Touching Mount Zirkel
View from Farwell Mountain, looking northwest
framed by beetle-killed pines
Routt National Forest, Colorado
photo by Pat O'Toole
In life, we generally assume that we will go on waking up in the morning, seeing our loved ones, accomplishing our work, enjoying our leisure, and going forward until some distant day. Every once in a while, we get a literal “wake up” call which makes us realize that this ain’t necessarily so.
Pat and I had just such an experience a few days ago.
All our sheep and cows are now on the National Forest permits where they graze for the summer. The sheep have herders with them full time, and we check the cows frequently as we move both species along in their slow summer-long grazing rotations. While the sheepherders usually live in their sheep wagons—a home on wheels which is adapted to rough roads and rugged country—sometimes the grazing is found in areas far from accessible roads.
Several of our permits require that the herder live for a few weeks in a wall tent, which we move along weekly with the sheep. Our highest roughest permit is the Big Red Park/Farwell permit in Colorado’s Routt National Forest. The sheep on that permit are herded by Pepe Cruz, who has worked for us for many years and knows that area probably better than any living human being.
Mule packed and ready to go
Silver City Creek, Routt National Forest, Colorado
photo by Sharon O'Toole
Pat, Plata and puppy
Routt National Forest, Colorado
photo by Pat O'Toole
Packing to Pepe's
photo by Pat O'Toole
For more text and photos, go to "Continue Reading."
Much of this permit is right up on the Continental Divide, in the shadow of the Zirkels, a mountain range that includes the Mount Zirkel Wilderness Area. To keep Pepe supplied as his sheep graze this high mountain pasture, we travel in once a week with pack horses and mules. They are laden with groceries, dog food, lantern fuel, mail and whatever supplies he might need. We then pack out his trash.
This trip is spectacular, as we climb up to these high meadows, and back down again, but we consider it routine. This week, the routine turned into the extraordinary, reminding us of the knife’s edge upon which we all truly live.
We have had almost no rain at home for more than two months. The forest has gotten some, but not enough to remind us that it used to rain in the mountains almost every afternoon. I thought that we were prepared since I had packed bug spray, sunscreen and extra water. We did not, although we know better, tied slickers onto our saddles.
Pat, our herder Nerio, and I saddled up and loaded up the pack horses. I had an extra passenger since Pepe wanted one of my dog Suzie’s newly weaned puppies. We left in sunshine but by the time we were a half mile or so from Pepe’s camp, the weather had turned threatening. The distant thunder suddenly was not so distant, but we were almost to our destination.
Just as my horse, Chief, was hopping over a fallen log, a lightening strike and a crack of thunder hit very near us. He and the other horses bolted. He is rock solid reliable, but the lightening scared him. Now I’ve never claimed to be much of a bronc rider, and I was clutching the puppy. In one of those slow-motion moments, I knew that I wasn’t going to stay on so I kicked my feet loose and let go. It probably looked like a cartoon in which the horse dashed on ahead while I remained in place before thumping to the ground. I landed flat on my back in a rock field. It was the only clear place to land so the Good Lord was looking out for me! The puppy rode all the way to the ground with me and was fine.
After the wreck, before the hail
Farwell Mountain
photo by Pat O'Toole
Hail, from under the tarp
photo by Pat O'Toole
Wildflowers and hail
Farwell Mountain
photo by Pat O'Toole
Wet dogs
photo by Pat O'Toole
Pat and Nerio got the rest of the horses under control and realized that Chief was riderless. It was starting to rain and lightening was still striking all around. I remembered our young neighbor who had been killed when he sheltered under a pine tree during an electric storm.
Soon, marble-sized hail began striking us. Nerio secured the horses and we picked the shortest tree we could find to seek refuge. When the hail finally turned to rain, the wind picked up and we started to chill. All over America, people were sweltering and we were worrying about hypothermia! Pat remembered we had a tarp on the pack mule, so we draped it over a branch and Pat, Nerio, Suzie, the puppy and I huddled there for a long while.
Finally, the storm moved on and we ventured out. We climbed the last short distance to Pepe’s camp. He reminded us that just two summers ago, he’d had thirty-three ewes killed by lightening just a short distance away.
Pepe greeting Nerio
Farwell Mountain
photo by Pat O'Toole
Pepe's camp
photo by Pat O'Toole
On top at last
photo by Pat O'Toole
