Camp and Trail. Stewart Edward White
means trouble sooner or later. Where things are not picked up, something important will sooner or later be lost or left behind. Where the beginning of the day's journey hangs fire, sooner or later night will catch you in a very bad place indeed. Where men get in the habit of slouching, physically and mentally, they become in emergencies unable to summon presence of mind, and incapable of swift, effective movements. The morale is low; and exclusive of the fact that such things are an annoyance to the spirit, they may in some exceptional occasion give rise to serious trouble. Algernon is ten minutes slow in packing his horse; and Algernon gets well cursed. He is hurt as to the soul, and demands of himself aggrievedly how ten minutes can be valued so high. It is not the ten minutes as a space of time, but as a measure of incompetence. This pack train is ten minutes short of what a pack train should be; and if the leader's mind is properly constructed, he is proportionately annoyed.
Although not strictly germane to a discussion of equipments, I am tempted to hold up a horrible example.
A Horrible Example
One evening we were all sitting around a big after-dinner fire at the Forest Supervisor's summer camp in the mountains, when an outfit drifted in and made camp a few hundred yards down stream. After an interval the leader of the party came over and introduced himself.
A Horrible Example
He proved to be a youngish man, with curly hair, regular features, a good physique, and eyes handsome, but set too close together. A blue flannel shirt whose top button was unfastened, rolled back to show his neck; a handkerchief was knotted below that; in all his external appearance he leaned toward the foppish-picturesque. This was in itself harmless enough. Shortly he began to tell us things. He confided that his chief ambition was to rope a bear; he related adventures in the more southern mountains; he stated that he intended to travel up through the Minarets and over Agnew's Pass, and by way of Tuolumne. This was to consume two weeks! Finally he became more personal. He told us how President Roosevelt when on his Pacific Coast tour had spoken to him personally.
"When the train started," said he, "I ran after it as hard as I could with a lot of others, but I ran a lot faster and got ahead, so the President spoke directly to me—not to the crowd, but to me!"
He left us suitably impressed. Next morning his camp was astir at five o'clock—as was proper considering the strenuous programme he had outlined. About seven our friend came over to get his animals, which he had turned out in the Supervisor's pasture over night—ten animals in another man's mountain pasture! We had a shooting match, and talked Reserve matters for just one hour and twenty minutes. Then somebody waked up.
"I wonder what's become of Jones; let's go see."
We went. Jones was standing dusty in the middle of the corral. In his hand he held a short loop not over three feet across. This he whirled forward and overhand. Occasionally he would cast it at a horse. Of course the outraged and astounded animal was stricken about the knees, whereupon he circulated the confines of the corral at speed.
Jones and the Mule
And the animals! At the moment of our arrival Jones was bestowing attention on a dignified and gaunt mule some seventeen hands high. I never saw such a giraffe. Two about the size of jackasses hovered near. One horse's lower lip wabbled abjectly below a Roman nose.
We watched a few moments; then offered mildly to "help." Jones, somewhat heated and cross, accepted. The first horse I roped I noticed was barefoot. So were the others. And the route was over a rough granite and snow country. Thus we formed a procession, each leading some sort of equine freak. It was by now nearly nine o'clock.
Camp we found about half picked up. The other members of the party were nice, well-meaning people, but absolutely inexperienced in the ways of the wilderness. They had innocently intrusted themselves to Jones on the strength of his self-made reputation; and now undoubtedly were taking all this fuss and discomfit quite as part of "roughing it."
Helping the Tenderfeet
When we saw them we were stricken with pity and a kindly feeling which Jones had failed to arouse, so we turned in to help them saddle up.
Jones was occupied with a small mule which he claimed was "bad." He hitched said mule to a tree, then proceeded to elevate one hind leg by means of a rope thrown over a limb. Why he did not simply blindfold the animal no one could tell. We looked forward with some joy to the throwing of the pack-hitches.
A Forest Fire
But at this moment a Ranger dashed up with news of a forest fire over in the Rock Creek country. The Rangers present immediately scattered for their saddle horses, while I took a pack and went in search of supplies.
Shortly after one o'clock I was organized, and departed on the trail of the Rangers. They had struck over the ridge, and down the other side of the mountains. Their tracks were easy to follow, and once atop the divide I could see the flames and smoke of the fire over the next mountain system. Desiring to arrive before dark, I pushed ahead as rapidly as possible. About half way down the mountain I made out dust ahead.
"A messenger coming back for something," thought I.
In ten minutes I was stricken dumb to overtake the Jones party plodding trustingly along in the tracks made by the Rangers.
"Well," I greeted them, "what are you doing over here? A little off your beat, aren't you?"
The members of the party glanced at each other, while Jones turned a dull red.
"Wrong trail, eh?" said he easily; "where does this one go to?"
Jones and the Trail
"Why, this isn't a trail!" I cried. "Can't you see it's just fresh tracks made since morning? This will take you to the fire, and that's about all. Your trail is miles to the north of here."
For the moment he was crushed. It was now too late to think of going back; a short cut was impossible on account of the nature of the country. Finally I gave him a direction which would cut another trail—not where he had intended to go, but at least leading to horse feed. Then I bade him farewell, and rode on to the fire.
We Put Them Right
Long after dark, when hunting for the place the boys had camped, I met that deluded outfit moving supperless, homeless, lost, like ghosts in the glow of the fire line. Jones was cross and snapped at me when I asked him if he wasn't seeing a good deal of country. But I looked at the tired faces of the other members of the party, and my heart relented, and I headed them for a meadow.
"How far beyond is Squaw Dome?" asked Jones as he started.
"Sixteen miles—about," said I.
"About eight hours the way you and I travel, then," said he.
"About eight weeks the way you travel," amended a Ranger standing near.
Two days later a shakemaker came to help us fight fire.
"Oh, yes, they passed my place," said he. "I went out and tried to tell him he was off'n the trail, but he waved me aside. 'We have our maps,' says he, very lofty."
Twelve days subsequently I rode a day and a half to Jackass Meadow. They told us the Jones party just passed! I wonder what became of them, and how soon their barefooted horses got tender.
Now the tenderfoot one helps out, nor makes fun of, for he is merely inexperienced and will learn. But this man is in the mountains every summer. He likewise wishes to rope bears.
An Object Lesson
No better example could be instanced as to the value of camp alertness, efficiency, the use of one's head, and the willingness to take advice. I had with me at the time a younger brother whom I was putting through his first paces; and Jones was to me invaluable as an object lesson.
The purpose of this chapter is not to tell you how to do things, but how