23 Aug (Wed) …when I got back to the cabin, Greta and
Larry Raley [our District Recreation Officer; Margaret’s boss] had arrived. Up
for one night. They’d packed in food and gear for the upcoming dog & pony
show [“administrative” trip] and were putting up the back fence. I literally jumped
in to help stretch the section crossing the river and waded around with
mosquitoes feasting. On yours truly. We finished the job at dusk and I finally
got some supper at about 9:30. Another long day.
24
Aug (Thu) A momentous day…almost got
crushed. ◦◦◦◦◦ Greta and Larry wanted to get an early start; wouldn’t wait for
me to make pancakes. (They ate instant oatmeal with powdered milk instead. Oh,
well.) ◦◦◦◦◦ The horses waltzed right in so we jailed ringleaders and caught the drones. I helped a
bit while my two supervisors saddled & loaded but it was their gig and I didn’t know whose tack
[saddle gear] belonged to who so mostly stood back and carted things over for
them. ◦◦◦◦◦ They were nearly finished and ready to roll when I noticed that one
saddlehorse’s breast-collar [broad leather strap running across a horse’s chest
that prevents the saddle from slipping backwards when going up steep grades] was dangling—it
hadn’t been clipped in yet. Just helping out, I went to snap its buckle in
place but couldn’t get at it ‘cuz the horse was standing right up against that
end-post. The mare had been tied on “this” side but with too much slack in her
rope and had swung around to stand—facing me—as if tied on the far side, with
chest right up against the post. Tried to push her off it but she wouldn’t
budge. Grabbed her halter and pushed. No-go. So I stepped under the rope so I
could reach back, poke her flank, and get her to swing back around. No
result—she just ignored me. Poked harder—same result. ◦◦◦◦◦ This horse was a
big mustang mare on loan from Carson [Ranger District]. Greta’d told me she was
a “good girl.” (I’d never seen her before.) ◦◦◦◦◦ What happened next was my
fault, entirely—the result of greenhorn-style incompetence. All our horses & mules are gentle (never
kick or bite) and you can walk behind ‘em or step under their necks…push ‘em
around—things you’re expressly taught
never to do with unfamiliar livestock. I made a big mistake, treating this
strange (and formerly wild) animal like she was “one of ours.” ◦◦◦◦◦ Suddenly,
she jerked back and I was pinned by the lead-rope against the rail. When the
rope went tight she freaked and started tossing her head around—amazing pressure on my back from the wire-taut
rope. She wanted to get away from this rude stranger and when she couldn’t,
reared. When the rope went slack I was liberated but the only place to go was
around the hitchrail toward her. I
stumbled forward as she reared higher, her flailing hooves right in my face,
and—just like the proverbially limp rag doll—felt myself flung down hard into
the dirt and rocks. I rolled away as she came back down, in that curious state-of-mind
where time slows and you have a spell to ponder what’s happening even though
under normal conditions one could never have so many coherent, distinct
thoughts in 1.38 seconds. I recall thinking/feeling/knowing, Oh, Tim, you blew it! Stupid, stupid! You might get hurt BAD this
time—probably will—could end up with broken bones…. I impacted hard on my forearms and heard
myself go rr-Ummph! ◦◦◦◦◦ Greta and Larry
were right there—saw it all—and rushed over. The mare stood quietly, as if
nothing had gone down. I’d rolled over and was laying on my back, dust-coated, just
“coming to” and waiting for pain to kick in and tell me where I was damaged. Dirt in my mouth…what happened? I hadn’t
really “felt” anything. After a few more long seconds, they helped me stand up.
I was still outside myself, with bosses hovering anxiously. I was shook up and
had to stand there a minute, bent over, breathing and coming back into my
normal frame as the adrenaline dissipated. Didn’t know exactly what’d happened.
Forearms abraded; blood mixed with dirt and manure particles. On my right elbow
was a raw crescent an inch long where her steel shoe had made contact and
slammed me to the deck. (The skin wasn’t even torn—just smashed.) ◦◦◦◦◦ Greta and Larry finished up—a bit shaken themselves,
having witnessed this close call—and were soon gone. Greta’s parting words were, “Have a better
day!” I said, “It’s okay…learned a good lesson and I’m not hurt. Uh…hope I’m not hurt.” ◦◦◦◦◦ Actually, I was. The elbow swelled. I cleaned myself
up and washed dishes; felt kinda ill. Had to lay down for awhile, feeling the
lingering adrenaline, which I know from experience leaves you utterly drained,
like after a long cry. Decided to stay home—elbow painful, plus I’d tweaked my
neck a bit; ached all over. ◦◦◦◦◦ With extreme irony, just a while later, three
people on horseback showed up. They were staying at Point Camp and went out for
a day-ride but one woman, while crossing a little brook, had broken (or badly
torn) her ankle when their packhorse leapt across, crashing into her horse and
crunching her foot in the stirrup. (Some horses will do this—more often,
mules—‘cuz they don’t like to get their tootsies wet.) These folks were
unfamiliar with the country and felt it was too late to go back, pack up, and
get out before dark. So they were gonna go back to camp and head out in the
morning, early. I encouraged them to leave today but they thought not and
turned down my offers of assistance. (The other woman was a nurse.) Didn’t tell
them what’d recently befallen me; I
doubt they would’ve have been much interested just then.
©2014
Tim Forsell 6 Jun
2014
