STORIES - TOO LONG

1.  How Not to Cross the Columbia River - a close call

2.  Hazards on the Trail: words for the Novice

3.  The Avalanche and a Lucky Horse

1 - How Not to Cross the Columbia River - a close call

My friend Jim Thompson, guide and outfitter, had a grazing permit allowing him to over-winter his horses on a portion of the Columbia River valley floodplain and adjacent slope of nearby Steamboat Mountain, to the west.

This was in the East Kootenay region of British Columbia.

During spring run-off in that area, the river overflows its banks and floods the entire grassy and shrubby valley bottom.

One year in the 1960s, during such a period, Jim discovered all his horses, including a month old foal, assembled on a small piece of high ground, a temporary island in the flood plain, with foot-high grass.

Believing them to be trapped, and concerned about the safety of the foal and the younger horses, he decided to move them back across the river, to higher ground.

We hatched a plan.

Jim, using his 16 ft aluminum boat with its 10 hp motor, would drop me off on the island. 

I would halter a mother mare, whom I had owned at one time, climb aboard, and ride her over to the river's edge.

We knew the others would follow the mare and foal through the knee to belly-high water.

According to the plan, Jim would meet me at the brushed-in  river’s edge.

I would then dismount, and holding the halter shank, climb into the boat. 

Jim would then slowly head for the far shore, the horses swimming along behind the mare and foal.

At least that was the plan.

Jim had some problems getting back to the river. 

He was not at the agreed spot when I arrived on the bank of the main channel.

The horses had dutifully followed me but, waiting there, were   showing signs of wanting to return to their island. 

I had lost sight of Jim and he of me.

There was no choice but to proceed. Which I did.

 Really smart. 

The mare dropped smoothly into the turbulent muddy water, the foal right at her side.  She struck off strongly for the far shore.

I was immediately soaked of course, right up to my belt line.  And let me tell you, that water was cold.

But I was essentially in good shape, with the halter rope in one hand, her mane in the other.  The foal was at her side, and the rest of the herd strung out behind.

The little foal was impressive.  A slight wash over his back, his head and neck stretched above the water line, and just “a’pumping” for the far shore.  He looked like a large mink.

This tiny fellow grew into a huge, calm gelding and an important member of Jim's pack outfit.

But he just about did me in that day.

In midstream he suddenly, deliberately, stopped and turned back. His mother, losing sight of him, also stopped swimming, and turned to look for him.

As a consequence, she dropped lower in the water and I was swept off her back, like a cork. 

I was now mainly submerged, hanging downstream onto a halter rope with hands which I could not will to hold tight,

chilled to the bone in that freezing water.

I was soon stiff as a board, barely able to even move my legs.

I remembered an old saying: when you get to the end of your rope, tie a knot in it and hang on. 

Oh yeah, if only.

Curiously, I felt no alarm. Probably a sign of hypothermia.

(Not a bad way to go).

My mind was concerned with family. 

I congratulated myself for recently adding a large term insurance policy.

What saved me was the sudden reappearance of the foal, swimming behind the large, powerful herd stallion.

On spying her foal, the mare struck out again, with me clinging, barely, to the rapidly approaching end of the “knotless” halter shank. 

There was not an inch of shank left in my hand when good fortune placed me in shallow water on the far riverbank. 

The whole herd, including the mare, thundered up the hillside into the timber.

Further to the disappearance in midstream of the foal, and it's reappearance with the stallion: foals can form strong attachments to the herd sire and vice versa. 

The young fellow had apparently gone looking for his pa.

About the time I was deposited on the bank, Jim rounded the bend on the river. 

He picked up a pretty wet and chilled wrangler. 

We collected the halter from the mare next day.

Later, to our surprise, we observed the horses back on that island, and other islands on the floodplain. Apparently they had been crossing both ways all spring.

And the Columbia is a mighty big river, particularly when in flood.

2 - Hazards on the Trail and in Camp:  words for the novice

Traveling in the mountains, it is a rare day when there will not be a creek, river, or bog to be crossed.

On well-traveled trails such crossings have been located where the footing is generally safe. It may be boggy or stony but still have a good enough bottom.

Problems arise when there is no solid ground under the water or bog, or there are unseen rocks large enough to trip up or trap a horse’s foot.

Advice to the novice, stay on the trail.

Fortunately, but for periods of high water, mountain streams and rivers are generally clear and the bottoms visible.

But expect surprises.

On one occasion I was bush-whacking along the upper Red Deer River, and was confronted with a rock face.  I moved into the nearby river, shallow and clear.

Once past the rock face, I started to move back to the shoreline but had to traverse a short sandy submerged fan of sand, which could have been avoided.

This sand had built up where a small creek entered the river.

My horse went down to his belly.

Fortunately we were less than 20 feet to solid ground and he was a powerful animal. 

The distance was covered in a series of violent surging flounders, almost unseating me. 

Another lesson.

Many horses seem to enjoy crossing water. 

In fact some may want to stop and play. 

If the horse stops and starts to paw in the water, he may be one step from lying down. 

Keep moving.

Again, for the novice, do not stare down at the water while crossing large rivers. 

It is disorienting.

Keep your eyes on the far bank        

Also, if the crossing is at all tough, remove your feet from the stirrups.  This is a good practice in general, where there is a possibility a horse may lose his footing as in a bog, or steep grassy wet side hills.

A word about the use of tie-downs on horses in the mountains. 

Not recommended.  However, if no option, unhook them before crossing deep water.

I am aware of three river crossing tragedies which involved horses with tie-downs. 

These horses stumbled and lost their footing, all in high water.

They could not get their heads up, and along with their riders, drowned.

Back cinches on western saddles are put there for a purpose.

They should be snug to the belly of the horse.

They will help keep the saddle in place when traversing steep country.

When left loose they are a recipe for disaster. Things can catch there, including a hind foot. It’s happened.

I witnessed a near bad accident where a rider had neglected to snug up his back cinch, leaving a gap of 3-4 inches.

A large snag lodged into that gap. Things were pretty western for a while.

And the rider, fortunately a good one, had his young son in the saddle ahead of him.

A near tragedy was only narrowly averted.

A hard lesson, and I’ve had them too.

Always carry a rope, preferably on your saddle and not buried in a pack.

As a favor to your friends and search parties, when traveling alone, or in a small group, write out your route and leave in a safe conspicuous spot. Stick to that.

Even in the high tundra country there will be patches of boggy and dangerous ground, occurring generally in small depressions where moisture from snowmelt or from rain collect.

There can also be leg-trapping boulders beneath. These areas, however are often apparent because of their heavy grass cover. 

Stay to the high ground.

The most common problem is rocky ground.

An absolute requirement: your horses must be shod.

A word about game trails.

In most cases they lead into trouble, as far as a horse and rider are concerned.

Maybe take one if you know the country well.

However, the destination of a herd of elk may not be the destination of the traveler.

There are exceptions of course, but not many.

Good horse trails and good game trails are often the same trail.

Game will use the horse trails.

A final word when riding in steep country.

Try to stay off the loin of the horse.

Keep your bum off the back of the saddle.

And keep away from the horn. It forces the back of the saddle hard onto the loin.

If necessary, reach down and grab the breast collar and pull yourself forward.

Soreness in the loin is the most common and painful injury suffered by unconditioned horses in their first visit to the mountains.

One or two hundred pounds pounding on the loin would give anyone a backache.

A word about colic: painful, and, at its worst a killer.

Almost all cases of colic I am aware of occurred in camp, when horses were tied for the night, not on the trail where they were moving.

Earlier on, a couple of times a season my big horse, Trapper, would colic on me. The reason, I finally discovered, was my habit of giving him his oats immediately on arriving back at camp.

The days were long, he had worked hard, and he was hungry.

He would attack the oats like he had not eaten for days.

To make matters worse, the oats in those days, were in a feed bag secured to his head. I finally had to conclude the oats were creating the problem, being sucked up and swallowed too quickly, without being chewed.

The problem was solved by feeding him a good flake of hay before the oats. That cut the edge off his hunger.

No more gulping the oats.

No more colic.

Another lesson.

A sudden change in feed can also lead to colic. Some horses, used to one type of feed at home, hay, may develop symptoms of colic following a sudden switch to another type of feed in camp, often a concentrated one.

Horses should be introduced to new feed, cubes etc, slowly and several days ahead, and while still at home. In my experience, some horses can handle a quick change of feed better than others. Some can. Some can’t.

Also, fatigue can bring on “colicy” symptoms in unconditioned horses.

As can poor water management, that is allowing hot horses to take on a bellyful of cold water then tying them up for the night.

Consult your Vet or read up on the early symptoms.

If “bute” (phenylbutazone) or other comparable analgesics are available, (check with your Vet), and liquid, administer orally by syringe at the earliest signs of colic, or fatigue discomfort.

Do not allow the horse to lie down or roll. Keep him moving.

Re bute. Expect maximum effect in one to two hours (oral) and a 50% reduction in effect every 4 hours over the next 12-24 hours.

This information is from a manufacturer.

I don’t mean the above words to sound ominous or dangerous.

Almost all horses, with the above cautions, do well in camp and on the trail.

And the well-traveled mountain trails are safe for the alert rider.

 3 - The Avalanche and the Lucky Horse

Returning from a fly (temporary) camp into the upper end of the Wild Hay River country, we had a bad experience with an avalanche.

Dennis, Leanne, and I, in early May had set up a base camp on Adams Creek, which runs into the lower end of the Berland River, in Willmore Wilderness Park.  From where we were located, access to the upper Wild Hay River was via a trail further up the north arm of the Berland River, then along the south arm.

That river was low and we got through the narrow canyon on the North Berland, and its dozen or so rocky crossings without trouble.

We were at the fly camp on the Wild Hay River three days, I think.

But during that interval, temperatures had climbed and the snow in the high country went into a sudden and big time melt down.

Returning down the South Berland River en route back to our Adams Creek camp, we found, when we hit the North Berland, we could not proceed through that canyon as the river was now in a high state of flood. 

Were we to try, we would surely have lost some horses, if not ourselves.

Dennis figured we could bypass the canyon by bush-whacking through the timber and up onto the tundra, thence descending into the Adams Creek area, and on to our base camp.

He found a trail which took us up into the high country. From there we located a low pass with a sharp grassy ridge sloping gently down into the timber on the Adams Creek side, and thence to our main camp.

And we knew there would be beer in that camp, together with additional grub, as promised by our friend Bill Gosny, who we could see from our high viewpoint, leaving our camp with his horses en route back to Hinton.

But unknown to us, there would play out a short, but dangerous drama.

The sharp but gentle ridge we were descending to the timber on the Adams Creek side, was bordered on both sides by steep treeless slopes. 

While the ridge itself was clear of snow, these slopes held deep snow packs.

The horses were not tailed up, that is not tied together, but were following one another in good order along the crest. 

All but Dan, one of my horses, who was carrying a big pack.

Dan was a fine, strong, calm, bay gelding.  He had dropped down, not much more than two yards or so, off the ridge and just near the snow line. 

No problem.

As we were dismounted, I moved down to bring him back up.

In the process he must have stepped further down a bit as suddenly he slipped, and then fell against the steep slope.

He immediately began sliding further  down into the canyon proper, then onto the snow, gathering speed and struggling wildly to regain his footing.

I, in turn, had a slippery time maintaining my own footing and getting back to the ridge.

Then, with a suddenness that startled us, the snow pack on his side, then the other side of the canyon released with a roar, in great continuing sheets, and went thundering into the canyon down the mountain.

Poor Dan.

As he picked up speed in this billowing snow-storm, he would disappear and then reappear again in a maelstrom of white, fighting hard to both regain his feet and to stay on the surface.

We lost sight of him when the canyon took a turn to the right, about  300 yards below. 

But just before disappearing, his pack literally exploded.  Boxes and gear went in all directions.

All the other horses had made it across safely.  While Dennis and Leanne were getting them reorganized for the trip down, I left to go check on Dan, staying in the timber above the canyon.

I didn’t expect to find him alive, if I found him at all.

But no. The fates had been kind. 

He was on his feet at the bottom, grazing placidly on the green grasses growing out of the short cliff face. 

The pack saddle still on but lash ropes all over the place.

There were a few articles nearby on the surface.

What impressed me was how hard the wet snow had packed in the process of avalanching. 

It was like walking on pavement.  

I believe it would have been difficult to even extract a leg, if buried deeply into that surface.

I also believe it was the strength of the horse and his violent efforts which saved his life. 

I doubt a human could have survived.

And interestingly, he wasn't at all upset when I found him. 

Just standing there, on a sunny day, enjoying the early spring grasses.

Dennis went back to the area later on in the summer when the snow had melted.  He found most of the gear, now exposed, scattered along the path of the avalanche.

Dan, now known as Avalanche Dan, showed no ill effects of his near-death experience.

However, fate had one more insult for me.  Crossing little Adams Creek, my horse stepped into a deep hole and I got soaked.

Back at camp though, we found the beer that Bill, nice guy, had left for us.

And  Beer never tasted so good- Before Or Since. Ask Dennis. He will remember.

All is well that ends well, as the saying goes.