Sensory overload in its truest form was my disease. I couldn’t take everything in fast enough. Finally on the ground after 1,000’s of miles on a plane, we breathed our first non circulated air in 35 hours as we stepped onto Zimbabwean soil. It was almost midnight and our bodies were wondering if we should be awake or asleep. Intellectualizing it seemed impossible. We just didn’t know.
Africa offered us a cacophony of newness. Everything was unfamiliar. We were, after all, in the Southern Hemisphere. The way the sun moved across the sky was different, the animals were different, the plants, trees and food. They even drove on the “wrong” side of the road.
Ultimately after 45 hours, we reached our destination in Mozambique. We were officially on Safari with Mokore. We were grateful for the hot showers, fresh linens and food that didn’t come in foil dishes.
Nothing short of spectacular, the sunset on our first day in camp was a sure indication of the rest of our African experience.
Now our adventure could begin in earnest. 4 am was our wake up call the next morning. We were well on our way.
Grandma Nona with her birthday fish
She was a fishing fool. Many stories cropped up in her conversations as her memory drifted to the years that had come before. She grew up on a homestead at the base of the Big Horn Mountains. The rough hewn log cabin set between two divergent creeks that came together several hundred paces below the front door. Its life giving force providing water for man and beast as well as a fishing paradise for the ranching family. “In those days, it was just a willow pole with a string and a hook,:” she says with a smile,”And a good wiggly worm or big hopper.”
For 20 some years I have been taking her fishing for her birthday. Sometimes the trek was back to the family ranch to the banks of the familiar creek, sometimes it was new country. On her 90th, she went into the Absaroka mountains and showed everyone up by catching the only fish that evening. She had weathered a rough vehicle ride into the wilderness camp and hiked about the creek looking for the best hole. When she found it she jigged her Eagle fly rod loaded with line, hook and sinker into the hole she knew had a fish. She was right. That little brookie couldn’t resist her worm. We cooked it the next day for breakfast on the camp stove. She was happy for the hot breakfast after a chilly night in a wilderness camp.
Now on her 94th, she has a few more miles under her belt. She gave up her gallbladder after a tough fight and just threw her walker away after breaking her pelvis in a fall in the horse pasture. When she is not sewing doll clothes for the girls, she is gardening and giving me heck about keeping the house neat.
We broached the idea of fishing casually, not wanting her to feel like she was obligated. In the hour after the mention, her rod, fishing bag, boots and vest lay on the dining table. She was indeed ready to go and that was a week before we could take her.
On the big day, we prepared a picnic in case we got skunked and packed her, two little girls and 3 dogs into the pickup. The Sunlight Basin brought with it anticipation. The fishing spot we were headed to was revered as a good one. We hoped so. We were all intent on Grandma catching fish.
Arm in arm her and I trekked through the trees to the creek. Oh no, the creek had moved from one side of the river bed to the other. All that was left were big pools. She was so anxious to get to them she took off down the bank against my pleading and PLOP right on her bottom. The grass was wet and she hadn’t anticipated the steepness. Tears sprang into Aspen’s eyes as she knew the danger of Grandma falling, but the giggling from her elicited deep signs of relief and we knew nothing was broken.
We set the camp chair close to the pool and hoped the brookies stuck there were hungry. After many casts and me untangling the line from the bushes on the opposing bank so many times I wanted to cry, we decided to move to live water. Those fish were not biting.
Grandma’s casting arm was hurting so Sam took over. On the first cast (his usual style) he had one and Grandma’s eyes lit up like a toddler at Christmas. He handed her the rod and in she brought that fish. He flipped and flopped on the rocks as she chased him around, the dogs determined to help but doing nothing but getting mightly tangled in the line. Finally I stepped in as he did a double twist into the water grabbing him before he got away. Grandma was victorious and boy was she happy. But her rod had snapped in the fray. Unfazed, we used that thing like a willow pole and caught two more beauties. Grandma gutted them and I cooked them in the fire. Grandma ate every bit of the salmon colored flesh, murmuring to herself with delight at the flavorful freshness.
She is bound and determined to make 100. Ninety five is a big birthday, think we better get a new rod!
Bon Voyage! We left heaven under beautiful skies and through a meadow of wildflowers.
Leaving the wildflowers was not easy, our overnight had been nothing short of immeasureably good. But we did. We were tired, dirty and so wonderfully refreshed all at the same time, the mix was sweet and sour. After packing up one more time, we headed the last 10 miles home. We had a very high pass to cross and some hairy country to negotiate.
Sam and Ginger on the trail out of the Thorofare over Deer Creek Pass.
At the top we said good bye to the Thorofare and topped off into the South Fork valley of the Shoshone River.
Saying Goodbye to the Thorofare on top of Deer Creek Pass. The wind was howling and the temperature had dropped 30 degrees.
The trail was so narrow and steep we elected to walk down, our horses breathing heavy down our necks and clicking our heels as they pushed hard for home. We splashed through water rushing to the creek a 1000 feet below, while overhead the snowfields still held the precious liquid that brought life to so much. Down, Down, Down slipping, sliding, peering off the edge.
Coming off the pass on foot. It was steep!
Off the pass, we hit the main trail for 9 miles of rough, rocky riding in some places a sheer drop to water that was so far below we turned our eyes to the walls on the other side to keep the vertigo at bay. We crossed streams falling to the main creek and marveled at the many water falls. This trail was long and hard and the whiskey bottles tossed to the side of the trail now and again a testament to the boredom and soreness that set in on this trail. In fact, it even crossed my mind once. If nothing more than to pass the time away which seemed to plod slowly until the late afternoon crept in and we dropped off the mountain into the trailhead that would lead us home.
Looking back at Deer Creek Pass.
Our tired, aching bodies glad to be off the trail, but the thirst of our hearts and minds satiated with the hardwork and rewards of a truly amazing trip into a wilderness so pristine and far removed from civilization you wonder why anyone could ever leave.
Our beautiful spot in God's Country
The next two days were uneventful bliss! Fishing, riding, exploring and a bear at the edge of our little hideaway. Yes, this one had clothes on, not that kind of bare silly!
Nothing like a little surprise when you are running to the woods to pee. There is a fresh pile of scat. That is enough to stop you in your tracks. It wasn’t there earlier… all I could think of was, uh oh where is he? I even forgot to do what I had started out to do. Ran back to camp and got Sam so he was in the know. We never did see the little black bugger, but we knew he was there. Now everytime the dogs growled at night, I was on full alert.
On the fifth day in the Thorofare, we had to pack up and leave our little patch of heaven. Time to go home to the real world. The panniers were much lighter and the horses full of lush grass. It was hard getting in the saddles knowing we were headed back to cell phones, traffic and general chaos.
Aspen, Jack and Chancey play while we pack panniers for the trip out.
Up the trail we went headed to our first overnight on the way home. A different way than we had come into the exciting country. No worse for wear, the 15 miles ahead of us didn’t seem like anything.
As we neared the Thorofare river, we picked up fresh grizzly tracks in the dirt on the trail leading out. They were so fresh you could almost see the little puffs of dust coming off them as he ran down the trail ahead of us.
Knowing this country like the back of his hand, Sam had a plan. It was to camp our last night in the wilderness in a spot I can only describe as divine. On a bench above the creek the wild flowers carpeted the earth in a rainbow of pastels punctuated by the occasional vibrant velvety red of Wyoming’s state flower, the Indian paintbrush. The yellows, purples, pinks, blues, greens and whites spun us into a wonderland of color, perfumed by the delicious flowers flowing on the mountain breeze while a storm rolled in from the West.
An idyllic setting amongst the wildflowers. Even Chancey thinks so!
Quickly we set camp. Sam set up the tent and I made dinner. Nothing special tonight, freeze dried chicken teriyaki with a can of black beans thrown in for good measure. Fun for me because I had never had freeze dried anything before. Just as the rain started to fall, I climbed into the tent, set in the middle of the wildflowers, their glorious subtle scents wafting through the tents open flaps. The hard rain lasted only a short while then the clouds cleared to reveal a full moon that shown over the meadows with a soft gentle light. Across the creek in another meadow a cow elk came out to graze. I couldn’t bring myself to lay my head on my pillow, the world was too beautiful, life just too magical not to soak it in.
A true carpet of wildflowers cannot go without notice!
Nothing like a nap in the warm sun with my little girl, Jack and Chancey!
Ah, a day ahead of us without miles to ride. Too bad because my behind was getting used to the saddle by now.
McMarx’ were cooked over the fire (English muffins, bacon, eggs and cheese), I’d say Just like McDonald’s but these are the real thing and cooked in the wilderness… yummy they are good!
With dishes done and a nap taken on a packcover in the warm sun with my little one and the dogs, I was ready for the day.
First order of business was laundry. Laundry you say, in the hills? You bet. Get your biodegradeable Camp Soap, find water and scrub away. Never a perfect job but at least you have a semi clean set of clothes for the next day! Aspen had a ball dunking, scrubbing and rinsing in the creek. She got a little cleaner too so it was a win win deal.
What a fun way to do laundry? Right Aspen?
Then off to fish in the creek that had been beckoning all day. I had a new fly rod I was dying to try. Now to see if there were any fish to be had! The falls keep any fish from the Thorofare River coming up so the stream is as pure as you can get and with native cut throats abound in the deep holes.
It didn’t take long for me to land this whopper. What a way to break in a rod. Isn’t he pretty?
A beautiful native cut caught on my new fly rod!
I did however manage to lose one of my best flies on the opposite side of the creek. There it was stuck on the branch of a little bush in plain sight. Arrrgh! What to do?
Why of course, use it as an excuse to go skinny dipping!! It was a very warm day in the high country so we stripped off our jeans and boots and brrrrr in we went! I had big plans of washing my hair but just quite couldn’t stay in long enough. Yi, Yi, Yi, refreshing maybe, but brain freezing for sure. I could see the snow fields that the icy water was coming from so really what did I expect?
It was so nice to be out here in the wilderness, miles from anywhere frolicking in the cold water, watching puffy clouds drift by, the grass wave on the banks and a backpacker waving at me… WHAT?!!? OMG, I about fainted dead away in the ice cold water. There was not supposed to be anyone out here!! I hit the dirt! Literally dove for the bank and belly crawled through the grass which I hoped was tall enough to hide my lily white body that shown like a photographers reflector in the sun to my clothes, wiggled in and prayed he was gone. Please don’t let me run into this guy face to face I asked that guy in the sky.
Our 5 star accommodations on Pass Creek ( I highly recommend them)
Sleepy eyed but refreshed our eyes open with the rising of the sun. Reality check. We are still really in the lush valley with the pristine creek. Bells on the horses ringing, dogs snuggled around us in our sleeping bags as we ward off the chilly air. Heads are covered with stocking caps and we have coats for pillows. I have to pee but can’t bring myself to get out of my sleeping bag into the frigid morning air. Not yet anyway… the emergency stage has not set in! So I stare at the brilliant blue of the tarp stretched taut a foot overhead. Sunlight blinking through my skylight (I paid extra for these accommodations trust me). It is the same skylight that allowed the rain to drip, drip on my nearly catatonic body the night before. Skylight or no, I was thankful for the fly that had kept most of the rain off us and as I listen to the creek, and the horses and the soft breathing of my little girl I know I am practically in paradise.
I didn’t hear any commotion last night so the bears must not have stormed camp. At least that is what my sleepy brain is telling me now. Best get up.
It’s so hard to get dressed in a sleeping bag! But I was being a wimp and was resisting the rational thing to do and get out and just get dressed like a normal person would. So I wiggled on the essentials, fought tall socks up to my knees, did several backbends to get those COLD jeans pulled on, thank gosh my shirt was easy, I am not sure I would have been up to the challenge, I was HUNGRY.
Cold Morning on Pass creek thank goodness for Ariat down!
Sam and crew in our "kitchen" on a cold morning.
Finally snuggled into my Ariat down coat, I was getting warm and headed to the creek. Aspen ran to join me, much faster at getting dressed than I had been and we heard the drone of an airplane. As we watched him come over the pass he saw us and dipped his wing. It was bright red and as we peered curiously at him, he started circling. Sam nonchalantly pointed out that that was the Game and Fish tracking plane and we had a collared bear very close by. I really could have done without that information because I was feeling pretty safe at the moment. After that, that shotgun never left me not while I was cooking, packing, watering or wondering when that delinquent bear was going to jump out of the bushes at me.
All packed and ready to get out of down the trail. Is there a bear following us?
Despite my new appendage, camp was packed and we were ready to go, nothing like having to move your whole house each day! Good thing we packed light (except it didn’t feel like it this morning) How did those panniers get so heavy and the horses so tall?
Down this gorgeous valley we will go to our final destination today. Pray that bear doesn't follow us!
As the sun warmed us and burned the heavy dew off the tall grass and wildflowers we headed down through the valley to our final destination.
Look at the size of these bear tracks in the mud!!
The first thing we saw was one giant grizzly bear print in the mud at the creek, then a black pile of bear poop, then another and another. Holy Bear Poop! It’s everywhere. It is fresh too by the looks of it. But I was not about to play African PH (Professional Hunter) and put my finger in it to see if it was warm! No way! I will take it as fresh and be on alert! I was leading the way this morning and my horse was all ears. Hmmmm, do you think he sensed something? It didn’t help that there were remnants of by gone critters strewn along the trail, it was enough to make you shiver. And then, the last substantial proof that a bear was in our space was a rub on a tree next to the trail. Silvery hair mixed with the dark brown wooly stuff clung to the bark at least 5 feet off the ground. We collected some for show and tell and mused about how big he must be before making our way hastily down the trail.
The down fall from the 1988 Yellowstone Fire that crept into the Thorofare lay heavy near the trail.
Further down the trail we had to pick our way through this kind of downfall this way and that sometimes hitting absolute dead ends that we had to turn around and try again.
The trail practically disappeared as we moved further and further from civilization. Remnants of the 1988 burn that had crept out of Yellowstone made the going tough, there was downfall everywhere and sometimes the trail could be seen but not followed as we picked our way toward the Thorofare River.
We were so glad to see the Thorofare River. Only 9 miles left after we cross it!
Aspen and I did a little exploring on the way. Can you imagine living in this cabin in the Winter? I doubt it could even be found under the snow!
I was a little envious of the dogs getting to take a dunk in the river as we crossed to pick up the trail again. They had now trotted faithfully along the trail for 29 miles. There was no more rabbit chasing or wild racing around just the steady loll of Ginger’s bell ringing as she warned every bear within miles that we were coming. Thank you Ginger! I am sure in my mind that is why we never actually SAW the bear in person! Though my brother would argue the point telling me that the bell was actually the dinner bell telling the bear to come and get it!
Our bell dog Ginger. She was instrumental in warning those bears that we were coming!! Hide! Run! Stay out of the Way!
The final 9 miles seemed like 90, the day was wearing as thin as were we. Our behinds were sore and we were tired and hungry, but our reward was soon to come. Camp was to be in the meadow of a basin with sides steep and riddled with waterfalls. It seemed like paradise found, the grass was deep and lush, a waterfall at the end of the basin fed the creek directly from the snowfields above, wildflowers waved their welcome to our tired eyes. Ah Bliss! Almost.
Ah, the grass is deep and the water clear. We are here! No moving camp for a few days!
The moment was fleeting because we knew our aching bodies had to set up camp, picket horses and cook dinner. We divided and conquered. My fire warmed us as the sun fell behind the sides of the valley, the tent Sam had strategically set in a pine grove beckoned. Pasta carbonara, garlic bread and asparagus filled our tummies and with Aspen asleep by the fire we did dishes in the pot we’d cooked pasta in, hung panniers out a marauding bears reach and made our way to the tent.
Two of our companions, Beau and Chance, snuggle in for the night. They are happy to be in Bliss too!
With shotgun under my pillow ( a pillow case stuffed with my down coat) and four dogs snuggled into the bright colors of our soft beds we fell asleep to a gentle rain falling in a basin far from city lights. Ah Bliss, truly deeply madly, Bliss!
The setting seemed as if it should be in a fairy tale. A high waterfall cascaded from the snowfields at the end of the basin while a light rain fell on the lush meadows. We couldn't have been more at peace and ready for some sleep! Good night moon, good night world!
Jack was not going to let me out of his site. If I was gettin' ready to go somewhere, he was goin' too!
Ah the days of bliss I had imagined had finally arrived. There would be no cell phones, internet, cars or mail delivery. The only hurdle between me and those sweet quiet non regimented days were 38 miles of rocky trails into the Absaroka Mountains. My butt was gonna be sore, but I was focusing on the prospect of bliss. All I had to do was get there. The first day was 20 miles with 3 of us, two packhorses and 4 dogs. Oh yeah and my weapon of choice, a sawed off 12 gauge shotgun. This is bear country!
Not much more than she can wear at one time.
A girl needs a good hat and sunglasses to protect her from the high altitude sun. Mine are an old Sunbody and beach babe Smith's!
Heavy Long Sleeved shirt– this one was found when rummaging in a relatives closet- Hmmmm tell you what might happen when I come to yours? It is at least 45 years old and perfect! Jeans that can stand up to the abuse and are long enough… thank you Cruel Girl for making 38 inch inseams! You don’t want them to ride up and rub you raw!
A good long sleeved shirt is a must. Don't ask about the hair. When you have many layers for that vogue cut, it doesn' t really work in the mountains. You just put your hat on and know the man you are with loves you anyway.
Bear Spray and a good knife are a must in the "hills".
A sturdy knife at the ready. I use mine for cooking, cleaning fish, a screwdriver, can opener…It is made by Master Smith Audra Draper. It is Damascus and as beautiful as it is functional. My boots are high top kangaroo Honchos that have been resoled 3 times and are just about due for some serious patching, but still my favorite boots of all time to ride in. A belt… no matter how much you eat you will lose weight. A pack trip is hard work and you really can’t take that much food anyway. My buckle was my dad’s, the guy who took me on my very first pack trip when I was four into the head of the Yellowstone. And of course, in this part of the world a can of bear spray on your belt. Though as most natives say, it is only for flavoring before the bear eats you. Let’s hope not
The Shotgun
Almost as important as the man in my life… my weapon. I wouldn’t dare go into Grizzly Bear country without a sawed off shotgun loaded with buckshot and preferably pumpkin balls (slugs).
My last line of defense in Grizzly Country, use your bear spray and avoidance first.
Baggage
If you thought you were paring things down to fly these days, try a pack trip. You wear things at least 2 days in a row and there is No frou frou on a pack trip. Let’s get real, this is not glamping, but a trip into the wilderness. Only so much fits in 4 panniers under covers and tied fast with the diamond hitch. For 7 days: 2 pairs of jeans, 2 shirts, 3 pairs of underwear (my advice NEVER wear a thong) 2 pairs of socks, warm coat (mine is a down Ariat), rain coat (Carhartt’s rocks!), stocking hat and gloves. And maybe a pair of long underwear. PJ’s if you must, take it from me you’ll be warmer in your sleeping bag without any. Oh and another pair of shoes, something to slip on if you need to pee in a hurry in the morning. Remember there has to be something to eat in there too along with the basics: your kitchen, your lodging, and all the necessary horse paraphernalia.
Carefully weighed and balanced each pack horse gets an even load.
Four panniers hold seven days of supplies for the back country.
Long used by those with mountain savvy, the diamond hitch is essential in securing your load. One day I will master this tough knot. Thankfully I only had to assist on this one. Not one pack slipped the entire time. He obviously knows what he is doing.
And we are off! Big Horse is in a Hurry!
I wasn’t the only one who was excited to get to Bliss, but at least I knew where I was going! Kitten aka Big Horse could hardly keep it together to get out of the trail head parking lot. It was all I could do to hold his 17 ½ hands and number 4 feet in check. He was determined to drag poor Drifter, my pack horse, up the mountain.
The humans were not the only ones excited to get on the trail. The big horse was ready to bust up the trail.
Mother Nature Understands and rewards your patience!
When you’ve been on the trail for 10 hours its not so much fun anymore and you need a little good news. Especially after climbing, slipping, bustin’ breast collars and seeing more bear sign than you had hoped to see your entire lifetime. That is where Mother Nature becomes forgiving and when you top the pass you see a mountain bowl full of snowfields feeding the head of a pristine creek and lush meadows full of wildflowers. Suddenly the gnarly washed out creek that took an hour and a half to find away across and the dryness in the back of your throat because your water is long gone doesn’t seem so bad. In fact, it starts to feel worth it and you know why you are here: in the wilderness with only the simplest things: because you feel very close to your God whoever that may be.
You know those saddle sores are worth it when this is your reward! (Even after 10 hours on the trail.) Ah Bliss!
Thea Marx 