Wranglers, Wagons and Wilderness

Few people get to live their dreams, but isn't that what Bucket Lists are all about? The call of the wild has always been strong in my life. Some folks may recall times when that probably was a bad thing. But that's what life is about; following your inner voice and trying to work that into some sort of lifestyle for yourself. I didn't always get it right the first time or even the second time, but practice makes perfect. And I let that call of the wild take me to many places.

I spent many happy years in and around the mountains of Wyoming. In that part of the country seasonal jobs are are a very common way to make a living. All through the Rockies and the West, as the winter snows melt, people push their way up into the high country and the mountain wilderness areas for the summertime and early fall only to be chased out again when the snow starts to fly in late fall. Well, not always.

I do recall waking up one Fourth of July morning and looking out from beneath the wagon that I was sleeping under to see a summertime snowstorm dusting the the high meadow around me. But that's part of summertime in the Rockies, and I need to get back to the subject at hand.

Lots of folks who live in other areas of the U.S. or the world want to experience the mountains and wilderness areas of the American West. Many do that by joining organized groups or trips that will take them into those areas. For many years I worked alongside other local folk who made those trips possible. I worked as a camp cook, packer, wrangler and guide in the mountains of northwestern Wyoming. Often my job changed seasonally depending upon what outfit I signed on with. For many years I was hired by an outfitter as a cook and camp jack on his wagon train that rumbled through the high country on bumpy old logging roads east of Jackson's Hole. Guests would join the wagon train for about a week during which time the outfit would move daily from one camp to the next.

For many, this trip was the epitome of roughing it. Meals were prepared over an open cooking fire in huge cast iron pots and pans. Cakes were baked in dutch ovens buried in hot coals. Bathroom facilities were minimal. Pit toilets with a seat fixed atop a wooden box housed in a small tent served everyone. Wash water was heated over a fire. Bathing consisted of a sponge bath or, for the completely hardy ones, a plunge in a frigid mountain stream. Everyone slept in sleeping bags rolled out inside small tents that were pitched and taken down daily as the outfit moved from camp to camp.

The guests could take off on horseback after breakfast with some of the guides for day-long riding adventures and rejoin the wagin train later in the day. Or they could ride in the wagons and just enjoy the scenery as the teams pulled the wagons slowly along the old mountain roads. It was a fun job.

The men I worked with were a great bunch. We all worked hard and long every day. Our days would start about 5:00 A.M. and end around 9:00 P.M., but we all enjoyed the work in the mountains and sharing our country with visitors from all across the globe.

Trips began Monday morning and ended Saturday morning. Most weeks, the rest of the crew would take off once the guests were gone leaving me to tend to the camp, wagons and horses for the weekend until the whole affair began again the next Monday morning. I thoroughly enjoyed my solitary weekends when I had the outfit to myself. I'd go for short hikes, read books, write letters, get a leg up on chores for the week ahead, and in general just enjoy being alone with Nature and my thoughts. Sometimes I'd drive down to the nearest campground and buy a shower. Othertimes, I'd just find a good hole in a nearby creek and bathe in it.

This is one of those examples where an item on my list was simple, enjoyable, lasting and created more of those great memories I'll carry with me for the rest of my life.