Chapter 13 ~ Page 171
This was an absolutely unique display of trust that disappeared after the trip when they were kept in a fenced pasture. They reverted to the normal man/horse relationship, and it wasn't possible to approach within 100 feet without even ever-loving Big, or Pokey, jumping to their feet. But, when we lived 24 hours a day with our string, we had a 'special' communication between man and beast. What is more, they counted on us protecting them from harm.
As if to prove this point, and liven up Colette's party, our herd spooked at a bear crossing an edge of the meadow. With bells clanging, they all came thundering down to the waiting outstretched arms of Daddy, Mommy, Junior, and Baby Sisters for comforting. Once they had crashed our evening about the campfire, most stayed hidden behind the tents, listening to our stories.
Bernadette started an elaborate narrative about a little horse that set out looking for a fairy tale mountain made out of oats and molasses. Colette picked it up and added a few more embellishments before passing it on round-robin style. BJ gave it a dramatic touch with "Bears, everywhere." And, poor little Big Enough, with eyes the size of saucers, believed every word.
Actually, this is a good example of how we entertained ourselves during the 'prime-time' of an evening. We would read stories aloud, or make up our own, together. We would play charades, or stage a cabaret, together.
In fact, everything we experienced, good, bad, or indifferent, we did, together. Excluding the thrill of adventure, the beauty of the mountains, this trip was a worthwhile undertaking for this reason alone. We were rewarded for living as a family, in the truest meaning of the word.
We were to ride on to many other rewards for having reached the Oregon Skyline. Once past our supply point at the resort lodge at The Lake of The Woods, the most immediate and satisfying was that the trail, was a trail. In research I did later while writing a brochure on the Pacific Crest National Scenic Trail for the government, I came across documents that proved, contrary to everything published, there was a continuous pathway the length of Oregon's Cascades used by packers and foresters long before California's John Muir Trail was built.
After being taken over for recreational use, the wild flavor of woodsmoke camps had been preserved by the expedient of roads being routed so they didn't interfere with or destroy this feeling of wilderness. We camped at Four-Mile Lake in a Forest Service trail campground not far from a small resort store and moorage serving those daring enough to drive in over a rocky road. We were to find this often in Oregon: a skyline road that in places came very close to the trail, but that was rarely visible. This, to me, is good planning. Recreation for all, a far different story than California's crowded campgrounds conflicting with grazing or logging interests.
As if to prove this point, and liven up Colette's party, our herd spooked at a bear crossing an edge of the meadow. With bells clanging, they all came thundering down to the waiting outstretched arms of Daddy, Mommy, Junior, and Baby Sisters for comforting. Once they had crashed our evening about the campfire, most stayed hidden behind the tents, listening to our stories.
Bernadette started an elaborate narrative about a little horse that set out looking for a fairy tale mountain made out of oats and molasses. Colette picked it up and added a few more embellishments before passing it on round-robin style. BJ gave it a dramatic touch with "Bears, everywhere." And, poor little Big Enough, with eyes the size of saucers, believed every word.
Actually, this is a good example of how we entertained ourselves during the 'prime-time' of an evening. We would read stories aloud, or make up our own, together. We would play charades, or stage a cabaret, together.
In fact, everything we experienced, good, bad, or indifferent, we did, together. Excluding the thrill of adventure, the beauty of the mountains, this trip was a worthwhile undertaking for this reason alone. We were rewarded for living as a family, in the truest meaning of the word.
We were to ride on to many other rewards for having reached the Oregon Skyline. Once past our supply point at the resort lodge at The Lake of The Woods, the most immediate and satisfying was that the trail, was a trail. In research I did later while writing a brochure on the Pacific Crest National Scenic Trail for the government, I came across documents that proved, contrary to everything published, there was a continuous pathway the length of Oregon's Cascades used by packers and foresters long before California's John Muir Trail was built.
After being taken over for recreational use, the wild flavor of woodsmoke camps had been preserved by the expedient of roads being routed so they didn't interfere with or destroy this feeling of wilderness. We camped at Four-Mile Lake in a Forest Service trail campground not far from a small resort store and moorage serving those daring enough to drive in over a rocky road. We were to find this often in Oregon: a skyline road that in places came very close to the trail, but that was rarely visible. This, to me, is good planning. Recreation for all, a far different story than California's crowded campgrounds conflicting with grazing or logging interests.
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Text and Photographs © Barry Murray 1971-2007 Mac&Murray Multimedia