By Peter Christensen

Joe MacDonald, an old time guide I knew, was working on Toby Creek. He was guiding a hunter from a big urban centre in the U.S. and as usual Joe was riding his favourite saddle horse, a big blonde quarter horse with a dark mane named Sugar.

It was Joe’s custom to turn Sugar loose to graze when he and a client were up country sitting at the base of slide-path in the evening waiting for an elk to bugle.

Leaving the horse untied did not sit well in the urban hunter’s mind. He wanted the horse tied up. In his mind they were a long ways out in the wilderness, although a few hour’s walk would have brought them to a base camp, maybe a day to the trucks. Joe assured the hunter that the horse would not go anywhere; however, the hunter kept insisting that Joe tie up his horse.

Exasperated Joe finally asked, “Why do you want the horse tied up?”

“Because he might run home and leave us stranded!” said the hunter.

“Run home, this is home!” said Joe.

Night Riders

I was guiding a hunter up the Middle Fork of the Findley on an elk hunt and as usually happened we had waited at a slide-path till dark before starting our ride back to base camp.  About a half hour down the trail, I could hear the man quietly sobbing.

True enough it was very dark but I had said to give the horse lots of rein and they were finding their way with their heads down about an inch off the ground smelling their way along the trail. I was not worried because for an experienced trail horse this was not a big deal. Nor was it for a “night rider,” all one had to do was stay well centred and keep one’s head tipped down so that one’s full brim cowboy hat could do its job and keep the sticks out of our eyes. We were moving slow but steady but the sobbing continued and got louder.

I stopped the procession and went back to talk to the man. I assured him that the moon would be coming up soon and visibility would be good. I said being scared was nothing to be ashamed of but that his attention would be better used staying aboard.

“Just give the horse his head and we’ll be alright.”

I suggested that if he felt like it he could sing a bit, it would calm him and let any bear or other animal know we were coming. I remounted and we continued our slow amble down the trail towards camp.  From time-to-time I could hear him singing an old hymn, ‘Nearer My God to Thee’.

After a time, the moon came over the ridge and shed some light on the valley and he quit singing.

e-KNOW file photo

– Peter Christensen is a Columbia Valley writer and poet who once patrolled the backcountry of the Purcell Wilderness Conservancy

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