Wyoming Warrior " preparation"

 Wyoming Warrior

The summer of 2004 was the beginning of the longest fishing trip ever attempted by Don, Paul, and me. It started with Paul “Hey guys, I know this outfitter in Wyoming…” His name was John Henry (not the steel drivin’ man).

Originally all four of us planned to go. Paul said the trip would involve a five hour horseback ride into the “wilderness”, and a five day stay at a campsite. The Bridger Wilderness was between Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons. Horses and mules were the only form of transportation in or out. We would also be riding from camp to the various mountain fishing lakes. The outfitter suggested we “practice” horseback riding in the summer to be prepared for a September trip.

I had not ridden a horse since I was a kid.  Our cousins in Lanark kept horses and we loved to go there and ride. This was done for a few days once a year. Before that we actually owned a gentle saddle broken steed. He was a donkey creatively named “Donk”, and he had stepped on me once when I was four. I had failed to pull the cinch strap tight enough and slipped out of the saddle under him. I was unhurt, as he gently placed his hoof in the middle on my chest, but I milked it for all the sympathy I could gather.

After the first practice trip at Dawson Lake, we discovered why this was recommended. We were so stiff from a one hour ride, we basically fell off the horses when we returned to the corral. We had to decide that week if we were going to commit to go by paying a big deposit to the outfitter. After the first practice, Robert decided that hiking in Colorado would be more enjoyable.

The next day the pain was unforgiving. Paul said John Henry suggested adding padding when we rode. I didn’t own any padded clothes at that time, but quickly decided the recommended bike shorts were needed.  The second practice trip was better, but we were still sore. I couldn’t imagine doing this for five hours. I also decided to follow the recommendation to wear long underwear for added padding.

Then nature intervened. That summer would see four hurricanes strike the state of Florida. Charlie, the third one that struck in August, tore huge holes in my parents’ home on Pine Island. The area of destruction was extensive, and there simply were not enough workers or supplies to do all the needed repairs. In addition the fourth hurricane, Frances, was slowly approaching the US.

Our family rallied to help Mom and Al. Steve gave a trailer, Al bought shingles, two volunteered to drive and all of us that were available flew to Ft. Meyers to help with the repairs. After an exhausting week in 95 degree heat and humidity, their house was repaired and we headed home. Frances’ arrival closed all the airports and gas stations south of us and many along the way. We made it out just in time.

This Florida adventure limited me to two practice rides. I got home on a Friday. We were to leave on Monday for the two day drive to Wyoming. Connie volunteered to let us use her new Honda CRV.

One cannot imagine all the gear (crap) that three guys need for a week of fishing. Rather than describe it all, understand that there was only a small space in the back seat for one person. The car was filled to the ceiling. We decided to stay overnight in Sydney, NE, home of Cabelas.

I should mention Sydney is on the far western side of Nebraska, the longest, most boring, sleep inducing state in the nation. We traveled on Interstate 80 and crossed the path of the first transcontinental highway (US Route 30 known as the Lincoln Highway).

The stop in Sydney allowed us to buy more gear, including my first adult cowboy hat and a bargain pair of Gore-Tex boots.

The trip was an adventure for me as I had never traveled west. We drove for another full day after leaving Sydney.  We passed by pronghorn antelope running in meadows along the roadway. We saw ranchers baling the grass in the highway median, and many Oregon Trail landmarks.  One stop at a visitors’ center was near the Ice Slough, which contained ice preserved from the summer heat under a marsh. We followed the path of the transcontinental railroad. The trip was uneventful except for Don’s continued attempts to pull on the parking brake when he was driving.

We traveled into the Wind River Range and reached DuBois, WY in the late afternoon. We were to leave from the staging corral early in the morning. We drove out to John Henry’s home and paid him the balance of the cost of the trip. That evening we met Shane. Shane was appropriately named. AT 6’4”, 250 lbs, and all shoulders and arms, he was my imagined definition of a true cowboy (as in the movie “Shane don’t go”). He met us to load up all of our gear, so he could get a start on packing the horses and mules before we arrived.

We kept only overnight clothes. We had the last showers we would have for a week. We walked downtown to a local bar and restaurant.

There were a number of young women dressed in western wear. Sitting in a group were about six men dressed in uniform coveralls that resembled flight suits. After a beer, Paul started asking them who they were. They were smokejumpers brought up to work fires in the mountains.  I was fascinated to meet people who risked so much to stop fires. We drank the last beer for a week and walked back to the motel.