Pushing a Little Further

My daughter, Abby, my friend, Colleen, and I grabbed the opportunity for a pack trip to the mountains last week.

We planned to ride both familiar and unexplored trails for a couple of days, take a few deep breaths and pause the chaos swirling among our respective to-do lists.

We had no idea we were about to learn the importance of pushing ourselves just a little farther.

We started out in the afternoon so by the time our feet hit the stirrups, we had about two hours of daylight left.

We headed for a meadow near a pretty, gurgling creek.

The grizzly Abby spotted was running away, turning his head to check on us, so we felt relatively confident that he would be too nervous to visit our camp that night.

I counted on the dogs to let us know whether my confidence was misplaced.

Hot dogs were on the camp dinner menu.

One would think finding hot dogs packed within the confines of four coolers would be simple.

It wasn’t.

We dug deep, past buns and cookies, into frozen breakfast burritos and burger that kept the sandwich turkey cool.

No hot dogs.

We implemented Plan B, delicious sandwiches.

On the trail the next morning, we searched for the turn to a new-to-us trail.

We knew an old post probably still marked the trail, but when we rode past a well-worn trail that veered in the right direction, I started second-guessing myself.

A few hundred yards later, we stopped to consult the map.

The topography and dotted lines corresponded to the well-worn trail we just passed.

We turned the horses around.

The trail led us past an outfitters camp, then became dicey.

Budget cuts eliminated trail crews this year so many trails have not been cleared.

We bushwhacked through the trees, stopped to enjoy lunch and then found ourselves discovering another well-used trail.

And an old post.

If we had ridden another two hundred yards past where we looked at the map, we would have missed the adventure of bushwhacking.

We followed our new trail, riding high along the tree line, then back to a new camp and supper.

Abby found the hot dogs beneath the frozen breakfast burritos.

If we had searched just a little farther, we would have eaten hot dogs the night before.

The next morning brought peace -- until Colleen and I stuck our heads out of the tent.

We counted three of the five horses.

We had joined the almost-universal club of horse-chasers.

Everyone I know who spends time in the mountains is a member.

I saddled faster than ever before, then tracked fresh, trotting hooves and ropes dragging through the mud.

Not knowing how long the mares had been loose, I doubted I could catch them before they made it back to the trailer.

As I trotted along, I calculated how to carry two pack saddles and three riding saddles on three horses 11 miles along narrow, sometimes muddy trails.

My calculations involved top packs, yellow twine and hiking.

After about a mile or so, I had convinced myself I wouldn’t catch up to the mares.

I was about to turn around when my horse flicked her ears.

I rode a little farther, around a corner in the trail.

The loose mares looked back at me.

Instead of hiking out of the mountains, we rode back to the pretty, gurgling creek where Abby and Colleen led me through yoga on the gravelly bank.

I’m sure I will be better at yoga when the .44 on my hip doesn’t tip me over.

I’m ready to try, after hot dogs, trail maps and loose mares reminded me to just push a little farther.