Here is a copy of the diary page. It has been copied as it was written with minor spelling and punctuation corrections. Some grammatical corrections have been added in parenthesis.
Reflections of Missing Diary Pages
There were three more days spent on the trail, but for some reason, no diary entry was
made. So I have attempted to bring you up to date with my memories some 15 years later.
September 16, 16th, 1985 (to finish the days prior entry)
I remember riding through the Big Lava Bed area. It was amazing. I’m not sure
if it was just raining hard, if there was a mist, or if it is only my foggy memory,
but it was a fairyland. The trail meandered through towers of lava rock.
We arrived at Crest Horse Camp just before dark. There had been no feed for the horses
since that morning. I quickly scanned the entire camp ground and found a few flakes of
wet hay that I gathered for my horses. It was dark before my tarp was hung and I
discovered my sleeping bag was wet. I put on what extra dry clothes I could find and
set in for the long cold night.
And what a night. I don’t recall the rain, but it was my first experience with
roaring wind. We could hear it coming, getting closer like a freight train, then it
would hit and whip and pull at the tarp, and then in was gone. Only to be replaced by
the distant rumble of the next burst forcing its way through the mountain tops towards
us, louder and louder and then ripping at us once again.
September 17th, 1985
I didn’t get much sleep and I doubt the horses did, but by morning the wind had
been replaced by a steady rain.
We started early and headed out the trail in search of horse feed. We reached the
Indian Heaven wilderness and what looked like meadows of grass, was stiff swamp grass
that the horses wouldn’t eat, so we trudged on. Mile after mile became effort
to keep going. I feared for the horses and I stopped only long enough to search my own
food pack for anything that the horses might eat - oatmeal, cookies, and bread. I felt
guilty for their hunger, thus went without food myself.
By late afternoon, the rain had let up. Just before dark, we entered the Sawtooth
Huckleberry Fields. The terrain was fairly level, but held our first sighting of
grass. Surrounding the huckleberry bushes were bunches upon bunches of grass; feed
at last.
I was weary and fearful, afraid that after all this, the horses would leave me. So I
tied them where they could eat, but did not hobble them and turn them loose. After I
had strung my tarp between tall berry bushes, and then took turns holding one horse
while the other grazed freely until well after dark.
September 18th, 1985
The morning was bright, the clouds were high and few; the rain had moved on. As the
sun rose, we could clearly see Mt Adams looming before us. And with the last four days
of rain, it and our trail were covered in snow.
A quick check of the horses found that Echo had lost a shoe on the prior days trail.
And with all the grass surrounding us, I didn’t have the heart to tack them up
and trudge through snow on an unfamiliar trail.
I layed everything wet out onto the brush, to dry in the welcoming sunshine. This was
a time before cell phones. So as I heard vehicles on a nearby road, I stopped a woman
who had been picking berries. I asked her to call my husband collect and tell him
where I was, that I was OK, and that I would wait until the weekend for him to pick
me up here rather than at the planned pickup location.
The horses did nothing but eat this day. I took turns hobbling one while the other
stood tied, trading their situation every hour or so. I don’t remember eating,
most everything had been ruined by rain or fed to the horses. I do remember just
laying in the sun, grateful that my horses were contently eating nearby.
September 19th, 1985
Just after directnight, I was startled awake by Britt. She was screaming and shaking
my tarp, as I had tied the horses next to me. I could find nothing wrong and she soon
settled down. Echo seemed unaffected and I hoped that whatever varmint had frightened
her, had moved on.
I had found my only weapon, a pocket knife and lain back down. Only a few minutes had
passed, when Britt started up again. I leaped to the horses, but could see nothing
in the darkness.
Then I heard it, the rattle of shaking metal. It was my horse trailer bouncing down
the dirt road towards us. My husband had thrown a bale of hay in his truck and headed
our way days early. Britt had heard him coming, screaming as he first missed the
turn down our road. Screaming again as he came back for a second look, welcoming the
familiarity of that noisy rattle of metal.
<< PAGE BACK
Diary Reflections
PAGE FORWARD >>