The steep uphill gravel road to the ranch is in rough shape.

“It’s only open from June to October,” Curt says while navigating the large ruts. “Hopefully it will be graded by next week when you head out.”

Passing pine forests and rolling green hills, we arrive at a reservoir reflecting the snowcapped mountains before entering the gates of Spear-O-Wigwam, which sport a 100th anniversary banner on the fence.

Founded in 1923 by Willis Spear, a local rancher, the 17-acre property with seven cabins continues its dude ranch legacy through investors with local ties.

The fire crackles in the lounge next to the dining area, where I enjoy a meal of lasagna and Caesar salad with some of the other other guests, here for day rides or kayaking, canoeing, and fishing. In my quaint riverside cabin, I organize my gear for tomorrow’s pack trip.

Day 1

A moose, not bothered by my presence, wanders the grounds as I head for breakfast, a smorgasbord of fruit, quiche, pancakes and sausage. Our host, Mark Patterson of Cross Country Equine, introduces me to Gabby and Lydia, who will join me and returning guest Joleen on the pack ride.

As instructed, we arrive at the main corral with our bags where Pence, Claude and Pistol stand quietly as Mark meticulously weighs and loads every piece before placing it in their packs, checking constantly for even distribution.

“It’s key to not having to stop on the trail to fix anything,” he declares.

Mark chooses Canyon, a sturdy draft cross, for me, and two Norwegian Fjord crosses, Princess and Babydoll, for Lydia and Gabby. Joleen is given her favorite horse from last year’s ride, Chester, while Mark leads the pack on Swede (both their mounts are Norwegian Fjords).

We head out of the corral, crossing the first creek of many, one with a spectacular backdrop of mountains. Green meadows full of colorful wildflowers lead us to an uphill path in the woods. Canyon carefully chooses his way through the narrow, rocky parts.

“Let the horses pick their way, and make sure they have forward momentum, especially on the steep parts,” Mark advises. “It’s harder for them to get their legs in front of them if they slip when going uphill.”

At 9,760 feet, the tree line opens to breathtaking views of Geneva Pass and Geneva Lake before arriving at the camp at Crystal Lake, where rocky cliffs reflect on the water’s surface.

We untack the horses and turn them out for a well-deserved roll and to graze in the fenced-in area surrounding camp. Several teepees, including one for cooking, spot the grounds. Mark unpacks the bags and I change into my bathing suit for a quick dip in the chilly yet refreshing water.

After a scrumptious steak dinner, I drift off to sleep on the cot in my teepee to the sound of the melting snow cascading over the rocks into the lake.

Day 2

The cliffs glow in the morning light behind the horses grazing at the lake shore.

A full day at camp allows for exploration deeper into the Cloud Peak Wilderness area, an expanse of 295 square miles in the Bighorn Mountain Range, which has been protected by the Wyoming Wilderness act since 1984.

Mark trims branches from fallen trees on the trail that climbs to spectacular views. The Solitude loop takes us to the high country of remote lakes, cascading waterfalls, fast-running streams and snow still lingering in the mountains crevices.

The shore of Cliff Lake across from its jagged rock edges provides a peaceful lunch stop. On the way back to camp, we cool off the horses in the deep water of a small lake, sometimes belly deep. I take advantage of the clear night sky to watch the shooting stars before heading to my teepee for the night.

Day 3

In the early morning we help take down camp, as it will be the last trip here this season.

“The pasture is pretty much done,” Mark says. “And with any luck, the snow has melted enough to head to Beaver Creek camp for the next pack trip.”

Mark diligently weighs each box and bag before loading up the pack horses.

With total confidence in Canyon, I’m now relaxed over the steep, rocky terrain and can simply enjoy the views of the Bighorn Mountains against the blue sky. We allow the horses to drink at each of the numerous creek crossings before arriving at the familiar green meadow just before the ranch.

At Spear-O-Wigwam, we have time to untack, say our goodbyes and head into Sheridan for the rodeo’s opening night—I truly feel like a cowgirl now!

To learn more, visit @crosscountryequine on Instagram or go to spearowigwam.com.

This article about a pack ride in Wyoming appeared in the August 2024 issue of Horse Illustrated magazine. Click here to subscribe!

The post A Pack Ride in Wyoming appeared first on Horse Illustrated Magazine.

Requests from the sheriff were usually interesting, and after deciding I could fit this unknown call into my schedule, I answered the phone.

An injured horse had been discovered by some hikers. They’d tried to lead the horse to safety, but the hurt animal refused to move. The best description I could get was “some sort of leg injury.”

He was way, way back in the high country, deep in an area of backcountry where I wasn’t even sure I could get my vet truck. Fortunately, a deputy who knew the area volunteered to drive me in as close as he could. We’d have to hike the rest of the way to the horse.

Trekking Out

How would I pack a vet kit with so little information? I made my best guesses as to what I’d likely need and met the deputy and an animal control officer at the police station.

We piled into the squad car and began the long climb into the mountainous area. It wasn’t long before we hit unmaintained dirt roads. Conditions deteriorated quickly as gravel turned to mud—and more mud.

We spun furiously up one hill only to slide sideways down the next, and I noticed that conversation had stopped completely as we all hung on for dear life, mud spraying the windows and sides of the squad car. The animal control officer in the backseat was a pale shade of green. I wasn’t in much better shape, but the deputy was chuckling as we sloshed and slid up and down the roads.

“You seem to be enjoying this,” I said as my head bounced off the window and the edge of the road loomed close, then veered away again. I dug my nails into the vinyl covering the armrest, holding on tightly.

“Oh, I’ve been driving these roads since I was a kid,” said the deputy cheerfully. “Know ’em like the back of my hand.”

Suddenly the squad car bucked heavily and jittered sideways, then the back end dropped off the road and the car came to a halt. Everyone was silent.

“Just like the back of your hand, huh?” the animal control officer said dryly. I sighed and reached for my pack. We were marooned in deep mud at the bottom of a steep hill and clambered out, slipping and sliding.

“This way,” the deputy said as he hurried down the shoulder of the road into the woods. “I know a shortcut that’ll get us right to the horse!”

The animal control officer and I had no choice but to follow him, his long legs striding through the trees. He began to climb a steep hill and I huffed after him, my heavy pack rattling against my back and legs.

We reached what I thought was the top, only to see another tree-covered mountain stretching away above us, the deputy never slowing his pace as he continued his rapid climb uphill.

After a 20-minute sweaty trek, we heard a voice hollering and the deputy hollered back and changed his course slightly. We traversed along a ridge, then dropped off the backside into a gully.

The Horse at Last

I could see the white horse below us, standing with one front leg extended. I forgot my fatigue and sped down the backcountry hill to my patient.

As I approached, I could see it was a mare, and she bobbed her head up and down unhappily, a horrible laceration on her front leg. I spoke to her gently as she sniffed my hand and arm. I was able to slide my halter over her head.

She had a fever and an elevated heart rate, and the leg was hard, hot and swollen with infection. There was a not-very-fresh laceration exposing part of a flexor tendon, and she trembled as I palpated the sore leg.

We brought her a small collapsible container of water, which she drank rapidly. I placed an IV and ran 5 liters of fluids, which was all that I’d been able to carry.

I injected a mild sedative and pain and anti-inflammatory medicines, then went to work on the awful injury. I removed a great deal of debris from the tissues, cleaned the tendon and its glistening sheath carefully, and infused antibiotic into every crevice.

Suturing was impossible; the tissues were dry and contracted, so I packed the clean wound with saline-soaked gauze sponges and bandaged it under a thick wrap.

We gave her a little more to drink, and she was much brighter, venturing a step or two on the leg. After some coaxing, she began to hobble, then to walk, her strides improving quickly, and she eagerly marched over to a grassy section and ate with gusto. I gave her several different antibiotic shots as she grazed, and soon we were ready to begin the trip out of the backcountry.

End of the Backcountry Journey

The mare did her best, but it was slow going. We were all exhausted when we finally exited the backcountry and reached a road where a trailer could get to us. It was another long wait for the trailer, but the mare happily grazed while we rested, and soon we had her loaded and headed back into town.

The mare had surgery the next day and went on to make a full recovery. The owner, a kind older gentleman, was located by the animal control officer, and was deeply grateful for the care we’d given his sweet mare whose name turned out to be Betsy Ross. He paid his bill in full and he and his wife sent lovely thank-you cards to everyone who helped save Betsy.

But I never did find out how the deputy got his squad car out.

This article originally appeared in the August 2019 issue of Horse Illustrated magazine. Click here to subscribe!

The post Crisis in the Backcountry appeared first on Horse Illustrated Magazine.