by John Kumiski
"He looks like John Wayne up there," said our outfitter, Fritz Meyer. "Or an Indian." Unlike the rest of us greenhorns, Alex had perfect control over his horse, Twinkle. Fritz was commenting on the dashing silhouette Alex presented as he and Twinkle ran all over the top of the ridge we'd just crested. The high peaks of Wyoming's Wind River Range supplied a very dramatic backdrop.
During the three weeks our family spent in Wyoming during the summer of 2004 we traveled in a big loop from Kemmerer to Lander to Cody to Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks and finally to Dubois. We went hiking and mountain biking, white water rafting and fossil digging, to an Indian powwow, the rodeo, and to museums. We saw geysers and canyons and waterfalls, bears and bison and elk, and much more. But the highlight of our trip was definitely the five day horse pack trip we made with Fritz Meyer of Dubois, his wrangler Cody Brown, and our cadre of riding and pack horses, into the Wind River Range.
Our trip started in Meyers's yard, watching him and Cody get the horses ready and trying to stay out of their way as they loaded horses into their trailers. "You really have to watch where you walk around here," Alex said to me as another horse was led onto the trailer. "Why is that?" I asked him. "There's horse manure everyplace!" he said. "You'd better get used to it," I said. "You'll be living with them for the next five days."
A couple of hours later, after a brief explanation of how to ride from Cody (the Kumiski family are not exactly "horse people"), we were on our trusty steeds following Fritz and Cody up a narrow trail in the Fitzpatrick Wilderness Area of the Shoshone National Forest. Susan, Maxx, and I had to learn about our animal's idiosyncrasies, where they liked and didn't like to walk, how close they liked to stay to the horse in front, and more. Alex however, took to his horse like an Indian to a pinto pony. He was a joy to watch as he gamboled over the mountain.
The trail led up and over Whiskey Mountain (so named because a still was once located there. It, and the surrounding forest, went up in flames under suspicious circumstances one night about 70 years ago.). The summit was treeless, and a dazzling variety of flowers of every color met our gaze. Indian paintbrush, daisies and buttercups, bluebells, purple asters, and others I couldn't identify stretched off along the ridge as far as we could see, and orange lichens, gripping to the rocks for survival, completed the rainbow effect. Higher, spectacular snow capped peaks of the range loomed in the distance.
On the way up we encountered patches of snow. Snow! My boys, born and raised in Florida, had never seen the stuff before. We all dismounted so they could experience and learn about snow. Their attempt to have a snowball fight was hilarious- neither boy knew how to make a snowball. I had to show them. And sliding- they got to slide down a snowy hill on their rear ends! What wet! What cold! What fun!
While on the summit Fritz pointed out many of the landmarks. "Up there, that's Togwotee Pass. Pioneers went through there in covered wagons. Down below us there are Ring Lake and Trail Lake. There's good fishing in both of them. Off to the west is Squaretop Mountain. You can see why they call it that. And that butte over there," he said, pointing at the feature in question, "is Crowheart Butte. About a hundred years ago the Shoshone and the Crow Indians had a big battle over there. The Crow chief Big Robber and the Shoshone chief Washakie fought each other on top of the butte. Washakie came down off the butte with the heart of Big Robber on the tip of his lance."
Now chilled by the cold wind, we started down. It got quite steep and I was surprised how easily the horses negotiated the rocky path, especially while under load. Fritz followed the path unerringly, and eventually led us into the narrow valley of Wasson Creek. This is where Fritz's camp was located, in a lovely little meadow cut by the creek.
After arriving we got right to work. Horses needed to be unloaded, and their saddles removed. They needed to be hobbled and put out to graze. Tents needed erecting. Firewood needed to be gathered, and water carried. I was surprised and dismayed how quickly I got winded. I asked Fritz about the altitude. He said, "It's about 9000 feet here." At 10,000 feet there's one third less oxygen than at sea level, which explained why we Floridians were all huffing and puffing.
As soon as camp was set up Fritz and Cody started working on dinner: fried chicken tenders, mashed potatoes, and green beans. As we ate we discussed the day's travels, especially the horses. Susan, Maxx, and I wanted some pointers on handling the critters with a little more panache. "A horse will only do two things," said Fritz, "what you let them do and what you make them do. You have to make sure they know you're the boss. And you should never let them eat while riding. They start looking for food instead of watching where they're going, not a good thing. Horses are dumb, not like a dog. If they were as smart as a dog they'd never let us ride them."
Our mornings quickly fell into a comfortable routine. Get up and dress, wash the face, wander into the mess tent. Coffee would be ready and a solid breakfast under construction. Eat and chat, then get ready for the day's ride. Cody did most of the work for that last, rounding up and saddling the horses and assembling the lunch fixin's. Then off we'd mount up and go for the day- to see the countryside, to see wildlife, to go fishing.
The country was simply amazing. We'd pass through thick stands of lodgepole and sugar pines, Engleman and alpine spruce, and Douglas fir trees. Most trees were tall, symmetrical, and stately. Some, however, were twisted and deformed into grotesque, fantastic shapes. Dwarf mistletoe, a parasitic plant, frequently grows on the evergreens here and causes what are known to botanists as "witch's brooms," an abnormal, bushy growth at the site of infection, to form.
We'd also pass through narrow meadows, lush green with a profusion of wildflowers. Crystal clear streams supported beautiful brook trout, some of which could be seen darting to and fro, alarmed by our passing.
Alpine meadows were found near and at the mountain passes we used. There the grass was sparse, the flowers plentiful, and rock outcroppings were everywhere. I learned in these places that's it's hard to take photos while on a moving horse!
We came to a place where Fritz stopped the pack train. "This is Rebar Pass," he said. "We need to dismount here for a while. It's too steep for the horses to get down while they carry us."
We started down. It surprised me to learn that it's easier to lead a horse by the reins than to walk a dog on a leash. It also surprised me to learn that a horse can walk almost anywhere a human can. Rebar Pass was a steep drop along switchbacks. It's called Rebar Pass because the trail was held in place by steel reinforcement bars used to support poured concrete. The riderless horses negotiated the terrain easily, and we arrived at Ross Lake without incident, ready to do a little fishing.
Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of alpine lakes are found in the Wind River Range. Carved out by glaciation, many lakes are cold and deep and provide excellent habitat for a variety of trout species: cutthroat, rainbow, brown, golden, and brook trout. In many lakes the trout are small, plentiful, and very easy to catch.
Ross Lake is not one of those lakes. Ross holds rainbows and cutthroats that average 20 inches in length, and let's say they present a more formidable challenge than the eight inch brook trout some of the other lakes hold. I fished it hard, got four bites and hooked only one fish, which I broke off. My boys also went fishless. Fishing is fishing, no matter where you go.
You couldn't ask for a more stunning setting, though. High peaks, many covered with glaciers, surrounded us, poking their snouts into a brilliantly blue sky punctuated by cottony white cumulus clouds. Fishing was spectacular, even if the catching wasn't.
Fritz had brought bison bratwurst for our lunch on this particular day. "Lunch is at one o'clock," he told us before we went off to explore the lake. Wanting to catch a fish more than I wanted to eat, I fished through the lunch hour. I was delayed long enough that my boys were sent to find me. "The bratwursts are delicious!" they said. "There are four left for you."
On the way back we passed a couple of hikers. I paused to discuss fishing with them, and watched their two dogs running back and forth. Now chummed up by my sons, and paying attention to my hunger now that I was no longer fishing, my mouth was watering at the prospect of delicious bison bratwursts.
I hurried back, hoping to still find my lunch. Fritz was putting the finishing touches on dousing the fire. "Where are my bratwursts?" I asked. "Did you see those two hikers over there?" he asked. When I said I had, he said, "I hate to tell you this, but their dogs ate them."
Oh! My poor, growling tummy! My lunch went from four delicious bison bratwursts to only three oreo cookies in the blink of a dog's eye, proof again that when you snooze you lose, he who hesitates is lost, the early bird gets the worm, and probably several other old and dusty clichés.
Fritz pulled out a pile of bison steaks for dinner that evening. As we watched them grilling on the wood fire (with all mouths salivating), I asked Fritz where he got them. "I know a rancher who raises bison on his ranch," he said. "You go pick out the one you want, and for $600 dollars it's yours." I was curious as to how much meat one gets from a bison. "About 600 pounds, so it's actually a pretty good deal," Fritz said. The steaks were tender and delicious. Eating bison made me understand a bit better why the existence of so many Plains Indian tribes revolved around the creatures.
Being out west and having attended a Shoshone Indian powwow I was curious as to how Fritz and Cody felt about them. "I have several good friends who are Indians and they don't think like us," Fritz said. "Their values are different. They like to move around a lot, and if something is too big to fit in their pickup truck then they don't want it. If they're warm, have something to eat, and something to drink, they're usually pretty happy."
Cody went to and played basketball for Dubois High School. The basketball team there used to (and still does) play the Wyoming Indian School's team. Cody said, "The tribe (Shoshone) was really into the basketball games. Even at away games, most of the tribe would show up. Their team would always be real hard to beat, they're excellent athletes. And the whole tribe would chant in unison, every one of them in the stands. It was really eerie, and more than a little unsettling."
All too soon it was the fifth morning, and we were packing up the horses for the nine mile ride back to the trailhead. We had had a wonderful experience, learned something about horses, learned something about Indians, seen some incredible country, and probably gained five pounds each. I would recommend a horse pack trip like this without reservations to anyone, but only if you can remember this one, simple, important piece of advice: a horse will only do two things.
Tipping Etiquette and the Wrangler
The wrangler assists the outfitter in all stages of the operation. A hired hand, a good wrangler works hard from dawn until dark, rounding up, saddling, and loading horses, fetching water and firewood, leading (and feeding) the sports on their day outings, telling stories, cooking, unloading, unsaddling, and hobbling the horses, setting up tents, and on and on. You get the idea, and you'll know quickly if you get a good one. If you do, please remember to give him a healthy tip.
Booking an Outfitter
Many outfitters lead horse packing trips into the Wind River Range and other locations in Wyoming. We went with Fritz Meyer, Wind River Mountain Outfitters ( 307.455.2464), out of Dubois. Fritz took excellent care of us and I recommend him highly.
Horses are large animals and relatively few people have them, compared to the more common dogs or cats. For non-horse people they can be intimidating. Good outfitters have horses that are patient, calm, and know where they're going almost as well as does the outfitter. The outfitter will give you a quick lesson on how to ride, but most pack horses simply follow the horse in front of them. Although you might have a better time if you did, you really don't have to know very much about riding in order to enjoy yourself.
Pack trips can be either base camp trips (you stay in the same base camp every night and make day trips from there), which is what we did, or through trips (you break camp every morning and set up a new one every evening). Base camp trips are more comfortable and less work. Discuss with the outfitter what you want to do before booking the trip.
On a horsepack trip the main activities besides riding include wildlife watching (we saw a black bear, mountain goats, and elk, among other things), photography, fishing, and simply enjoying the incredible scenery. Again, discuss with the outfitter what you'd like to do before booking the trip.
If you have any questions about the outfitter's operation that haven't been answered by them, ask for references, then call those references. We picked Fritz in large part due to the glowing reports we got from his references. Many outfitters have the same people return year after year. Those are the types of people you want to go out with.
The Wyoming Outfitters Association has some of Wyoming’s best and most dedicated outdoor professionals and they are ready to help you plan your next Wyoming outdoor vacation. They can be reached at 307.265.2376, or on the web at www.wyoga.org.
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This article was written by John Kumiski of John Kumiski Outdoors and Travel. Contact him at his website www.johnkumiski.com or via email at john@spottedtail.com. Copyright 2007 John Kumiski.
John Kumiski 's most recent fishing guidebooks are How and Where to Catch Redfish in the Indian River Lagoon System (Argonaut Publishing Company), and Fishing Florida's Space Coast (Argonaut Publishing Company).
John Kumiski's newest book is Redfish on the Fly- A Comprehensive Guide.
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