Forrest, at home working in the high country

Becoming lost is the luxury of relying on others.  One can only be lost if we are secretly counting on the option of someone else to rescue us. Some of us just temporarily lose our way.  And then find it, and make it home on our own.

Or maybe I’m just lucky.

The summer I arrived on this mountain, I was expected to know my way around a mountain I did not know, had never been on, and had no one to show me except where my horse and own desire would take me.

I suppose Bob was burned out on the trail ride thing by then. That’s what I was there for.

On one of the first days, just before noon when the sun had warmed the early May mountain sufficiently, Bob chose three ponies, saddled up, and showed Forrest and me a back route through trees and meadows about five miles long, twisting here and there through only a semblance of game trails, the rest an invisible line into the big unknown, our big back yard.  He called it a trail.  It was not.

Once. That’s how many times he showed me the route. After that I was on my own and expected to lead a string of dudes through a secret for which I only knew a few hints. He told me the horse would remember, and for the most part, he did.  I tested his skills plenty.  The first time was on that back “trail” a few weeks later. Through one open meadow where the trail faded to nothing, I chose not to listen to the horse but veered in a direction I thought looked right. The right way, however, was to the other right.

From the back of the trail line, where Forrest’s “job” was riding drag, which usually consisted of checking out saddles slipping and riders losing balance and dropping wallets, ball caps and sunglasses (what ARE you doing with your wallet out here anyway?), I heard his soft low voice say, “I think it’s the other way.”  Of course he was right. My horse confirmed.

Otherwise, Forrest didn’t speak much back there. For years.  He’d ride the trails, drag, sometimes covered in dust that the line of horses before him had kicked up, just sitting back there on his old mare looking around and munching away. He always seemed to be eating back there when I’d turn around to look.  Peanut M&Ms. And still he was the skinniest little fellow you ever did see. Some days he’d smile when we’d finally arrive back at the ranch, and his teeth were brown from trail dust.

Whatever the weather, the challenge of the trail, the challenge of the people he’d been watching in line before him. There he’d be, silent and cool beneath his hat, hunkered down and enduring the elements.  The cowboy way.  Keep your mouth shut and don’t whine.  No matter what.

And I tested this. I tested him.  Not intentionally, of course, but that’s how it ended up. 

Take the first time I took him on a pack trip.  He was seven. I was guiding a group of teen girls.  He was extra baggage that I would not, could not leave home without, but had trouble figuring out how to bring along.  So he rode along, a long and tiring day for anyone, let alone a little kid that wasn’t really allowed to say much because he knew his mama was too busy taking care of the other kids to pay much mind to him.

Take the time Bob had me guide a family adventure all day horse ride up and across the Divide on a trail I had not even been close to.  Bob asked me if I thought I could do it.  What was I going to say?  No?  I don’t think so.

But I’ll tell you what.  It’s big up there.  Big and wide and open and scary, if you let yourself get scared, which of course I could not do because I had guests I had to convince that I was not scared.  And that I knew my way.  I would get them through this, safe and sound, even in the hail. Yes, a hail storm hit us as we cleared tree line. As I recall, that was late July.

And as we were riding back down this side of the mountain, still in a place I had never been with a group of tourists sitting cold and miserable on their horses between me and my son, I saw him back there, slicker pulled up tight over his neck, eyes hidden behind the rim of his well worn cowboy hat.  He could have been crying for all I knew.  But I knew he wasn’t.  He was a tough little fellow.  He had a job to do, and wasn’t going to whine about a little hail in the high country.

Forrest was eight or nine.  Our route that day was mapped out on a napkin by Bob.  I still have that napkin.  A keepsake of sorts. One more thing I survived.  One more time I could have been lost but found my own way.  No thanks to that napkin.

High Mountain Musing is changing it’s web site address from:  highmountainmuse.wordpress.com  to right here:  highmountainmuse.com. 

A bit confusing in the short run; but hopefully simpler in the long run.

The new blog address will be effective immediately.  Same author (me), same stuff – my rambles and the mountain musings – just a different web address.

One of the more complicated changes may be in leaving comments.  All previous comments to date should have transferred over onto this site, and I’ll ask that any comments in the future be submitted here, as in due time, the old site will become obsolete.

If you subscribe to the posts, comments or have the site saved in your favorites, please be sure to make the changes. 

Sorry for any inconvenience this may cause.

Please let me know if you have any difficulty connecting here, or find any problems with navigation on this new site by leaving a comment here, or e-mailing me directly at highmountainmuse@gmail.com.   I imagine there will be some things we find that need to be tweaked – and thanks to Ron (J) we can fix them…

I’m not very computer savvy, but I’ll do my best to help in any way I can.

I’m taking the weekend off (going to the BIG CITY) and won’t be posting until Monday, so I’ll look forward to hearing from you then – here at the new site!

Warmly,

Gin

Here we go again: warming up and drying out.

As unpredictable as a stallion, the mountains are, or so I have been told.  Yet now having been working with a stallion for several years, I’m learning that these boys are remarkably predictable.  Sure, far more complicated than a gelding.  But steady in their stallion nature.  It is just a matter of understanding and accepting what that stallion nature is all about. 

He’s no gelding. He’s not that simple.  He has  far more drives, motivations, moods, desires… it is natural; it is expected; it is, in fact, predictable.  Face it, and your fine. You are prepared for what then becomes obvious and anticipated with stallion behavior. Expect otherwise, and you’re in trouble.

You see, it’s sort of like the mountains:  If you remember what you’re dealing with, and understand its nature which is so predictable even in its constant variations and changes, you will be fine.  If you expect to go out on a calm and sunny morning and have the mountain remain that way… surprise!

Most of us who live or have spent enough time in the high country have learned this lesson, and unfortunately, most of us have learned the hard way. Living and working as we do “out there,” as you can imagine, I could share with you some foolish and frightening stories.  And I’m the first to admit that in some of these stories, I am the one who played the fool.  

We’ve been caught out there unprepared, and got ourselves in some pretty uncomfortable situations.  Hopefully, we will never make the same mistake twice.

Cold and wet happen in a heartbeat up here.  They come out of the blue and get us when we least expect it.  We learn this is part of being in the mountains.  We should always expect it.

By necessity, we have learned to travel the mountain prepared.  I suppose the most important and commonly used “tool” in our survival kit is the fire starter. These do not remain idle. They are used, relied on, regularly.  Waterproof matches, dry tinder of some sort, folded neatly into a small zip lock bag – they are worth their weight in more than gold.

Taking the time to build a fire, warm up, then completely ensure the fire is dead out and scatter all traces – this is well worth the time and effort.  It can be the difference between pushing on miserably on the verge of hypothermia, or worse; and warming up, drying out, and moving on in comfort, not to mention a far better mood.

For those of you who live in town, it’s like leaving the house without your wallet.  You just don’t do it, and if you do, you feel naked, vulnerable, and you just never know when you’ll need it. We have no use for a wallet on us here.  But a fire starter kit?  You bet. We don’t leave home without it…

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But it does remind me that it shouldn’t take the big Sky Show to get us out there looking up.  It is there any clear night.  It is free.  It is easy.  I suppose in mid summer, it does require staying up a bit late for the deep darkness to settle up here.  And having lived in cities in the past, I do understand how difficult it can be to see through all the lights of buildings and traffic and roadways.  But it is there.  They are there, the stars, silently, secretly awaiting the darkest hour when they will still glimmer and show themselves just a little bit perhaps, but enough to remind us of their presence, so beautiful and magical, so easy and uncomplicated to look at, so far away and yet so intimate.  Is there anything able to fill us more with wonder than the sparkling depths of the night sky?

So tonight, although we may not see the Perseids, we will bundle up and lie out on high meadow at Ditch Camp after the sun has long gone, and stare up at the heavens. And you know this will happen: in our still and chill silence, we will be filled with awe and wonder and questions and feel so small, but somehow it all makes sense as you look up at the stars… With all the questions that cloud through ones mind as one stares up in such a simple miracle as the night sky, somehow we just feel right.

Forrest fishing

I once read that if you give a kid a pole, he’ll never have to go hungry.  Well, how about learning to fish without a pole?  That’s how Forrest provided us with fresh trout for supper at Ditch Camp one evening last week.

Bob told him the technique of quietly leaning over a pool of water, feeling below the bank, and gently grabbing hold with both hands so the slippery fish can’t slither away. Took Forrest about a half hour to catch three Brookies. Not bad.

Not your proper fishing etiquette, yes, I know.  But as you know, there are few more respectful and understanding of nature and wildlife.  However survival is something we need to know up here.  It is beyond a game or a luxury.  It is an essential part of our life, part of living in the wilds as we do.  I know this skill will not be abused, taken for granted, or used unless necessary.  But the rewards of learning this lesson were sweet…

We cooked them over the hot fire in a fry pan with a little margarine, salt and pepper.  That fresh, nothing more was needed. Perfect fare for after a hard day of digging ditch!

We clean our fish leaving the head on.  I understand this is personal preference. Lots of folks just don’t want to see that part, and that’s OK. We find it much easier to hold them after cooking, though an over done fish will fall apart. By holding the head, you can eat a little Brookie like corn-on-the-cob, skin and all (don’t forget to remove the fins).  Or holding the head, gently peel down the cooked meat from a larger fish, leaving the bones completely intact.

horses on pasture above the reservoir on another rainy day

I have not shared any of our back woods/survival skills as of late.  In spring time, we’re lucky to sneak off the ranch for a quick walk.  The back woods, and high country, seem at times out of touch for the season.

But the season is about to change… summer’s about to begin, though the weather tells us perhaps it came and went without us knowing it.  Today, we’re ready to head for the hills.

In case we’re not far enough away from it all here, the three of us, with dog and horses, head up higher for work when we can.  We dig ditch in the Wilderness.  For those of you who know what we do, you’re chuckling and rolling your eyes knowing how odd we may truly be for actually loving this job.  For those who have no idea what I’m talking about… I think I’ll keep you on pins and needles until we return and share it all with you then. 

In the meanwhile, back to the survival skill tip I wanted to share.  It’s about fire, among the most precious of survival tools up here.  And it uses hand sanitizer wipes – little individually wrapped packages of towelettes soaked in hand sanitizer.  Forrest and Bob shared with me the trick they recently learned that for an emergency fire starter, hand sanitizer gel, just a squirt, works great.  Of course you’ll need matches (preferably the waterproof/strike anywhere sort) as well.  More often than not, most of us seem to be carrying that hand sanitizer gel with us any way. Try it out. It works.  And remember to use it to build a safe, warming fire should you be stranded and chilled.

Well, I have these packages of individually wrapped towelettes of hand sanitizer – a big box of them that my mom found at Sam’s Club for me a couple years ago – even easier to carry around that a bottle.  Rather than packing the gel, I usually pack a little package.  I can fit one easily into the pocket of any jacket or jeans. So, I tried these out to see if they’d burn well too, and sure enough, these turned out to be the ultimate of fire starter/tinder.  They burned even and slow and for long enough one should be able to get some small kindling burning on top and a good warming fire going in no time.

Of course, the biggest thing to remember here is to be prepared, and not to leave home without them and your waterproof strike anywhere matches.  The elements can get you very quick up here.  You need to be quicker.

Anyway, friends, I’ll be gone until Thursday night.  In any emergency, Beka is here at the ranch checking my e-mail (and about a zillion other things for us). Otherwise, I’ll look forward to hearing from you and writing when I get home. Bet I’ll have a lot to share, so check in Friday morning!

Sit back and read on, if you have a few minutes with me here today… I have a story to tell …A story I’ll share with you, but it also to serve as a reminder to myself about getting up and getting over it. About pulling yourself up when times are tough, and making the most of things. About knowing how strong we are, how much we can make it through, and what better people we become because of it all.

It starts with sanding.  I spent years sanding. I spent my pregnancy sanding.  That’s right.  Sanding.  I worked in the woodshop of a frame store, and I was the expert sander.  So Forrest spent his “in utero” life listing to a hand sander buzzing only inches away.  Hard work to do around a pregnant belly, but I managed to save enough during my pregnancy so that I could plan on taking a few months off after birth to just care for my baby.  And to build a house. Oh, it was a simple house. Very simple. The total cost was $1,500. But I built it myself with a little baby on my back, and we managed to live pretty comfortably in there – me, little Forrest, and a couple of big dogs.

The first home I built.

You may think it looks kind of rough, and maybe it was, but it was mine. Sure, my carpentry and construction skills have vastly improved since this first cabin I built, but hey, you have to start somewhere. Anyway, it was warm and cozy and dry. Very dry.  Once a week, I’d have to drive about 20 miles to get water to haul home in five gallon containers.  And still, I managed to have a small garden by dumping all our waste and wash water on the carefully prepared garden beds.

A woman I had met in college offered for me to come live there, to come build my own house of straw.  Seemed like a good idea at the time… I still look back on it, and hard as it was, it was a great thing. I learned an enormous amount about building, and surviving.

In the middle of construction. With baby asleep in the crib in the only shade around, and our tent "home" in the background.

I moved out there with my baby and dogs; set up a tent that we lived in for four months during the slow construction process. As many of you know, tents are not the most secure in the wind and monsoons. But it beat the other options. And when the wind wasn’t blowing, and the sun wasn’t baking it, and the temperatures weren’t too cold at night… which really, as I recall, was most of time – it was comfortable.  It was a fine little home.

Building the cabin was slow for me.  I had no idea what I was doing. None. Zip. Zilch. But I figured it couldn’t be Rocket Science.  People have been building homes for a long time and managing just fine. I could too.  All you have to do is start.

Start.  Pick yourself up each morning and just do something. One more step.  And with each step, you’ll be just a little closer to your goal.

I met a special old man there, like an apparition, one day he appeared while walking my dogs in the arroyo below the hill I was building on.  Turns out he (and his dogs) were building just a few hillside away.  Now, this man had lived.  More adventures, more sadness, more loss, and more knowledge, than I may ever have.  He would visit every day, stop by the “construction zone” and offer me tid bits of advice.  My mom had taught me well:  you don’t have to agree with everyone’s advice, but you might just want to listen.  The best advice he gave me was one day I “gave up,” with my baby fussing in one arm, the hammer idle in the other, and tears pouring down my sun burned cheeks, in complete frustration of my lack of knowledge, lack of ability, lack of progress.  He sat their calmly with his dogs madly running around, leaning back on a straw bale with yet another cigarette sending smoke signals from his dramatically waving hands, and he reminded me about the ants. One grain of sand at a time, he said. That is all they move.  But one after another after another.  And before you know, they have a whole intricate world built. And with that, the old man grabbed the heavy roll of roofing, effortless tossed it up on his shoulder, climbed the ladder, and put it on the roof for me. One grain of sand, he said. I think that’s the only physical help he ever gave me. His timing was impeccable. He proved his point, and well, and I still remember this today. When things seem hard and overwhelming, all I have to do is move one grain of sand at a time…

Anyway, I got that little cabin built before the snow settled in. I build it all without electricity, with simple hand tools that could all fit in one small tool box. The design, if we can call it that, began with a post and beam construction. I think it was 10×12 feet.  Yup, that’s it. The size of your closet probably. The walls were built of stacked straw bales on a foundation of plastic sheeting.  The doors and windows were built in with “lentil” framing. Chicken wire was “sewn” together, inside and out over the straw, with bailing wire for thread and a piece of rebar acting as a giant needle. With my hand as spreading tools and a little bucket to mix, I mudded the inside and outside over the straw and wire. Never got a floor in there.  That was way beyond my capabilities back then. The dirt stayed dry, but wasn’t much fun for a baby to crawl on.  At first, there was no room for a wood stove, so off that shed roof, I built on a 5 foot extension to the south that gave me enough room for a little pot belly stove. Burned less than ¾ of a cord of wood that winter, and it was a good, cold northern New Mexico winter. There is a lot to be said for small spaces.

No, it wasn’t ideal. Life often is not. I was not too sad to leave it when the woman who owned the land told me the next summer that she was selling. I remember once during the winter being so sick, just slumped there on the dirt floor with a raging fever, with my little baby in my arms, and really wishing someone would come find me, come help me.  I couldn’t call out, no one would hear. No way to call anyone, as the nearest phone wasn’t so near. I even tried to send “vibes,” you know, messages “out there.” No one came.  But I obviously made it, and I healed. And because of that, I sort of became less afraid of those things, and more realizing that no one was going to be there to help me sometimes, but we can do so much by ourselves. Basically, we can do almost anything, if it’s a good thing, and for a good reason. I learned we are capable of accomplishing, well, anything we want.  Just one grain of sand at a time.

Me and Forrest, made it through the winter, then moving on to our next construction site, starting to build yet another cabin...

Colorado Outdoor Living, Eighty Plus Years. by Ernie Wilkinson

The number one survival tool is not a multi-purpose tool or pocket knife.  It is not a map or compass. It is not a fire kit or first aid kit.  It is not a water bottle or food rations.  All of these are of great importance, but all are of little value without the most important one of all: PMA. Positive Mental Attitude.

I did not coin that phrase.  I borrow it with honor and respect from the great outdoorsman who uses this term regularly and continually stresses the importance of PMA for success and survival in any back woods situation.  That outdoorsman is Ernie Wilkinson.

For any of you who have not had the pleasure of meeting this special man, Ernie is a Colorado native from the San Luis Valley, spent years working as a government trapper starting in the 1940’s, taking him on extended adventures alone with his dog and horses deep into the wilds of the Wilderness. An avid outdoorsman, trapper, hunter, fisherman, and taxidermist, Ernie also had (or rather, still has!) a remarkable way with and understanding of animals, evident in his relationship with his pet cougar, Tabby, and his entire petting zoo and family menagerie.  Later, Ernie and his wife, Margaret, along with their friend Chief Jim Fire Eagle, hosted Primitive Skills Camps, often here at Bob’s ranch (unfortunately, before my time here), generously and thoughtfully sharing with others their wealth of knowledge of skills and lost arts – from brain tanning hides, to identifying edible wild plants, to primitive fire building, and much more.

Today, in his 80’s, Ernie is still active as an outdoorsman and taxidermist.  And writer.  In addition to his weekly article, “Outdoor Tips and Tales,” which has been continuing for 40 years, Ernie just published an autobiography entitled, “Colorado Outdoor Living, Eighty Plus Years,” published by Adobe Village Press in Monte Vista, CO. (Adobe Village Press has an on-line store with E-Bay. They also carry Ernie’s book on Snow Caving which I referred to in a previous post.) 

So with due respect to Ernie for the term PMA, I hope you will consider this when pulling your outdoor gear together and stuffing your survival kits.  Pack a generous dose of PMA. Pull it out and use it when you need it. And we all need it. Put something in your survival kits or packs to remind you, if need be, of this essential source deep within all of us. We can forget we have it.  We can lose site, and drop our ability to see clearly and think with common sense.  So, with a small reminder, hopefully we can pull out the PMA, get back on track, and take care of ourselves in the back country.

I once read a list of what to pack in your survival kit which included a photo of someone you love.  That’s one way to trigger the reminder of PMA if you’re in a pinch, and loosing site of where you are and what you need to do. Pack a photo, and inspirational phrase jotted on a note card, a good luck charm, or a favorite trinket.  Something to remind you to draw on your powers of PMA when you need it most. Thanks to Ernie for reminding us to keep it handy, to use it, and rely on it, even in the hardest of times.

A group of skiers came past the ranch several years ago. We were not terribly impressed with their preparations, as they turned around and left the mountain early because, I kid you not, they did not remember the poles for their tent. I wonder why you would choose to sleep in, and haul around, a tent when you could sleep in a snow cave.  There is no shortage of snow here most winters.

OK, so, what is a snow cave?

A view from inside a snow cave, looking out...

For us, the skill of building one is a matter of necessity.  Exposure could kill us. For anyone who spends time in the back country in the winter, it’s a safe and relatively warm shelter that can be fashioned out of nothing more than a shovel and a bank of snow.

For those who may not know, or who haven’t considered this, a snow cave is a cave dug out of a snow bank or drift that serves as a remarkably comfortable emergency shelter.  Anyone who intentionally camps in winter – or any one who spends time in the back country in winter where spending the night out could happen – should know how.  Rather than waiting for the emergency to happen, know how ahead of time. Head out there, find a big drift, and get shoveling!

Although I’ll be sharing our personal experience of snow caving with you, I highly recommend THE book on the subject, written by the remarkable Ernest Wilkinson, entitled, “Snow Caves for Fun and Survival.” Bob had the honor of working with Ernie for years, and learned this skill from him first hand.  So our snow caving techniques are based on Ernie’s teachings.

Although I knew the importance of snow cave building, knew it was a skill that up here especially, could save my life, I was still scared to spend the night in a hole in a snow bank.  The only way to alleviate my fears would be to do it. So we did!

We spent the afternoon building a most luxurious snow cave – large enough for the three of us, and two of our dogs. In this bank of snow, we spent the night.  And much to my surprise, believe it or not, I will actually use the word “cozy” to describe our night in the snow cave.

When we woke in the morning, after a great night sleep, I was warmer and more comfortable than waking in the high country in summer.  Mind you, even in July, mornings in the high country are often below freezing, and the movement of the air freely flows through the tarp under which we usually sleep, making for a quick chill as you worm your way out of your sleeping bag to quickly get dressed… The snow cave was far more comfortable.

To build a snow cave, the process is simple:  you open up a hole in the side of a snow bank or drift, large and deep enough to comfortably sleep. As Bob told me, when you are digging, think more like “mine tunnel” instead of “rabbit hole.” Rather than digging in through a small hole to clear the interior cavity out, you open up a larger hole in the front, large enough to comfortably work and be able to easily shovel the snow out from the cavity. The most common design for the interior is a curved roof, and a sleeping bench about 18-20” inches above the “floor” – this allows the warmer air to circulate around you, and the cooler air from the “door” to stay in the trough. 

Digging the snowcave.

When the interior is completed, you build back the front wall with the blocks of snow you initially carved out of the bank. As you are rebuilding the front wall, be sure to mark the bottom of the cave with a stick or something visible from where you will be working.  When the wall is completed, you then excavate your doorway just above that stick. This way you are able to have a small and low entrance to your snow cave. You’ll need something like a back pack or sleeping pad to close off the door at night.

One of the most important considerations in digging the cave is that it’s physically hard work, so take it easy, slow down, and be extra careful not to sweat.  Peel off layers so that your clothes are not damp, and do what it takes to remain dry.  If we or our clothes are wet when the sun goes down, that’s a certain way to get chilled; and an absolute, positive avoidance for survival in the mountains in winter.

Enjoying breakfast inside our snowcave.

Inside the snow cave, the temperature remains above freezing from body heat alone, and there is no air movement to create chill. So with warm, dry clothes, a hat, and a good moderate weight sleeping bag laid out over an insulating layer made from a bed of boughs, or straw, or sleeping pads, sleeping is remarkably comfortable.

Since we were not intending to use the cave a second night, we brought in our camping stove and got coffee going in the morning. (Do not do this if you intend to use the snow cave a second night.) Although this was a great way to make breakfast, the heat from the stove melted and then sealed off the ceiling of the cave, which would block the necessary breathing air flow that a good, regular mid-winter snow pack provides.

My recommendation is to please read Ernie’s book, and try it!  Try it before you are ever in a situation where your life may depend on it. There are many activities you can practice for winter survival, and Ernie covers many of these well.  But you don’t have to just think of it as survival.  You can think of it as fun.  And really, digging a cave in the snow and crawling inside, even if you don’t sleep in it, is pretty cool! 

Peeking out from inside the snow cave.

Having “survived” a night in the snow cave, I can say my fear of them is gone. It was a simple process, remarkably comfortable, and actually quite fun. I wish it would be this easy and rewarding to face all of my other fears…

Yesterday, my boys took off to ride the high country. The two of them headed off after breakfast on snowmobile to see if they could find a route over the Continental Divide, from our ranch to the town of Silverton, about 25 miles away.  If you thought this was the high country here, you are right in a way, we live at nearly 10,000 feet elevation.  But where they went, they were riding in elevations of up to about 12,600 feet. 

A good picture of how the snow makes what was a "road" impassable in the winter time.

They have never done this before, and were unsure of what route they would be able to take. During the summer, there is a 4WD Jeep road, but as you can see from this photo, you can’t plan on holding a snowmobile on a switch back in the deep snow. If this route was not passable, they were going to explore a route further to the north.  In pouring over images from Google Earth before heading out, the terrain north of Stony Pass looked like it consisted of unrideable ridges on top alternating with continual avalanche chutes on the bottom.  This would only be an option if the chutes have already run.

A Google Earth image of the road in summer over Stony Pass

I’ve been over Stony Pass, as have innumerable people bouncing along the rough but clear and passable road in their Jeeps and 4-wheel drive rigs.  And I’ve been all over the high country horseback. But it’s different in the winter.  It is vast, enormous, overwhelming to most, and largely untraveled.

For one, everything (trails, markers, landmarks, roads) is under several feet of snow, except for the very tops of ridges on the windward slopes, where the snow has been blown off to expose the harsh grasses and rocks that cling to existence on what seems like the top of the world. 

On the wind blown top of Stony Pass

For two, there is no one else there. Not even close. I suppose the closest person they would find from up on the Divide is me, 17 miles to the east.  To the west, the town of Silverton lies 25 miles away from our ranch.  To the north, is Lake City, probably 12 miles as the crow flies (but we can not fly across the mountains).  And to the south, lies the Weminuche Wilderness, the largest Wilderness in Colorado. Don’t think you’ll see many folks there in the winter!

For three, there are real risks.  Avalanche, frost bite, hypothermia, getting lost, getting hurt, snowmobile breaking down… I think of them all. It is not just the fear a mother has for watching her child cross the road, but more like the fear a mother would have for watching her child spend the day running around the race track.  The dangers are factual, and the dangers are severe.  All too serious for anyone who knows about winter in the high country and the reality of avalanches.

A Google Earth image of the mountains they crossed from the other side.

And once again, my boys were out there, just the two of them.  More often than not, I worry about them less when it is just the two of them than when they ride in a group.  They remain focused on each other, work together as a team, and have only each other to bail out or look out for.  And both head out prepared. They better be.  They were travelling in country with an average elevation of 11,000 feet, where the nearest person could be well over 10 miles away, where I could certainly not get to nor did I know anyone else capable of getting to them should they call for help, and where there is no cell phone service to call for help even if someone could find them and get to them. (We’re used to this one – we don’t have any phone service at or even near our ranch.  We are living proof that there still is life beyond cell phone range.)

Each of them carries an avalanche beacon, avalanche probe, and shovel. Forrest carries a SPOT and a GPS, and Bob a map. In addition to their survival kits, fire kits, first aid kits, food, and water, both boys also carry knowledge: knowledge of the mountains and knowledge of survival, from first aid/cpr training, avalanche classes, innumerable reading and discussions, and knowledge of the mountains based on years of hands-on back country experience.

And still, I worry.  Of course I worry. But I know how much they love to ride and to explore, and perhaps most special to me, I love to see how well they work together, to the point of upon their return when they have to relate to me every remembered detail of their ride, they speak together almost as one, without competition but in companionship, and I am glad beyond words to see this, to listen to them both (and all the crazy stories).

As it turned out, the boys were able to follow the jeep road – for the most part – and make it to Silverton in time to ride their snowmobiles into town for lunch. They returned around 5 pm, having travelled nearly 60 miles of some very high ground.

Yesterday was Thursday, which of course was supposed to be a school day for Forrest. We home school, as you can imagine, and he’s a great student, but… he’s falling behind in his studies, as he does most every winter, because it’s his favorite season, and there is just so much to do!  For him, that primarily means snowmobiling, and mechanicking on his snowmobiles.

I’m not much of a snowmobiler.  I do it when I have to – to get places, like to the pick up truck or back to the ranch.  But I don’t do it for fun. I don’t like the noise and I don’t like smell. You only have so much free time, and I’d rather spend mine working with the horses or snowshoeing.  Everyone is different.  We encourage each others differences. That’s what makes things work around here, and keeps things going smoothly. It’s what makes us all special. I don’t want to be a clone; I want to be an individual, with my own special traits, qualities and interests. It’s fun to share sometimes – I usually go along with the boys once a year on a big ride, and they will join me about once a year for a big snow shoe excursion. But otherwise, I’m content in my solitude, and they are happy to have each other, and at the end of the day, we all have plenty of stories to share.

Well, at the end of this day, when we sat around hearing stories of this ride told by the two of them jointly as the team that they are, I told Forrest it was probably worth missing a day of school to do this ride. As much as I adore reading and encourage him in his education, there are so many things we can not learn from a book. Days like this will do more to get him through life and be the best person he can be.

Last week, a reader wrote in with a comment about her electric heat, and it got me thinking. What do you do for heat when the electricity goes out?  Just really hope it doesn’t?

Every winter, storms seem to wipe out power lines not only in rural communities, but in parts of big cities as well.  If this has not happened to you, you’re lucky.  But what if it did happen? Are you ready, just in case?

I have lived in big cities.  This question never crossed my mind. We all had heard stories of the power going out. We just hoped it wasn’t us. 

I also lived in rural communities that were still on grid.  There, we learned to become prepared, for it wasn’t a matter of if the power would go out, just a matter of when.  We learned to back up and stock up.

It is easy out here.  We do not depend on anyone else to provide the necessities of water, plumbing, heat, light and food for us anyway.  So we take it for granted that we are always prepared, because disaster or no disaster, we have to take care of ourselves. 

However, an emergency for us could even be having to evacuate ourselves and our livestock due to a forest fire.  You start with a plan, and by having some of the essential survival gear ready and on-hand.  Know what to do, and be prepared.

After writing the post on what to pack in your emergency kit, it got me to thinking about all you folks who live in the cities or on-grid, and I was worried.  Hopefully you are not as thoughtless as I was when I was younger, living in the city.  Hopefully you are prepared.  But then I wonder:  how? 

There are some things that seem logical to keep on hand and consider just in case of emergency, no matter where you live.  You could store many of these items under a bed, under the kitchen sink, in the linen closet.  Things like: 

-          a few gallons of pure drinking water.  How close would the nearest source be if water was shut off for an extended period of time?  Would you need to purify that water source? Do you have a bathtub you could fill with water, or a hot water heater, or other temporary source you could tap even within your home?

-          canned or dehydrated food

-          a cooking source – even a little white gas or propane single burner camp stove. These are not considered safe for indoor use, so use sparingly, with adequate ventilation, and definitely not as a source of heat.  And, don’t store this one under you bed…

-          fuel for your vehicle – another one NOT to be stored anywhere in your house – don’t laugh, I just read about a couple who was doing this.  But if you have a car or truck, you may also have a garage or back yard.  Otherwise, get a bike or good walking shoes.

-          a decent and up to date first aid kit.  And know how to use it. Any personal medications to consider?

-          flashlight and spare batteries, maybe even a little portable crank or sun powered room light

-          communication back up. Living out here, I wonder who would we call, even if we could?  And now, and why? But chances are, living in town or in the cities, you’ll want to call family, friends, neighbors, someone who will be worried about you or could come help you if need be.  But in an emergency like a power outage or big disaster, could you call and rely on 911? The most important communication would be for medical assistance when and if need be.

-          Sanitation – if your water is shut off, what would you do?  Coffee can, zip lock bags, kitty litter – think about it.  It happens…

-          Heat.  What would you do if you only had electric baseboard heaters, and the electricity went out?  Or if whatever your source of “central heating” failed?  In many climates, folks are able to get by with bundling up under some extra wool blankets.  What would you do?

-          A list and chart – do you have your contact information handy?  Do you know what to do and where to go in an emergency, and how to evacuate your building if need be?  I was so frightened of fire as a child, I still to this day always figure out my escape route of whatever building – or campsite – I am sleeping in.

There’s certainly more to it, but this is a start.  Most of you are probably already prepared, so again, I’m not sharing any big news here.  Just a concern.  And if we can help even just one person by making them aware, all the better!

Let me know your thoughts and ideas.  Are you prepared?  What have you done to be ready, just in case?  And have you ever been caught in a situation that tested your preparedness?  We can all learn from each other.

(An additional note:  Please see “comments” from yesterday’s post.  There are times such emergencies are blessings in disguise. In such times, we must try to remember that how we react to events,  how we choose to perceive the world around us, can make all the difference. What can we pack in our emergency kit to remind us of this?)

Last week I was out setting tracks with my snowshoes in the fresh powder.  Forrest was on snowmobile and offered to head out in front of me to pack a trail for me through the woods.  A few minutes later, I no longer heard the roar of his motor and assumed he was far ahead, but after walking just a short distance further, I came across him struggling with getting around some downed Aspen trees that were blocking the trail.  No problem.  I opened my fanny pack, took out my little saw, and we got through in no time. 

He’s one of the most prepared persons I know, but in just a little romp in his big back yard, it didn’t occur to him to take ALL his survival gear.  Where do you draw the line?  I know he always has a fire kit and many basic survival items strapped onto his snowmobile.  But he didn’t have a saw.  I bet he carries one now!  (I’ve yet to meet a snowmobiler who is happy to be “rescued” by a snowshoer… )

Impromptu view of the contents of my fanny pack (note the peanut m&m's are not there - already consumed!)

Here’s what’s in my fanny pack, for real:
- pocket knife

- little light weight saw

- string (one or two pieces 5-6 feet long, I like thin paracord)

- cherry chapstick

- a whistle (I don’t talk much, so I imagine I can’t scream much either)

- pencils and a notebook (I get inspired out there!  Also helpful to leave a message if need be)

- tissues/toilet paper (leaves are OK, but hard to find in winter)

- pre packaged  hand sanitizer towels

- bandana/scarf (can keeps you warm, can be a splint or tourniquet, a million uses!)

- flagging (should anything happen, having my boys find me would be a top concern, and the bright fluorescent colors stand out well in the snow and low light)

- fire kit in ziplock (for me, as mentioned in the post on building fire, this means strike anywhere matches, a little candle, and newspaper)

- a large trash bag (don’t laugh – this item is key! can be a great seat on wet ground, or raincoat in surprise storms, or core body warmer if the temps plummet – and they do. so, maybe not real pretty, but it works, believe me)

- water bottle

- food (I bring lots, and a few hard candies too.  my blood sugar has been known to drop pretty fast, and it’s not a good idea to get weak and lightheaded when you’re out there if you can avoid it)

- if the Boyz are around and may need to keep in touch, I carry a walkie talkie.  These things are great – our version of a cell phone.

- the camera.  I’m rarely without it.  Don’t know if it would help me survive, but I sure enjoy it!

Perhaps it is overkill hauling all this gear around with me, even on the short trips, but I’ve been caught unprepared too many times.  Even minor emergencies do happen:  I go further than planned, blood sugar drops, a white out rolls in unexpectedly, temperatures plummet suddenly, snowshoes break (yes, even this has happened to me).  I need to get home.  It’s not like someone is going to be coming up the trail shortly after me here to bail me out.

I imagine all this gear stuffed into a comfortable fanny pack weighs no more than six or seven pounds.

Think I carry a lot in my little fanny pack?  There’s even more I carry in my day pack for longer hikes or snowshoes, and even more in my saddle bags.  There, I also carry:

- complete emergency first aid kit for horse and human (it’s a requirement as an outfitter)

- materials and tools for fixing horse tack, including more string which can work as a halter, lead rope, repair a rein, etc.

- leatherman/all purpose tool

- larger ropers knife and hoof pick

- larger saw or hatchet

- a secondary fire kit (what if one gets wet?  and I want this close and easy to find when my fingers are frozen, which they’ll get up here, even in the summer)

- small roll of TP pressed flat into a quart size ziplock

- headlamp or flashlight

- spare pair of gloves

- maps in a ziplock bag (I get farther on horseback than I can on foot)

- emergency blanket (a neat, silvery fabric that holds in heat)

- extra hefty bag (works the same way)

- hobbles for my horse so he doesn’t run off with all this gear in the saddle bags!

And I’m still probably forgetting some things!

Which of these items should you carry with you?  What else might you need that I haven’t considered or don’t need? Water purification tablets, compass, GPS, maps, money, i.d., medications? Base your needs upon where you are, where you’re going, and where you may end up in a worse case scenario, and be prepared.

Think about it.  Don’t be caught unprepared.  Yes, it is better to be safe than sorry.

a high mountain creek running in the summer

In writing about drinking from the mountain spring yesterday, I wondered if I might receive comments from readers suggesting that this is not a safe or recommended practice.  Fortunately, I did not.  However, I would like to take a moment to discuss drinking water in the mountains further.  Yes, I do drink from mountain springs, as do my husband and son.  We do our best to locate clean sources, like springs just surfacing, or melt off creeks close to their starting place high up around tree line.  Sources we consider reasonably safe.  How lucky we are to know where so much of our water comes from, being so near to the top of the mountains.

Chances are very good we do have our share of “bugs,” and chances are good after all this time we also have quite a bit of immunity from being exposed on a regular basis. I’m not going to claim “bugs” are a good thing.  They are a common occurrence throughout the world, and if left untreated or in large doses, I would guess tainted water has killed more people than wars throughout history. But there is a big difference between “tainted” and “sterile.” Our more modern world prefers to come enjoy the mountains, yet still fears the very water that runs from her hillsides.  The pure and sterile environment we live in back home we take with us to the wilds.

For safety sake, of course I will recommend to purify any water before you drink it.  However think about this scenario:  A few years back I heard a tale of a couple of backpackers, folks from town who came to enjoy a mountain adventure.  They had been out in the Wilderness for several days, and ran out of water purification tablets.  Rather than find a probably untainted water source, or even risk giardia from a questionable source, they stoically refused to drink and found their way out of the Wilderness where they came upon a neighbor’s ranch, exhausted and dehydrated, with parched lips and taught skin, and practically begged for water.  I don’t know about you, but I am pretty certain you can treat a mild case of giardia.  It is not a fun disease, but it can be treated.  Dehydration, exacerbated by the high mountains and the intense Colorado sunshine, can kill you. 

As much as I love the mountain and believe in her unprecedented goodness, I do believe she is indifferent.  Just as she will not reach out to strike me down, the mountain will not reach out to save me.  However, she will support me in saving myself.  Everything I need, she will allow me to take.  Including answers, if I ask the right questions.  I must know how to take care of myself out here.  And although we may not be born with this knowledge, and nor can we realistically head out there with every single skill under our belt, there is so much we can do to prepare ourselves mentally, physically and emotionally for the unplanned and unexpected by relying on our own forethought, basic preparations, and common sense. 

In conclusion… a practical discussion on water purification means and ways in the Wilderness. I always used to recommend and rely on Iodine pills – they were light, easy to use, easy to pack (though can’t say they tasted very swell, so don’t forget the Tang or Country Time).  However I read recently that they may not be effective in eliminating all traces of giardia from water.  Does any one know more about this?  I tell you what looks slick – I’ve seen water bottles, perhaps a liter in size, with built in water purifying system.  I don’t know how they work, I have not used one, but I like the idea.  With these, everyone is responsible for their own safe drinking water, and it takes up no more room or weight than the bottle you’d be carrying anyway.  For our guests in camp, we have to treat all water before cooking, cleaning and drinking.  In large quantities like this, the easiest way is to boil the water.  Since I probably have a campfire going anyway, I can keep pots of water on my cooking rack at all times, and once boiled, I can move the “safe” water to the side.  The other method that’s worked great for us in camp is the Katadyn handing gravity flow filter bags. Fill them up the night before, let them slowly drip into a clean water jug throughout the night, and there is plenty of good, fresh, safe drinking water the following morning.  I wouldn’t want to pack one of these in my backpack, but I’m a horse packer, not a back packer.  The small, portable water pumps work better for the backpacker, yet I have not had good luck with them  For the quantity of water I do, they take a long time and the moving parts have not held up to my heavy use.

Our dependency on fire for us is primarily for warmth, so essential it is for survival in this cold environment, even during the summer months.  We also rely on it for cooking (both on our wood cook stove, and at camp on the open fire), relaxation/entertainment (i.e.- sitting around the campfire), and for emergency signal (though an important skill here, we are lucky to have not needed it for this purpose yet!). 

There are many fun and fancy tools for starting a fire.  Try them all, get comfortable with the different ways and means.  I highly recommend everyone goes out and plays “boy scout” by practicing building a fire from a variety of primitive and alternative means.  Try batteries and steel wool, or the magnifying glass and sunlight trick, or those nifty magnesium/steel kits, or any number of the many fire starting products on the market. I’ve even had a guest make for me a beautiful wood tool you twist and rub against another block of wood to create a spark.  And I suppose, rubbing two stick may work, too.  I’ve never had any luck with that one.

But at the end of day, a tool is only as good as your ability to use it, so just use what you are comfortable with.  Know how to use it, and make sure you have it.  Will you find the flint stone when the snow if 4 feet deep?  Or do you carry a magnesium rod on you at all times?  Or will the materials all be handy when you’re trying to assemble your battery sparker?

Maybe not.

But we have to be prepared.  And we are. I guess I look at heading out without a fire kit as foolish and irresponsible of us as it might be for someone in town to head out without their wallet.  You just don’t do it.  You may not need to use it, but who wants to find out the hard way?  In our case, it could too easily cost us our life.

Like with so many other things in our lifestyle, we do all we can to keep it simple.  A fire kit need not be expensive, primitive, difficult or fancy.  More often than not, our fire kits contain a couple pieces of folded up newspaper, a small candle, and strike anywhere matches in a little ziplock bag.  Bottom line is that it doesn’t matter what is in the kit, as long as you have one with you, and as long as you know how to use it!

This simple kit is what works for us.  Play around with all the varieties of ways and means to start a fire under cold, wet, stormy conditions, and just use what works for you.  But make sure you know how to do it, it’s simple, and you have it with you. We have them strapped to snowmobiles, stuffed into saddle bags, tucked into back packs and fanny packs, and readily available on motorbikes and pick up trucks.  They have to be on us, near us, and handy.  More often than not, there are several around to choose from wherever we are, so if one happens to get lost, ruined or wet, there is a back up close at hand.

We had arrived at camp on a pack trip a few years ago.  My job, as soon as the horses are tended to, is to get the fire going and start cooking.  Everyone, by this time, is ravenous and exhausted.  Quickly, I snapped off dry kindling, crumpled some newspaper, and struck a match.  Vhoooom! The fire blazed right up, and in no time I’d be cooking!  One of my guests looked at me most disappointed.  Why didn’t I use one of the more primitive means?  Well, I asked her, how long did she want to wait to eat? If I’m cold and hungry, and have a group of guests who are also cold and hungry that I am expected to feed, I don’t wait for fun.  I go for practical.  After seeing her and all the guests be grateful for the hot soup that shortly followed, and then later remain gathered around the camp fire until way past dark, talking and enjoying the warmth and relaxation, I think she forgave me for being so simple!

Whatever your choice for materials and method, just be comfortable with what you have.  Know how to start a fire.  Practice in the snow and in the rain.  Chances are, that’s when you’ll need them most.  Don’t wait for an emergency to figure it out and see if you can do it.