There’s more to backcountry horseman than a bunch of old people running around in the woods clearing trail. We are also concerned with fostering relationships with the future of our organization – the youngsters.

The average age for a SBBCHI member is somewhere around 62 years of age. Most of us are pretty tough and I suspect most will be running around in the woods sawing trees well into our 90’s – however, nature being what it is, we won’t live forever. It is a solemn fact that if we do not recruit the younger generation – the Backcountry Horsemen of America will eventually die off…or if you’d rather; ride the final trail into the great backcountry wilderness in the sky.

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I have to admit, I was a little disgruntled when I heard the Cabin Creek project had been moved to Needles Trail above Kennally Creek Campground. I knew how to get to Cabin Creek. I drove up a week earlier to scope it out. My new smart phone’s GPS, “Andy” took me right to the campground without missing a beat or expecting me to drive down game trails. The area seemed ok to me. There was ample room to park for several big rigs and stock water was close enough to make due.  I took note of the amenities, cut a load of wood on the way out and followed Andy’s directions for the quickest way home.

Unbeknownst to me, Rob was scoping out the area at the same time. He wasn’t happy with the old logging road trail that wound through a burn or the less than ideal water situation. He was right, it wasn’t the prettiest place on the mountain and if you’re going to spend the weekend working your butt off it might as well be on trails with at least minor aesthetic appeal. I grumbled and frowned when I read the email from Rob that he had moved the project. For the first time since joining the chapter I had a heads up on where I was going and how to get there and Rob goes and jerks the rug out. Later I was glad he did.

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~How to break in a new member of the SBBCHI~

“Is there an App for that?”

What  is the best way to break in a new member of the SBBCHI? Strap a pair of saw chaps on her and send her up one of the most technical trails on the mountain. Enter – Squaw Creek TR 131 and Shelley Duff – Squaw Butte’s newest member.

The original plan was to clear Poison Creek Trail on Saturday and loop down Squaw Creek or pick up Squaw Creek on Sunday. We rode Poison Creek last year and made it a short distance past the bridge before encountering a massive tangle of blow downs obliterating the trail. We didn’t have the saws or the girl-power to put a dent in that one. I say “girl-power” only because our small group consisted of a woman to man ratio of 2:1.

The Ranger District notified Rob that a trail crew had already cleared Poison Creek.  Change in plans. We would concentrate on Squaw Creek Trail Saturday and check out Poison Creek on Sunday.

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Yellow Jacket to Telephone Ridge Trail Project

It’s all in the timing. Janine and I pulled into camp, north of the Telephone Ride trailhead, Saturday afternoon just in time for super!

The crew chatted about the day’s project while preparing the evening meal. Members that arrived Friday evening spotted a pair of wolves passing through camp. Phil said the wolves paid little attention to them and showed less interest in the horses tethered in camp. Bearing slight resemblance to the shy, elusive creatures of the past, the massive animals dwarfed a large German shepherd. It would be wise to keep our dogs close and contained at night.

Saturday morning the six member crew covered a 15 mile loop from Yellow Jacket to Tyndall. Trails were reported in excellent condition due to previous maintenance by the TVMA. Some light pruning of overhanging limbs and removal of a few “widow makers” finished off the trail maintenance for ATV’s and horses.

After a dinner of DO baked chicken, stewed potatoes and onions, chili relleno casserole, baked beans and cherry upside-down cake, our crew hunkered down for what promised to be another chilly night with temperatures in the upper 20’s.

Sundays are normally a day of leisure and light riding on these weekend projects. Those that stay over will spend a few hours in the saddle enjoying the scenery during a relaxing day ride. At least that was our plan.

The first half of Telephone Ridge to Rice Peak is a steep grade that appears to never end. Hundreds of charred trees lined the trail as we wound our way through a burn. Obstacles were not a problem as the TVMA had also cleared this section of trail to the snow line. One good wind and that could all change in a hurry.

The reward for cresting the top is a lovely view of the Sawtooths. A family of ATV riders stopped at the overlook and visited with several members. Someone commented what a shame it was that the ATV’ers had missed catching sight of a small lake and the old fire lookout. I enjoy my Honda Rancher – but give me a good horse and comfortable saddle any day of the week.

The trail dropped off the ridge to a creek and disappeared. Phil thought the area looked familiar from his trip several years back. Rob took off on foot to scout a route that would drop us into Rice Lake and the trail leading home. The rest of us ate lunch and waited.

“It’s like this…it’s doable, but it has to be a unanimous decision. Everyone goes or nobody goes and we go back the way we came.” Rob went on to explain that we could make our way over the saddle and drop into a large meadow. The road picks up at the edge of the meadow on the far side of the bowl. The problem was the descent into the bowl. A large snowfield the size of a football field covered the steep slope. “It’s steep – but it’s not that steep if we lead the horses through it.” Rob, define “not that steep” for us again?

Phil volunteered to go first. Aside from a slight detour into a tree, he led his big red gelding down without incident. Jon followed Phil and Rob followed Jon. Rob led his riding horse and let the pack horse go on her own. Janine was riding a brand new, barely out of the pasture little Kiger/mustang that she was not all that familiar with. It was agreed that Gambler the Kiger would follow Rob down with his string. Everybody was on board with that except Gambler. He was not consulted in this decision and was not leaving Janine behind. He peered over the edge as Rob and his string slipped and slid their way down the slope. Janine took Gamblers lead and the duo cautiously made their way safely down. Lorraine and her horse Sassy were next. With a little coaching from the previous ascenders – Lorraine and Sassy picked their way down the mountain.

I looked at Chick. Chick looked at me. “Well…do you want to go next?” I asked.  Chick crossed his arms in front of him and shook his head. “Nope. I’m going last…I’ll be right behind you.” Great…apparently, not only can Chick belt out a toe-tapping rendition of Froggy Went a Courting, but he was also a mind reader. I had no intention of diving off that ridge with a 1200lb horse on my heels. If I could get Chick down before me, there would be no one to prevent me from getting back on my high horse and heading back the way we came!

I took a couple of steps. Jack took a couple of steps. “Shoo! Shoo horse! Go down the hill in front of me! Go on…Shoo!” Jack did not shoo. He pawed at the ground and commenced to roll. What happened after that is a blur to me but I’m sure the others got an eyeful they will never forget. I yanked on Jacks’ lead to keep him from rolling – he jumped up and bolted across the slope at an angle. I did my darnedest to cut him off from running back up to toward Chick. I did not succeed. He bolted in the other direction, lost his footing and went sailing down the slope like a giant buckskin covered toboggan picking up speed by the second. I thought for sure he would tuck his head and flip ass over teakettle. I barely had time to get over the image of him breaking his neck when my horse careen out of control down the hill and body slammed into a large granite boulder. I winced at the impact and imagined a shattered shoulder moments before he jumped up and dashed toward me across the slope. I threw up my arms, “Whoa Jack!” Jack did not Whoa. He bolted past me, made an abrupt 90 degree turn uphill and sunk clean past his belly. There he sat; stuck in a hole. His upper half sticking out of the snow – the rest of him buried midway past his girth. Now what horse? I could barely hear my comrades shouting words of encouragement (I prefer to believe it was not laughter) and advice from below. “Get hold of his lead and pull him downhill!” Ok. I can do that if I could find his lead. I followed the lead from this halter to where it disappeared beneath the snow. I tugged on the lead. It did not budge. I guessed he was stepping on it. Jack struggled a little and the lead came free. I think I heard someone shouting up more advice, “Don’t let go of that lead again!” Excellent advice; Ok…I can do this. I will not let go of this lead. I pulled Jack’s head slightly down hill. He heaved himself up and stood. I peered into the hole he had made when he broke through the rotten snow and damn near got sick. I don’t remember making it the rest of the way down the hill.

I hardly remember Chick coming down the slope but I must have been watching because I got pictures! Gathered together at the base of the ski slope, Janine met me with a big smile and two thumbs up. Phil, more animated than I’m accustomed to seeing him, grinned like a schoolboy: “That was a kick! Let’s do it again!” I do believe he meant it.

I did a quick exam of Jack. Running my hands over his legs to feel for injuries, I found two small scrapes and a minor laceration on the inside of his left hind leg; a small price to pay the fiddler for such a dance. I hugged my horse tight, swung into the saddle and followed my comrades through the meadow to the road that led to camp. A total of 18 miles that peaked out at 8200 feet in elevation.

Gambler had been a trooper the entire ride. The young five year old had barely been out of the pasture and under saddle for little more than six months. He diligently carried Janine up that ridiculous grade without complaint. He proved himself calm and level headed on the ski slope. Now, barefoot and sore, the little Kiger trudged onward seeking soft ground for his tender hooves. Janine would not push him. We let the others hotfoot it back to the trailers while we took our time and let Gambler pick his way. We got off and walked the last few miles to ease his load. If it had been possible, I would have tossed him over my saddle and let Jack carry him home.

We broke camp and said our goodbye’s as one by one, SBBCHI members brought an end to another successful and rewarding project.

The End

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Between June 1st and September 30th 2012 Squaw Butte supported nine trail maintenance projects.  These projects covered a large section of south western Idaho, taking place in the Boise & Payette National Forests and the Frank Church Wilderness.  They were in partnership with the Emmett and Weiser Ranger Districts and the Selway-Bitterroot Frank Church Foundation.

The work covered a large spectrum of activities, from packing, to rock rolling, but mostly entailed the removal of a very large amount of blow down and pruning.  We also did some major tread improvement removing a rotted log bed section through a bog and replaced it with a gravel trail bed.  Read More

West Fork of the Brownlee

Trail #266

The West Brownlee Creek project brings closure to the 2012 season of work projects for the SBBCHI and a sad farewell to a valuable partner, Mike Mullin, Payette National Forest West Zone Recreation contact. Mike has accepted a transfer to Lincoln Montana: “… Lincoln is very close to my wife’s family and I love the area due to its proximity to the Bob Marshall wilderness complex so I couldn’t resist applying when a position came open.” We will miss Mike’s enthusiasm and dedication to partnering with our Chapter’s mission of keeping America’s trails open. However, we are happy for Mike and his family and look forward to making contact with the new PNF liaison, Jascha Zeitlin.

It’s time to hit the trail and leave the sad news behind! Mike made arrangements to send Ryan, one of his crew, to assist us with the trail work on Saturday, September 22nd. Ryan would meet us at the trailhead by 9:00 AM. It’s a good thing too – otherwise, I would have gone the wrong direction at the creek and cleared the wrong trail! I really need to look into doing something about my navigational skills..or lack of.

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Squaw Butte members were on the trail a lot in August. We had a trail crew support project on Marble Creek in the Frank Church, trail maintenance project at Wilson Corrals and Squaw Creek on West Mountain, and two pack trips, one to the Bob Marshal and the other to the Eagle Caps. What did you do with your August?

Members on the Marble Creek support project were Phil Ryan, Jake Lemon and Janine Townsend

August also saw Idaho back country Burning!

Down fall was heavy this year due to micro-bursts in the west central mountains.

As hard as we worked in August, we still had a great time.  So JOIN us on one of our upcoming event!

I am having major writers block in regards to a blog piece for the Squaw Creek/Poison Creek work project the weekend of the 18th. Nothing exciting happened at all. Nobody got bucked off, rolled on, stepped on, kicked, bit or required a medical evacuation. There were no injuries other than a few aching shoulders expected with the type of work we do. The only blood I saw the entire weekend was my own, and that didn’t occur until the last few minutes before loading up and heading for home. I got so bored I decided to use my pocket knife to cut the witches knot out of Annie’s tail. I missed her tail and sliced my finger; hardly anything to write home about, let alone blog about. I considered making something up. Not a lie exactly – more of a fictional elaboration of the actual events to sort of spice things up. I might convince Rob to go along with some fantastic account of adventure and intrigue, Lou Ann, however, is a different story. Lou Ann insists on seeing that I remain grammatically correct and honest in my storytelling at all times. Programmers.

We came, we cut and we conquered. That’s pretty much it in a nutshell. It makes for a fairly drab blog piece, doesn’t it? Actually, the previous weekend was much more interesting, but has nothing to do with Back Country Horseman and would be more appropriate for another blog. I had just ridden out of the Eagle Caps after spending the earlier part of the week following a band of hippies through the mountains. As I said, this story is best left for another blog – but I will say this: What happens on the mountain does not necessarily stay on the mountain. One word of advice – DO NOT eat dried fruit prepared by a hippy chic living without proper sanitation facilities – no matter how hungry you get.

Jack had thrown a shoe sometime between the hippy excursion and home. I called every farrier I trusted within 100 miles without gain. I gathered all the old shoeing tools I could find, tossed in a handful of nails and picked up two size 0 front rims at D&B on my way through town. I can tack on a shoe in an emergency if I have to. I hoped I didn’t have to.  

Completely ignoring Dave the GPS – I followed the directions from the web site to Squaw Creek campground. I opted to go the long way through Ola. Even with newly installed trailer brakes, bearings and two new trailer tires, I didn’t feel up to four wheeling my way this weekend. It was just too easy. I pulled into the campground without making one wrong turn. At least it appeared to be the campground from the directions. Rob mentioned he would try to be there by noon and place a few signs. There were no signs and no Rob and it was coming on 3:30 PM. I temporarily high-lined Jack and Annie and parked my rig in an area easy to spot should anybody drive by, and waited.

 I wandered around the area checking it against the map. This had to be the right spot. Where was everyone? I hadn’t brought any feed for the horses and there was not much graze where I had high-lined. I decided if nobody showed up in the next few hours, I would move the horses to graze and set up camp for the weekend, right spot or not. As it was, Rob pulled into camp several hours later. Jack and Annie would be glad to see the certified weed free hay and I was proud of my sense of direction for probably the first time in my life. 

Rob took a look at Jack’s hoof and determined it would probably do more harm to tack on a shoe than to leave it as is. Jack has good, sound feet and they had grown out enough to give him plenty of hoof wall protection against the rocky terrain for one weekend. I brought along a pair of emergency barrier boots in case we were wrong.

 Lou Ann arrived just before dark. The three of us would make up the work crew for the weekend. I brought out a chicken broccoli casserole for dinner and the others tossed in various vittles to go along with it. Still feeling the effects of the previous weekend’s hippy adventure, I turned in early.

Saturday morning the three of us hit the trail bright and early. It was an experience in mounting/dismounting. A deadfall lay across the trail every 100 yards or less. Toward the top of the trail, one of the saws threw a bearing and seized up. The remaining saw was in need of sharpening and fast became worthless. We soon had nothing more to cut trees with than a paper weight and a spoon.

We reached the meadow about 3:45 PM. Lou Ann and I are still uncertain what came over Rob. One minute he’s meandering casually across the meadow, the next he’s spurred Payette into a lope and is dashing off carefree into the middle of a small group of cattle. It could be that Rob, not unlike Gus McCrae from Lonesome Dove, felt compelled to ride out in search of adventure for the pure joy of it…for no other reason than because he can.

Rob prepared chicken with a mushroom sauce and wild rice. Lou Ann had made green beans to die for and I whipped up a Dutch Oven peach cobbler.  I had brought the wrong Dutch oven for the job. The lid was the rounded, burry in the ground variety, and I needed a lid with a lip to hold the briquettes in place. Rob scrounged through his DO supplies and came up with an acceptable lid that would make do. That is pretty much how it goes on these trips – nobody expects perfection and everyone pitches in and makes do where needed. Aside from a little ash around the edges – dinner was served.

Poison Creek trail on Sunday would be cut rather short. A tangled mass of a dozen or more blow-downs blocked the trail shortly after the bridge crossing. We split up in three different directions to scout out an alternate route before coming up empty handed. We made the determination that Poison Creek would have to remain closed for the time being. We had neither the saws nor the man/girl power to tackle this one today. Rob would contact the FS and have them flag a route at their discretion. Squaw Butte would open Poison Creek on another day.

I looked down at the blood trickling from a small slash in my index finger. Well, that was the most eventful thing that’s happened all weekend. I wonder if I can’t come up with something a bit more exciting for the blog. “There we were – the three of us – each dedicated members of the Squaw Butte Back Country Horseman of America, face-to-face with, until now, an undiscovered tribe of hostile natives. The chiefs menacing black eyes sent shivers up my spine as the sun glinted across the razor sharp knife he held in his hand…”

“Is this your idea of a joke, Dave? What the hell…you said to take a hard left…I took a hard left. You call this washed out, pot-hole infestation a road? This is a road for four wheelers Dave, not for trucks hauling 8,000 pounds of horse trailer and cab-over. I knew I should have Google mapped instead of relying on you. You have not been right one lousy day of our 5 year relationship. Five years Dave! Five years of wrong turns, dead-end shortcuts and illegal U turns. I can’t drive like this anymore, Dave. I’ve listened to your patronizing monotone voice for the last time. I have a notion to toss you out of the truck alongside this boulder lined rut hell you call a road. Don’t worry Dave, you’ll find your way. After all, West Mountain is just 25 miles due west as the crow flies. I hope you can fly Dave.

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A FISH OUT OF WATER

I was a little worried that nobody was going to show up to my second trail project in the Payette National Forest. Rob, Phil and Robbin, a few of the more experienced packers in our chapter, would be away on a ten day support crew project in the Frank Church. Without some of our more seasoned members to guide us, I wasn’t sure anyonewould be willing to follow a directionally challenged newbie with a knack for misadventure. I would not blame them either. Especially since all they might get to eat for three days is bottled water and Beanie Weenies.

Rob assured me that I would not be clearing trail alone, even if we had to twist a few arms in the process. Feeling more like a fish out of water than a project coordinator of any kind, I set about preparing for a weekend of trail work and meal preparation for an undetermined amount of crew.

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National Trails Day 2012

Boundary Trail Project

In celebration of the 2012 National Trails Day theme: “America’s Largest TRAILgating Party,” members of the Squaw Butte Back Country Horseman of Idaho set out to conquer a minute section of the 200,000 miles of America’s national trails system. Sixty feet of bog and waterlogged trail corduroy would challenge the small group of dedicated and enthusiastic volunteers.

Boundary Trail Project

National Trails Day

6-2-2012

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I should have been more specific when I commented to Mike Mullin, West Payette National Forest trails manager, that I would like to check out Boundary Trail before the National Trails Day project. Mike mentioned we might have to hike an extra mile or so from the trail head if the latest round of rain had made the road too muddy. Hike? As in, on foot? Isn’t that why God made horses?  I stopped hiking two years ago after I bought one. I packed a quick lunch and, leaving a perfectly good horse standing in the pasture, headed toward town.

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