Easter: Wellspring of Life

In remembrance of the Master of souls... He, who authored our Liberty, and then paid an infinite price for it. To know that He would have paid that unfathomable price, even if I were the only person in this big wide universe that needed it, causes my knees to bow and my heart to soar...

For His ability and desire to heal every wound that mortality can inflict--wounds both physical and spiritual--causes me to pause in awe...

And that He did it, and does it, for one as wretched as I--one who is not worthy to "lick His boots"--causes me to look forward to the day I that can wet the nail prints in His feet with my tears.

To Him who is called The Christ, I offer heartfelt thanks for my crack at life on this magnificent Earth--with all of its hazards and all of its rewards, all of its sorrows and all of its joys.

He is Risen. And He Lives.

--Flying I Ranch

Spring has Sprung in Gila Monster Alley

It is a rare treat to stumble into one of these reclusive creatures.  This desert is chock full of things poisonous and prickly.

Like Riding a mountain goat...

We especially love  the winter riding in the red rocks of the SouthWest.  Here are a few short clips from the past couple of weeks that show how sure footed the mules can be in technical, extreme terrain.  Notice how easy they make it look.




The clip above fails to show the pool of water down below the rider's right side (as seen in clip three and four).




My young son and his young john mule, Senator, making the climb out of this canyon look easy.  The horse with us wouldn't go down into this spot, and, most likely, have make it back out if it had tried.




Notice that when the mule is down in the water, the shelf it stepped off is taller than the mule.  Not shown here, but my son decided to take his mule along the serrated edge seen on the right--as shown by the rider in clip one who crossed this obstacle going up the canyon instead of down.  The next clip shows a horse trying to go around this obstacle to the left.




This rider decided to try and lead his horse around the water obstacle.   The horse may have been fine going into the water--the rider is quite seasoned.  But a mule would have either REFUSED to take the same path this horse took, or it would have done it without a wreck.

As traumatic as it appears, the horse was not harmed and was back up in this canyon a week later.

Two Coiled Springs

Senator about to leap

We were lucky enough on our last ride to have a real photographer along with us.  He took a bit of a risk bringing a super nice SLR along with him, but he shot some great photos.  I love the headliner photo particularly because it shows that moment of truth... that moment just before the leap when the springs are fully coiled.  The look on my son's face is one of intense focus as he and his mule, Senator prepare for the leap up onto the sandstone shelf.

Riding a mule is a bit like riding a cat.  It is a work of art how they always land on their feet...

Video Blog of the Haslem Trail.

I've written and photographed the beauty of the Haslem Trail several times for my blog.  These honey-combed crimson cliffs lie East of St George Utah, and offer some of the reddest, most eye-popping, high angle scenery to be found anywhere.

The older posts can be found here:

I almost lost my ass

Haslem Trail ode to old Kim

High Octane Mule on the Dad Trail

The Optometry Intern

The headliner video is a bit funny and shows why sometimes, it is just better to stay on than get off.  The rest of the clips show mules at their very best.  In the clip where we jump up into the narrow chute that takes us out into the open on top, you can see a bit of the difference between how the mule and the horse approach technical stuff.  Our mustang Kate, surefooted as she is, doesn't handle this task as well as the mules.

Enjoy some high angle thrills from the safety of home!

...and this, Dave's mule loves to get in the horse trailer.  Dave say's it didn't require any training to get his mule to head for the trailer and climb right in from a distance.

Haslem Trail revisited

I was out with a nephew and his girlfriend last week riding the Haslem trail.  It is truly one of my favorite rides for the winter in this desert.  Some of our most spectacular photos taken while riding have come from this trail and you can read the stories or see the photos here, here, here, and here.

The girlfriend captured the headliner photo on my iPhone.  This little part of the trail is slightly technical because it has a gradual bull-nose that doesn't begin to flatten until about nose high on my mule.  To stand in front of it and contemplate a leap up still seems impossible every time I do it, yet every one of my mules will do it without skipping a beat--even the smaller ones who have even more vertical distance to leap.

 A few others below from the trip back down...

Ode to Grit

"Ode to Grit"

The cowboy from Downey who called himself “Buck” didn’t much cotton to braggin’

The biblical prohibition agin “showin’ yer alms before men” just seemed like plain damn horse sense that ought work for man AND beast alike.

But the day alus comes to a man who walks straight through life, when he EARNS them braggin rights fair’n square.  Course when that day comes, the good book has a different take.   “Let yer light shine” is a piece of plain damn mule sense that, like most higher laws, is a bit tougher to swaller.

Cowboy Buck found hisself in a much-accomplished position on that fine, sunny day.  Why, he had rode old man Gooch’s ass all the way up Silor Spring’s gulch.  Ear envy had gotten the better of him, but he wadn’t about to start showin’ it off!  “T’weren’t proper” he properly thought. 

With grit and steely resolve he waded through them paparazz like a red-hot knife through suet from a she-grizz.   Flash bulbs were a-poppin’ and the clamor of screamin’ fans hung thick in the air.  Women-folk fell faint at every turn as they beheld the man on his beast, and then lay there in crumpled heaps.

The Downey Idaho cowboy sat straight in his saddle, completely unperturbed.   Why, he was unflappable, ingenuous, and guileless all at the same time.  He just couldn’t trade that plain damn horse sense for that plain damn mule sense, higher law or no.  And so it ended, on that splendid, much-accomplished day…much as it had started, without the faintest hint of braggin’ from the man they call “Buck.”

(Mule Poetry in Motion)

Know your Mule Culture.

Breaking out of jail, working behind a contrary white mule, and singing some hollers, Mississippi delta, 1978.


Fragments of a muleskinner holler: Building levees in the Delta Region, 1978.
How they build levees with mules...

                                     The Mercy Man.                                 


More of this American cultural bonanza here.

Kids train Mules train Kids

This 5 month old mulestang's first time out...Santa Clara's Swiss Days parade.  Hanging with the grownups through the flash-bang of one all-American small town parade for 2 hours is worth MONTHS of training.

The pictures will do most of the talking for this brief update, which is more of a reflection on the admonition to "train up a child in the way he should go" than anything else.   The other night as my youngest child and I sat on a ridge at sunset looking over St George, I was moved by the majesty of the job of "Father."  I think the secret is starting them young, and then just pulling them right into your world where ever you can.  Reality is a pretty good trainer.  Integrating a kid into real life desensitizes their fears and gives them all kinds of confidence that they get to keep forever.  

In contrast, I'm not so sure that the current societal trend of creating an alternate universe for kids with all of its childish themes and bubble-wrapped safety netting is all that helpful.  My kids get tired of me reminding them that life is not Disneyland.  That is not to say that activities and responsibility shouldn't be age appropriate.  But finding that balance for me is all about gut-feel, not something I acquired from academia or peer pressure.  

So, with a twinkle in my eye, you might hear me say, "I train my mules with my kids, and I train my kids with my mules."   Getting them ready to be grown up is for keeps.   And I can't think of a better vocation than kid trainer.

First time carrying a flag.  Preston was more nervous about it than his mule, Senator.  But as soon as there were people to impress, he rose to the occasion.

No fuss mule.

The sun sets on Pine Valley Mountain, and St George lights up below.

Here comes the city like a tidal wave.  But the barn must stay full of hay.

The Electric Donkey--Johnny Horton

Sometimes, it just has to be collected.  My good facebook friends and Youtube have a way of finding these rare gems.  Enjoy a piece of Americana that our culture will never reproduce.

One Legged Mule-Skinner of Samuels Lake

Terry Barker fishing from his mule Rosie

At 69 years old, he sat straight in the saddle.  Samuels Lake stopped abruptly at the edge of a bally peak and Terry was filling his pouch with fish about as fast as he could reel them into shore.  Rosie, his mule stood patiently on the last piece of meadow before it became part of the boulder strewn slope above.  It sort of catches the eye to see a man fishing from a sharply dressed, zebra-dun mule in such a beautiful place.  Even more impressive, the mule continues to ignore the sweet grass at her feet while her rider engages in one of mans' most ancient sports from her back.  Then it strikes you.  The man on the mule is missing his right leg.  And suddenly... you know all you need to know about the character of the One-legged Mule Skinner of Samuels Lake.

It was Uintas 2012.  After spending some annual wilderness weeks in the Windrivers, we decided we missed the Uintas--especially the basins between King's Peak and Fox Pass.  When you see the photos that finish this story, you'll know why.

Our last trip to the Uintas was interrupted by high traffic around our campsite near Fox Lake.  Several large groups of hikers came right after us--one of which, a Boy Scout troop from the city, so exhausted from their hike, couldn't bring themselves to go another step when they discovered that we were in their hoped-for campsite.  So they dropped their camp right next to us--in our only prime, night-time grazing area.  With all the riding we were doing, we needed that feed to keep our mules in good shape, and no amount of pleading with the leaders of that troop regarding the safety of the boys or our mules that they had chased out of that meadow so they could set tents would change their minds.  And pointing out the thousands of square miles of incredible country around them fell on deaf ears.  It made our last couple of days a little difficult.

I knew my wife wouldn't like the extra riding, but this time we were going to camp in one of the most remote, least known lakes in the basin.  Samuels Lake.  It is on the map, but there is no trail there, and you sort of have to know the way in to find it.  This year, we wouldn't have to compete for our privacy.

Trouble is... we weren't the only ones who made the same calculation.  Great minds think alike.

Sometime midway through the week, a train of 7 mules arrived at Samuels Lake late in the evening.  The light had dimmed and we could barely see them passing through the forest outside our camp.  They were coming for the meadow at the foot of the lake near where we were camped.  Saddle sore.  Ready to be done.  And now, frustrated at having their usual campspot occupied.  They wondered if they could stand pressing on to a lake in the Davis chain.  Instead, the mule train stopped and dropped camp in a meadow on the other side of the low, tree lined ridge that separated the meadow where we were tented from them.  Our naturally curious mules, hobbled for the evening feeding, immediately headed over to pay them a visit.  What could be better than fresh company for a mule?

Things were slightly tense for a moment as we sorted mules.  They were local and tired.  Though unsaid, and probably unthought by them, we knew that we were invading years of family tradition.

After a day or two of exchanging pleasantries and finding some reason for real friendship, we found ourselves fascinated by the one-legged patriarch of the Barker family who was fishing along the shore of the lake.  "Mind if I shoot a few photos of you Terry?" I asked as we rode up.

"Take all you want!  Say... where are you folks headed today?  I'm bored."  Came the reply.

The next hours were spent sharing a lifetime of memories and lore.  He was tickled to see our two youngest boys (Brother Mike and I) riding mules with skill.  And we were tickled to watch a man who would not be denied after living ten years without his right leg, ride a mule through some country that would make some two-legged men on better mules a bit nervous.  "See that patch of trees over there?" he pointed.  "I hid right over there with my mule tied and called that bull elk with a cow call."  Turning and looking over the saddle we had just traversed, he continued, "He came right through that saddle and stood next to this little lake where I dropped him with my aught-six."

After spending more time with Terry, his son Clark, and his grandson Preston, it became clear that the Earth had not lost her salt.  We enjoyed the felicitous neighborliness they exhibited.  And we learned from their lifetime of mule packing experience.

Thank you fine friends, for adding life's salt to our week in the Uintas! It was so much more savory than if we had stayed in that sacred place alone.  I sincerely hope I get to ride again with the One-legged Mule Skinner of Samuels Lake.

Pommel to housing behind the cantle--seat belted in for balance.

Fox Pass looking back to Queant

Cousins--joined at the hip

Riding partner--loves to explore

Don't often get the woman's touch in the wilderness :)

Frustration Peak...looking down on NoName, Dime and Fox lakes

Carving steak with a fine, treasured Phuuko knife

The view from the top is...well... I'd love to have a cabin down in that valley for the rest of time.  (Looking North into Wyoming.)

Spring Water from 12,000 feet

...and a splash of fuchsia at 12,000 feet

 Old plane wreck?  Maybe?

Brother Mike.  Making family time is worth more than gold.