oh!” several times, very softly. Lucy [one of my cats] was waiting out by the river in the tall grass. Then, the cabin. It was quite a thrill as she preceded me through the door to see her face light up. It took me back to my first time through that door and made it all new again.····· And: no visitors. I was watching the tread [trail surface] after the last junction and, not only were there no human prints, the only tracks appeared to be day-old horse prints. No one had been to the cabin; no note. WE’VE BEEN HAD!! ·····  This had already become the predominant theory. I’d met Gordon [a packer and friend] coming out from Long Canyon with clients. Asked him almost right off if he’d passed anybody going to see me. None at all. But they could’ve been past the Long Canyon junction when he came out which meant they’d be at the cabin by now. It was late and Gordon was anxious to go and clearly knew nothing. But Bart [Cranney; pack station owner and Gordon’s boss] would stage something like this. He must’ve known those guys or at least seen them at the station and told how to really get the ranger’s goat. It just didn’t add up otherwise. What a great way to “get me”! Knavish Bart would understand that and more. Kris had met him at the pack station and no doubt there was talk about her around their supper table. ·····  I don’t seem to be able to do much about the world…mostly it seems to do things to me and I’ve concluded that the point of the whole wild ride is to relax and let the flood carry you along as it will. Watch out for bumps. I really do try to just take what comes and work with it so maybe that’s why the gods keep pitching me bones. Let’s see what he’ll do with this one, har har har!! So, today, I asked Kris to join me in some harmless fun with the visitors; just a little “life theater” work. Then, the very first guy I meet sucks me right into his movie and plays me like a fish on a line. With nothing but a few, deft mouth-sounds he completely altered my mood, brought anger and resentment, caused me to conjecture and babble in my head for hours; injected some mystery and excitement, and, finally, humor into a day that otherwise would’ve been merely spectacular. Okay…I didn’t pass this trial with high marks but did finally let go. Thanks for a most interesting day and for tossing in the joker. Kris and I had a lovely evening together and the day must have ripped her wide open. Hard to really imagine the impact. One thing sure: I’m not the same person she thought I was this morning. ····· And, by the way: this is the sixth anniversary of the day I called Elizabeth [ex…] from the Foresta firehouse. That was pretty much officially the worst day of my life. I’m riding pretty high these days…what’s next O lord?

~10 ½ miles                ~11 visitors           ~moving for 18 hours straight

                      
                    ~another dead Kennedy, buried at sea

This mystery wasn’t solved until Thanksgiving dinner with family and relatives. It turned out that my cousin Suzie’s husband, Greg, had planned to come up with a friend. I’d completely forgotten that, some years before, after telling him about Piute he told me he’d come visit sometime. I was aware Greg liked to fish and hike but hardly knew him and this was one of those times where you say, “Sure!” knowing perfectly well it’ll never happen. He explained that they’d only meant to stop by and say hello—had no expectations of being invited to stay. But it turned out that, after only a few miles, Greg’s brand-new boots had blistered his feet terribly and they turned back. I feigned disappointment, of course, and he’ll never know how upset I’d been and how glad I was that he’d chosen that trip to break in new boots.

                                                                                                                              
                                                                                                                               
 ©2014 Tim Forsell                                                                                   26 March 2014