Chapter 10 ~ Page 137
Together we talked this proud pack animal up, and with a little help from us, onward. After what seemed hours, yet really was only minutes, we heard a welcome call from Bernice, "Over here, grass, but no water."
After choking down a dry dinner, I was ready to try it again. Or, at least I would take Petite her feeding of oats. She hadn't moved. Once the life of the party who wouldn't stand for being left behind for anything, she was so tired, even a bag full of oats had no appeal. I dallied to the saddlehorn again, and led her one step, two, three, four. Just as I was climbing up and around a boulder on a switchback, she stopped dead in her tracks. Charlie and I were pulled over backwards into a somersault.
Somehow I landed clear, although for a moment the inky darkness was lit by brilliant, flashing, stars. I scrambled about on hands and knees searching for the flashlight I had been saving for emergencies. Once it clicked on, I was shaken by how incredibly lucky we had been. Charlie Horse had rolled over the ledge, and the only thing that had stopped him from continuing on for hundreds, or thousands, of feet, were two small scrub oak trees he had fallen into. Nothing broken either. In fact, the only thing lost was our last "phone call" dime.
The next morning, as the boys and I descended once more to recover the abandoned packs and saddles, Bernadette and Colette were able to coax Petite into camp by using a feedbag. Still, we had to move on to find better grazing, and water. Petite was only able to do another mile before being abandoned again.
Obviously our journey was over. Any other decision would be at the expense of two horses. And, yet, traveling those few miles forward we came to a stream, grass enough for a few days, and a sign that read 'Lassen National Forest.' Above this was a faulted escarpment of lava. We had reached the Cascades, our third major mountain range, and the one we would follow next year to reach Canada. We may have reached the end of our rope, but we weren't beaten!
Even so we couldn't sit back and say with relief, "Finished," for it was necessary to rescue Petite. In fact, she was now our main priority. James made the trip back to Belden, with instructions to take another look for our dime, or somehow to make a collect telephone call to my mother .
After choking down a dry dinner, I was ready to try it again. Or, at least I would take Petite her feeding of oats. She hadn't moved. Once the life of the party who wouldn't stand for being left behind for anything, she was so tired, even a bag full of oats had no appeal. I dallied to the saddlehorn again, and led her one step, two, three, four. Just as I was climbing up and around a boulder on a switchback, she stopped dead in her tracks. Charlie and I were pulled over backwards into a somersault.
Somehow I landed clear, although for a moment the inky darkness was lit by brilliant, flashing, stars. I scrambled about on hands and knees searching for the flashlight I had been saving for emergencies. Once it clicked on, I was shaken by how incredibly lucky we had been. Charlie Horse had rolled over the ledge, and the only thing that had stopped him from continuing on for hundreds, or thousands, of feet, were two small scrub oak trees he had fallen into. Nothing broken either. In fact, the only thing lost was our last "phone call" dime.
The next morning, as the boys and I descended once more to recover the abandoned packs and saddles, Bernadette and Colette were able to coax Petite into camp by using a feedbag. Still, we had to move on to find better grazing, and water. Petite was only able to do another mile before being abandoned again.
Obviously our journey was over. Any other decision would be at the expense of two horses. And, yet, traveling those few miles forward we came to a stream, grass enough for a few days, and a sign that read 'Lassen National Forest.' Above this was a faulted escarpment of lava. We had reached the Cascades, our third major mountain range, and the one we would follow next year to reach Canada. We may have reached the end of our rope, but we weren't beaten!
Even so we couldn't sit back and say with relief, "Finished," for it was necessary to rescue Petite. In fact, she was now our main priority. James made the trip back to Belden, with instructions to take another look for our dime, or somehow to make a collect telephone call to my mother .
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Text and Photographs © Barry Murray 1971-2007 Mac&Murray Multimedia