"Hey dad," a voice from BJ's tent called, "perhaps we can catch a trout for breakfast without even getting out of bed."
By morning, it was obvious our island was about to sink. We were going to have to move on, rain or not. The first task was to build a fire. To keep it going in the downpour, the flames had to be about three feet high. Bernice fired up the small gas stove we carried, but didn't want to chance opening her pantry panniers in this deluge. Breakfast was a grab bag of hot jello water and dried jerky.
This was our first real experience breaking camp in a storm. It wasn't any fun. No matter how close a person stood to the fire, it was impossible to warm feet stuck in wet boots. Our hot drink soon became diluted by cold rain. The ropes were as stiff as iron, the horses snorty, and it was hard moving about in bulky rain gear.
Bernice was also anxious about another untried event scheduled for this day. We had our first supply cache ahead waiting for pickup at a U.S. Forest Service guard station. She was worried about what would happen if someone had broken the lock into the storeroom where our groceries were kept. What if mice had ruined our grain? How far would I have to hitch-hike to replace the horseshoe nails we had so carefully counted out?
As if to say, all is well, the sun broke through briefly as we rode up to the station. Everything worked better than planned. We had the panniers packed before the horses were finished with their special treat, not meant to be carried on, except in their bellies.
Fantastic! Instead of a day or two spent scrambling for supplies, we were ready to move out again inside of two hours. I had pinned a note of thanks on the door, when the Forest Service ranger drove up.
"Want to spend the night here," he asked?
"Thanks, but we need a meadow large enough to hold the horses so we can layover if the rain continues. Any ideas?"
"Yup. Logan Lake."
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Text and Photographs © Barry Murray 1971-2007 Mac&Murray Multimedia