The trail becomes indistinct at the upper end of Eagle Creek Meadows. Don't take what appears to be the more inviting valley to the right. Instead, ride into the valley on the left, and you'll soon pick up the trail. We worked about six miles up to Eagle Pass. At 9,625-feet elevation, this divide is the boundary between the Washakie Wilderness Area and the backcountry of Yellowstone National Park. Here was a great place to pause and look back to see where we came from. We could see Eagle Creek Meadows in the distance far below. How wonderful to travel by horses to such pristine places!
From Eagle Pass, we started into Yellowstone Park and quickly descended into the headwaters of Mountain Creek. We were greeted by tremendous lupine wildflower displays. Many people don't realize that Yellowstone Park is larger than Rhode Island. Only 10 percent of the park is developed with roads, hotels, and services, leaving 90 percent just as wild, free, and remote as when it was declared the world's first national park in 1872. It would be our privilege to ride through this area and relish in its unspoiled beauty, as well as experience its harsh ways.
Soon, we came into portions of the 1988 Yellowstone burn. Although a new forest was flourishing, 50- to 100-foot-tall snags (burned tree trunks) remained. Snags tend to start falling over about 10 years after a fire. We came across dozens of trees felled by recent windstorms. Our horses did a good job of working around them, but we still had to stop often to saw out a path. We used a Swedish chainsaw, which had been my dad's; it's probably 60 years old. It consists of a set of blades that roll up. To use, we simply unroll the blades, put on the handles, and begin sawing. I've seen new versions of these in outdoor stores, but have never seen one as heavy duty as Dad's. With the added work of sawing to our 20-mile ride, we were getting tired!
A near-catastrophe occurred at one of these log crossings. I was in the lead with Buddy. Charlene was following on Scout and leading Gator. Buddy went over a log. Scout, who readily crosses logs, for some inexplicable reason stopped and backed up, catching a back leg in a small loop at the base of Gator's halter. Gator's head was caught. Scout's leg was caught. Confused, they started jumping around on the cliff-side trail.
Charlene didn't realize what was happening. I yelled at her to get off, and she did. But she leaped between the horses, who were now sandwiching her like peanut butter between two pieces of bread. I rapidly dismounted and cut the lead rope that entangled the horses. After their scare, the horses were calm. A near disaster had been averted.
We crossed Mountain Creek and started down the Yellowstone River valley toward our camp. We'd been in the saddle and working around logs for nine hours. Plus, we'd worked more than three hours before that to break camp.
Finally our night's camp along the river came into view; it lay just beyond an area of six-foot-tall brush. At that moment, out of the brush shot up a huge brown mass, only 15 feet from Charlene and Scout. Scout turned and did his best Seabiscuit imitation. Gator broke loose and ran. Buddy turned and scooted out for dear life. After what seemed like 100 yards, but was really only 30 feet, we brought the horses under control. We turned to see the "brown mass" was a cow elk. At least it wasn't a grizzly!
Finally, we reached camp at 7:00 p.m. This spot was only about four miles from the actual center of the most remote place in America. We had hours before dark. In that time, we had to put the horses out to graze, feed ourselves, and set up camp. Just as we were finishing up, a lightning storm hit. At first, it stayed to one side of us. But then lightning started flashing all around us, along with roaring winds and a torrential downpour. We quickly highlined the horses and ran to our small tent.
Inside the tiny tent, we felt like two sausages in a single hot dog bun. Lying in the dark, we could hear rain pelting, thunder booming, and winds howling. Then the winds started blowing down the snags from the 1988 fires. They crashed down around us, occasionally shaking the ground. We wondered how the horses were faring.
We were in a tiny tent surrounded by nature's fury. Once in a while, a flash of lightning would light up our little home. We were 35 miles from the trailhead in one direction and more than 40 miles in the other. We were all alone, except for the wolves and grizzlies that we knew were outside our tent.
As we laid there exhausted, worried, and unable to sleep, we wondered what the night and morning would bring. Join us in additional articles as we awaken at dawn deep in the wilderness. Continue along with us as we travel through the most remote place in America.
