We return to the wild horse range to see the Cloud People and Jack is misled by a pooka
Running out of water, we decided to make the 3-hour drive down the mountain to Billings to find a bed, shower, and grocery store. Our luck was to also find the billings Farmers’ Market, where we stocked up on fresh veggies grown by Hutterite farmers who live in the area. I also couldn’t resist buying a couple of pounds of their sauerkraut. After a good night’s sleep and several showers to remove crud accumulation, we were ready to head back to the mountain.
On the way to the top, we met Dan Elkins coming down, with a newly-captured horse in his trailer. “I’m heading down for a few days, until the Cloud People leave,” he told us. The “Cloud People” are the Pryor Mountain Wild Horse Association, who are having their annual gathering in Lovell. They come up to the range to visit, and their particular object of adoration is Cloud, a palomino who featured in his own movie a few years ago. The Cloud People do not approve of the BLM’s policy of horse removal, and they particularly do not like Dan.
Reaching the top, we found the weather turning windy and cold. Storm clouds were brewing, so we found a good spot in the trees to make camp. The sky in the west was clear, and it looked like we would have some good light for sunset. So we decided to go for a hike and look for horses. A hundred yards or so from camp the wind was blowing wisps of fog over the hilltop, and we hiked in that direction. As we walked into the fog, Nancy, declaring it to be much too cold, turned back. I continued up the hill, through the blowing fog, imagining myself alone on the moors. The fog thickened, and I came across a huge, white limestone monolith, covered in ancient lichen. I walked around it, looking at the lichens and small plants growing out of the cracks in the rock. Then I heard a distant whinny in the fog. Thinking of finding a marvelous photograph in the changing light of fog and sunset, I headed in the direction of the sound.
The fog was thicker—visibility only 5-10 meters-- and the wind seemed to be shifting. I soon found myself in a small grove of spruce, the tree tops disappeared in the fog. Scattered at my feet were bits of bone—ribs and vertebrae from long-ago horses. Walking a few feet deeper into the grove I found a nearly complete skeleton, bleached white to match the chunks of limestone scattered nearby. As I mused on the generations of horses that had lived and died in this place, I heard the whinny again, this time from a different direction. I smiled to myself as I began to imagine becoming lost. The light was uniform in all directions, and was waning. I turned and started back toward what I judged to be the top of the hill. Instead, I found more trees, then a clearing with several tall poles arranged in a circle. Walking around the circle, I found that the poles were all that remained from an old corral...something I had not seen on previous hikes. Being in unfamiliar territory further unsettled me, and I decided to forget about looking for the horses and concentrate on finding my way back to camp. At least I was wearing warm clothes, in case I did have to spend the night hunkered in the trees. But I did not think Nancy would be very happy with that, so I resolved to get my bearings.
I almost walked right into the horses. A group of them saw me at about the same time I saw them; they quickly ran off into the fog, which now was so thick that I could only see the ground at my feet. Trying to hike in a straight line, rather than in circles, I came upon the rail fence that served as a boundary between the horse range and the National Forest land beyond: finally, a point of reference that I recognized. I hiked along the fence, knowing that it eventually intersected the road back to camp. Instead, I came to a sudden drop off, with fog and mist howling up from below. I realized that I had become thoroughly turned around, so I hiked in the direction exactly opposite to what my senses told me was the right way to go. After a considerable hike, I came to the road, and back to camp.
Later that night, snug in bed, we listened to a storm replete with lighting, rain and hail blow through, and I was glad I had not decided to hunker down in a grove of trees for the night.
Running out of water, we decided to make the 3-hour drive down the mountain to Billings to find a bed, shower, and grocery store. Our luck was to also find the billings Farmers’ Market, where we stocked up on fresh veggies grown by Hutterite farmers who live in the area. I also couldn’t resist buying a couple of pounds of their sauerkraut. After a good night’s sleep and several showers to remove crud accumulation, we were ready to head back to the mountain.
On the way to the top, we met Dan Elkins coming down, with a newly-captured horse in his trailer. “I’m heading down for a few days, until the Cloud People leave,” he told us. The “Cloud People” are the Pryor Mountain Wild Horse Association, who are having their annual gathering in Lovell. They come up to the range to visit, and their particular object of adoration is Cloud, a palomino who featured in his own movie a few years ago. The Cloud People do not approve of the BLM’s policy of horse removal, and they particularly do not like Dan.
Reaching the top, we found the weather turning windy and cold. Storm clouds were brewing, so we found a good spot in the trees to make camp. The sky in the west was clear, and it looked like we would have some good light for sunset. So we decided to go for a hike and look for horses. A hundred yards or so from camp the wind was blowing wisps of fog over the hilltop, and we hiked in that direction. As we walked into the fog, Nancy, declaring it to be much too cold, turned back. I continued up the hill, through the blowing fog, imagining myself alone on the moors. The fog thickened, and I came across a huge, white limestone monolith, covered in ancient lichen. I walked around it, looking at the lichens and small plants growing out of the cracks in the rock. Then I heard a distant whinny in the fog. Thinking of finding a marvelous photograph in the changing light of fog and sunset, I headed in the direction of the sound.
The fog was thicker—visibility only 5-10 meters-- and the wind seemed to be shifting. I soon found myself in a small grove of spruce, the tree tops disappeared in the fog. Scattered at my feet were bits of bone—ribs and vertebrae from long-ago horses. Walking a few feet deeper into the grove I found a nearly complete skeleton, bleached white to match the chunks of limestone scattered nearby. As I mused on the generations of horses that had lived and died in this place, I heard the whinny again, this time from a different direction. I smiled to myself as I began to imagine becoming lost. The light was uniform in all directions, and was waning. I turned and started back toward what I judged to be the top of the hill. Instead, I found more trees, then a clearing with several tall poles arranged in a circle. Walking around the circle, I found that the poles were all that remained from an old corral...something I had not seen on previous hikes. Being in unfamiliar territory further unsettled me, and I decided to forget about looking for the horses and concentrate on finding my way back to camp. At least I was wearing warm clothes, in case I did have to spend the night hunkered in the trees. But I did not think Nancy would be very happy with that, so I resolved to get my bearings.
I almost walked right into the horses. A group of them saw me at about the same time I saw them; they quickly ran off into the fog, which now was so thick that I could only see the ground at my feet. Trying to hike in a straight line, rather than in circles, I came upon the rail fence that served as a boundary between the horse range and the National Forest land beyond: finally, a point of reference that I recognized. I hiked along the fence, knowing that it eventually intersected the road back to camp. Instead, I came to a sudden drop off, with fog and mist howling up from below. I realized that I had become thoroughly turned around, so I hiked in the direction exactly opposite to what my senses told me was the right way to go. After a considerable hike, I came to the road, and back to camp.
Later that night, snug in bed, we listened to a storm replete with lighting, rain and hail blow through, and I was glad I had not decided to hunker down in a grove of trees for the night.
posted by nanjak | 10:15 AM
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