Working with livestock was, without doubt,
one of the most rewarding aspects of rangering. Riding a horse, out on a
patrol, was pure romance for a Southern Californian, raised in the suburbs.
Best of all was to be on the back of a running horse—one of the sweetest
activities available to humans. It was completely forbidden, of course, and by
far the most dangerous thing I’d do on the job. Over the years, we had some
fine animals. Several of them, in particular, couldn’t wait to get back to the
cabin to be reunited with their friends if we’d gone out alone that day. These
horses: I’d just “give them their head” when it was time to return home and
they’d run all the flat, open parts. At speed. It was thrilling. ◦◦◦◦◦ Woody, a
sorrel foxtrotter with a sweet disposition, was best of the lot. He wasn’t so
herd-bound as others; he just loved to run. The Forest Service people at the
office in town would’ve been horrified if they’d known about the things I did
and places I went on horseback. Good thing they didn’t. And, luckily, I wasn’t
killed….
17 Sep (Sun) Shitbird-the-cat [a.k.a. “Checker”] arrived in the night. [He’d been gone for several days] Heard his plaintive little voice on the porch and was glad. He was ecstatic and wouldn’t leave me alone, kneading and drooling all over me. Funny thing was, he sounded “hoarse,” like he’d been out meowing for me for hours….
18 Sep (Mon) Sun currently hits the cabin at 8:18. Worked on log, late breakfast; dishes, hauled water. Typical “domestic” morning. Checker came through the cat door while I was cleaning up and without even looking at me or saying, “mrrow,” he ate about six crunchies and climbed into the loft. Exactly like some sullen teenager coming in after a night out partying. ◦◦◦◦◦ Here’s another example of how I decide what to do with a day: It’s “waterbreak season,” time to get ‘em dug before it snows and I goes. Also, one primary project before I leave is to rip out ugly firepits at Fremont Lake. I’m having problems with sore hands and numb arms…don’t really feel like packing a horse today. Have a shovel stashed at Upper Long Lake. The solution: ride Woody to Long lakes, retrieve shovel, walk and ride to Fremont via Chain o’ Lakes, cleaning waterbreaks. Stash shovel at Fremont for future cleaning of pits and WBs there. Zoom home on Woody. The perfect plan for this particular day. ◦◦◦◦◦ Had a hard time finding my shovel again but finally did. (Plus, I cut out the last hanging/leaning trees that I’ve ignored in favor of bigger jobs.) ◦◦◦◦◦ Cleaned WBs and rocked the Chain o’ Lakes trail. A good part of the way I carried the shovel while riding and would get off to clean one of the infrequent drains. (This trail is largely flat or low-gradient—not many of ‘em.) Nobody at Fremont. ◦◦◦◦◦ On the way home Woody was rarin’ to go. And, as usual, I turned him loose, satisfying both of our immediate impulses/natural inclinations and risking both our lives. But…ohh! it’s just one of the finest things to tear through a forest, dodging trees, on the back of a strong and eager horse. Like hang-gliding or cliff-diving, it’s a next-best substitute for the flying we do in dreams. A little ecstasy to spice up my hum-drum life. Every time, I know I could get hurt but, when Woody cuts loose, the stakes go way up and a fall would result in death or something even worse. It’s a real buzz and, as noted previously, the best thing I’ve found since giving up climbing to recharge my appreciation of being alive. ◦◦◦◦◦ Today he went absolutely nuts—was in some kinda inspired state. From Lower Piute Meadows on we covered ground faster than ever before. Had a real hard time slowing him…tight spot coming up and I’d haul on the reins to no avail. ◦◦◦◦◦ One really tight “S” curve, he wanted to run through and I couldn’t slow him in time. This curve caused by a fallen tree. (The trail curled around the tree’s rotten old root-wad.) Saw it coming and didn’t think he’d clear it cleanly so I was ready to move. At the last instant I yanked my left foot out of the stirrup, which caught, ripping a big chunk off the end of a protruding root. Hoo! Had I not done so, it would’ve broken my foot. This sobered me but I was caught up in his righteous frenzy and rode it out. (I was clinging to the saddlehorn the whole time.) At the hitch-rail his eyes were wide, sides heaving, with white foamy sweat all over him. Wow! What was that all about? ◦◦◦◦◦ Taking my bath at sunset, Checker appeared in the willows on the far side of the river! Waded over naked (not wet yet) and carried him back across after merry meeting. This terrified him, of course, and he thrashed around. In the struggle he swiped out a claw-tipped leg and raked my right nipple; blood, oaths, et cetera.
→
4 visitors → 2 pits removed → 5 trees → 1 lb trash bits
→ some brushing, lotsa rock →
31 WBs cleaned → 13½ miles
Quote copied inside the cover of this volume
of the Piute Log:
“In
my generation, I believe, many more humans have been bungled by too much
throttling and repression of their instincts. I have made myself the advocate
and friend of the repressed instinctual life—but never to the detriment of the
lofty imperatives of philosophy and religion. And indeed, we do not propose to
indulge our savage, lawless instincts at the expense of kindness, love, and
humanity. Rather, we try to steer a course between the demands of nature and
those of the spirit; not a rigid middle course, but a flexible one, varying
with each individual, in which freedom and law alternate like inhalation and
exhalation.
—Herman Hesse, Letters
©2014 Tim
Forsell 9
Oct 2014
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