Every summer I’d haul my two cats up to the cabin. (They got packed in on horseback…but that’s another story.) The kitties kept my solitary existence’s loneliness at bay and took care of the rodent problem as well. Back then, it never entered my mind that keeping domestic cats in a designated Wilderness setting might not be…appropriate. In this I wasn’t alone: my friends and co-workers—including Forest Service superiors, from the district ranger on down—all knew that I had cats at the cabin. Not a one ever so much as hinted that this wasn’t okay. Backpackers who stopped by to visit were utterly charmed by them. ◦◦◦◦◦ My my, how times have changed! It’s amazing, the degree to which cultural norms have shifted in just the last quarter century—a good example being how attitudes regarding pets have changed. I imagine that, today, many people would be appalled by the way I let my cats run free. Well, when I was a kid, the only people who kept their cats indoors were little old ladies living in apartment buildings. Dogs, at least the ones that weighed more than seven pounds, slept outside. (They had their own houses.) Back then, it was understood that cats came and went as they pleased—they were cats!—and if Fluffy disappeared…well, these things happen. The whole family would be devastated by the loss and then, a couple of weeks later, we’d go to the pound and bring home a new one. So, that were the prevailing outlook: as much as anything, a cultural relic from the days when farmers’ and ranchers’ dogs and cats weren’t pampered pets—they were animals with jobs to do. To some extent, I still carry remnants of these archaic attitudes. ◦◦◦◦◦ Starting in the mid-80s, when I was on the road a lot of the time and living out of my truck, I usually traveled with one or two cats. (Fortunately, I was able to leave them with my folks when the need arose.) We lived nomadic, adventure-filled lives and the cats were fully on board. We bore the risks, together. Whenever we were camped out in the sticks the cats came and went as they pleased. While in transit they’d be locked in the camper at night but there were any number oft-visited campsites where the cats felt completely at home and were free to roam. ◦◦◦◦◦ Now, there’s this new phenomenon: the so-called Adventure Cat—felines who accompany their human companions on campouts…who get taken along on hikes and canoe trips. Adventure Cats wear collars with tags and have fancy harnesses. They’re always leashed. They have chip implants and are fully vaccinated. The cat featured in this piece—Rip—was a TRUE adventure cat, not like those four-legged suburban posers. In the outdoor escapade department, Rip was the real deal. This was his fifth season at Piute and his partner, Spring’s, fourth. Rest assured, my cats absolutely love living in the backcountry. There's a lot of fun to be had there and they were never bored.
3 Sep (Tue) ◦◦◦◦◦ It got all gray and stormy and at around 3:00 a tremendous windstorm blew up. Never seen anything quite like this one. For a solid half hour, it was blowing at a steady 25–30 MPH, and I think that figure is pretty accurate. (Most people would call it fifty or sixty without thinking twice. Twenty-five to thirty may not sound all that impressive but when it blows steady, it feels like much more.) This wasn’t gusts—just a steady honkin’ gale that at times built to a minor roar out of the SE. It howled! Tall lodgepoles swayed like saplings. Opaque dust clouds scudded through the yard while pine needles and twigs rained down on the roof. Had to latch the window by my bed shut (it was flapping up and down) and blocked off the cat door as well with the cast iron griddle. Heard stuff tumbling around on the porch. Astonishing amounts of dust and grit blew through window cracks and from under the eaves, coating all surfaces. Eventually it calmed down and started raining—not hard, with in-cloud lighting and out-of-cloud thunder. Whew! That was somethin’ else! ◦◦◦◦◦ After it was all over I walked with Mr. Rip up to Howard Black’s Camp [half a mile away, at the head of Upper Piute Meadows] to greet the Monty Mills group. They’ve been coming up each summer for some years now. Monty is the leader of a country band and, not surprisingly, has a “large” personality. Nice buncha folks. Everybody delighted to make my black cat’s acquaintance. Rip strolled nonchalantly amongst the dogs and horses and people and even allowed himself to be picked up and fawned over. Great visit. And it got us invited to supper tomorrow. Spectacular sunset going on and we all crouched by the riverbank to watch. ◦◦◦◦◦ Rip and I wandered back home. Approaching the cabin, saw lantern light inside. Who my visitor? On the porch: a familiar raincoat and white cap. Jan! She showed up! Last time I saw her was right here, June 29. She’d hiked up through pretty stiff rain and lightning and that crazy wind. ◦◦◦◦◦ Real hungry, both of us. Shared a can of Chunky® soup and crackers. Set up “the big bed” in the loft. Read and got caught up a bit before sleep.
→ 6 visitors → 2 miles
4 Sep (Wed) [Out on the trail all day with Jan, doing trailwork] ◦◦◦◦◦ Headed home. One lone backpacker at Upper Long Lake. Disconcerted (to put it mildly) to discover that cows have grazed along the shores of both lakes. This should not be! Just having them up here in the highcountry is bad enough but wandering around in the forest and grazing the lake shores, crapping in the campsites? Absurd! ◦◦◦◦◦ Rained some. Home in time to get cleaned up and head out for dinner. Rode the ponies, with the black cat in my lap. Started raining in earnest. Of course! ◦◦◦◦◦ Had us a fine eve. Rained on and off, forcing everybody to crowd under the tarp at times. Excellent chow: grilled chicken, corn-on-cob, roast ‘taters, three-bean salad, fresh-baked Dutch oven peach cobbler for dee-zert. Yum! ◦◦◦◦◦ Rode home in dark-dark lit only by a few stars peeking through the cloud cover, cat squirming in my lap. (He would have much preferred to follow on foot, I could tell.) Home at 10:00. Books in bed. Beat.
→ 5 visitors → 12 ½ miles
5 Sep (Thu) Slept in til 8:30. (!!!) Clouds on the horizon again and a misty meadow. The bunch from Black’s Camp rode by on their way to Cinko (“Cecil Lake,” they called it). Made pancakes for breakfast. Caught up in this log while Jan did dishes and swept up. ◦◦◦◦◦ After packing a lunch, we walked downcanyon with shovels. Rip followed. First time I ever took a cat out on the trail! Tried to shoo him off but he absolutely insisted on coming. Jan and I cleaned WBs, replacing two of the old wooden ones using giant rocks. This took several hours, by which time my back was starting to scream. Rip lurked while we worked, disappearing on little forays. ◦◦◦◦◦ Après work: from just past Bart’s Meadow we three hiked straight up the hillside to Point 8516—gorgeous spot with granite slabs, some fine junipers, fine views. Carried rip on my shoulders part of the way. Rain imminent. When it started to drizzle we contoured our way back upcanyon. ◦◦◦◦◦ Back at the cabin, the sky began to grumble, sporadic lightning flashes going off in the clouds. Then it dumped. Within five minutes rivulets were flowing in the yard. By the time it quit, all the duff I put under the hitch rail the other day to fill in low spots was washed away. We sat on the porch with Rip and Spring, watching the show. Wonderful time. Ahh, the smells! It even hailed for a while. Got a wild hair: both of us stripped and took “showers” simply by stepping off the porch; Jan got scoured clean by hailstones but it was only raining lightly by the time I took mine. So Jan assisted, pouring a bucket of water over my head. Most invigorating! A real pleasure to towel off in the warm cabin (for a change). ◦◦◦◦◦ Had a scrumptious meal c/o Jan: white rice with steamed cabbage, smothered in miso-tahini-mustard sauce, plus cabbage salads. ◦◦◦◦◦ Up to the loft to read our books, both of us plum tuckered out again. It continued raining, at least til we fell asleep. Very odd weather.
→ No visitors → 2 miles → 9 WBs cleaned → 2 WBs built
Rip was a truly amazing feline—in many ways, the best I ever had. Rip loved to hike. Like a dog, he’d come when I whistled. And, the way dogs do, he’d run up to me and give me this very pointed look that said, in all but words, “Let’s take a walk! Right now!” On these cat-walks, if he got tired, I’d drape him over my shoulders and press on. He’d ride there happily until getting his wind back, at which point he’d vibe me that he wanted down. Rip was full of joie de vivre and was very loving, in an undemonstrative way. We’d have us these amazing wordless conversations. Another thing: this cat would disappear for days at a time. (I called these excursions, “kitty gone walkabout.”) Just when I was starting to get really worried, Rip would wake me up in the wee hours, bursting through the cat-door. Flood of joyful relief at the prodigal kitty’s return. He’d scarf down some crunchies, jump up on the bed, say hello, then spend the rest of the night curled up by my head, purring. ◦◦◦◦◦ One time, I left for my days off—something I seldom did. Four days later, riding back to Piute, I ran into Doc Grishaw on the trail. Doc had been staying at his basecamp, a little over a mile downcanyon from the cabin. Doc basically lived in this camp for most of each summer—putting up packers returning from long spot trips, doing trailwork, and entertaining friends and family. He slept on the ground and played his violin when no one was around. Quite often, I’d get invited to come down for dinner and Rip would always come along. Once there, he’d lurk around at the edge of the fire light, eyeing Doc’s dog, Mugsy, with whom he had a peace agreement of sorts. When I met Doc that day he said, “If your black cat isn’t at the cabin when you get home, come on down for supper. He’s been showing up every night, looking for you.” ◦◦◦◦◦ The following year, I was camped out near Lone Pine among the boulders and granite outcrops of the Alabama Hills, where I often stayed during my off season. Rip went off in the night on one of his nocturnal missions and never returned. A coyote got him, no doubt—the fate of several of my kitties. He was only six when he disappeared. But that cat lived all of his nine lives.
©2025 Tim Forsell 31 Jan 2025
