Low Impact Horsecamping
Learned in the School of Hard Knocks"

excerpts from "Have Saddle-Will Travel,
by Don West

A HORSEMAN'S POSSIBLES, DON'T LEAVE HOME WITHOUT THEM:
HOPE FOR THE BEST, PREPARE FOR THE WORST, ACCEPT WHAT YOU GET
 One of the first, and most important lessons I learned back in Boy Scouts was the motto, "be prepared." It didn't take too many wet, cold, miserable camping trips to thoroughly reinforce the lesson. A positive attitude (choosing to focus on the donut instead of the hole), makes life a more joyful process, a gift to be enjoyed instead of a curse to be endured. At the same time, accumulated wisdom teaches that every road has its potholes. Most lessons are learned, not from our successes, but from our failures. In fact, it's hard to learn from mistakes you've never made! Usually (hopefully), the lessons are not fatal and help us to better meet our future challenges with greater success. To quote the Prophet Mohammed from the Koran, "Trust in Allah, but tie up your camel." Good, sound advice, not just in the desert, but in any part of the world. And, especially valuable if you are dealing with horses (I don't know much about camels).

To get the most from this gift, (life), one must first come to grips with the fact it is an adventure. My definition of the word adventure (that pleases me the most) is, a trip where you do not know what you will encounter. Anyone who has been around horses for a long time has probably come to realize that, by definition, every ride on a horse is "an adventure". Perhaps that is why horses add so much joy to those of us who share our lives with them. They take us out of the humdrum world that we, as a society have created for ourselves. They take us back a step, to a world where we are in touch with nature, and realized that we are a part of, not separate from nature. But, and there is always a but, let's face it: as much as we love them, horses, and riding, are dangerous!

Horses are large, powerful animals whose natural instinct is to run, buck, kick, or bite in the presence of what they perceive or interpret as danger. Usually this instinctive reflex far overshadows their ability to stop and reason. Under the right (or wrong) conditions, a fluttering piece of paper can scream a message to their brains: "Saber Tooth Tiger!" Without warning, horse and rider may be "off to the races," with uncertain and possibly unpleasant consequences. So, before you go for that next ride, think for a moment about the unscheduled events that might present themselves. You might find it worthwhile to do a little pre-ride preparation, and exercise the "seven P's" that I was taught in the Marine Corps: "proper prior planning prevents predictable (piss) poor performance." Be a good Scout and securely tie up your camel, just in case.

Years ago, as a teenager, I was captivated by a story about a solo, independent mountain man who braved the elements and tested his skills in the wildest country. He traveled with only his horse for transportation and companionship. He had a well selected kit of essentials, things that he could easily carry. These items he called his "possibles." This pure, self-selected form of adventure held a strong appeal for me, one that has not faded with time. Over the years it has become the unifying thread, woven through the fabric of my existence that has clothed the framework of my life. True, I live in another age and another time from my mountain man hero. I don't have to kill deer to feed the hunger in my belly. Instead, I stalk and study all of nature to feed the hunger in my soul. Through my many mini-adventures on horseback, I regularly revisit the places that reconnect me to the Mother Earth, and the spirit of the Universe.

Over the years, I have accumulated my own possibles; small items I habitually take along, wherever I go. I have found them useful in making my adventures more pleasant, more comfortable, and safer. In some instances, they have even saved my life, or the life of my horse. My possibles are my personal survival kit.

The first, and perhaps most important single item, one that I wouldn't go near a horse without having close at hand, is...a knife. Knives are like people, they come in all shapes and sizes. You'd think that selecting the right one would be an easy matter. Still I am often amazed (and amused) at some of the types of "critter stickers" that are proudly sported by nymrods in the back country. When picking the right horseman's knife, try to keep in mind what you might actually be using it for. You aren't Crocodile Dundee facing down punks in a New York City ghetto, John Wayne landing on the beach at Iwo Jima, or Jim Bowie fighting duels with river boat gamblers. You probably aren't even going to skin a grizzly, like David Crockett. You'd be better off selecting a knife that can cut a small rope, or spread peanut butter and jelly, without inflicting injury to the person wielding it.

A light, unobtrusive, sturdy, stubby, lock-back folding knife, one that can be kept in a belt sheath, fills the bill just fine. The easier it is to carry, without being in the way, the more likely you are to have it handy when your horse gets its lead rope snagged in a tree limb and decides to hang himself, after the short violent bucking fit that sends you airborne and leaves you shaken and firmly planted on your back side. Personally, I don't want the blade to be more than three inches long. That way, if I accidentally stab myself, it probably won't be fatal. So much for knives.

The other items I carry in a small nylon sack with a zipper opening. Everything stays clean, but is readily accessible. Some items vary with the season, but mostly they just come along for the ride, just in case I need them. I have found that when I do need them, I really need them, and I am very happy I didn't leave home without them.

Refer to appendix in the back of the book pg. 89 for "my list...my possibles. Add or subtract items as needed. Throw your possibles into your cantle bag, along with a good wind-breaker and a water bottle, and you're set to handle most of the mini-adventures that might waylay you out on the trail.

PLANNING FOR A LOW-IMPACT HORSE CAMPING TRIP
 Half the fun of any trip is the anticipation and the planning. For weeks, my friends and I had been pouring over maps of Colorado's West Elk Wilderness Area, imagining where we would camp, going over our menu with active (heated) discussions about what we would eat on what night, and, of course, who would do the cooking. Now at last, the time was at hand. Tomorrow, we would pack our horses and head on up the trail.

Seeing all the gear spread out on the floor, with piles of stuff thrown here and there, it was hard to believe that it was somehow all going to fit into our packs and panniers, to be carried by our trusty riding horses...along with us! Our objective tonight was to inspect all the equipment and to reduce it to the minimum weight and bulk that would still give us a reasonable margin of safety and comfort. Now was the time to scrutinize each item; to decide "in or out." We all agreed to abide by one basic rule: "when in doubt, leave it out." By traveling light we could eliminate the need for pack horses, saving extra work and hassles, and allowing ourselves more freedom. In the process, we would cause far less damage to the fragile mountain environment, leaving it looking untouched for others to enjoy, just the way we had found it...low- impact horse camping.

We started by first looking over the tack and equipment we were going to need for our horses. Of course, each horse and rider had their own saddle. The importance of this piece of gear cannot be over- emphasized. The more weight the horse is expected to carry, the more critical good saddle fit becomes. The bars of each saddle should make even contact along the horse's back, not create any sore spots, and spread the load over the maximum weight-bearing area. Naturally, the lighter the saddle the better. Each horse had a thick, clean, synthetic saddle pad. Synthetic materials wick sweat away from a horse's back without retaining moisture, keeping the horse dry and comfortable, and helping to reduce the possibility of developing sores. *

Each saddle was fitted with a crupper. When a horse goes downhill, it automatically tucks its tail under itself, tightening the crupper, and keeping the front of the saddle tree bars from riding up and over its shoulders with every step. The long down hill sections are where your horse is most vulnerable to sore muscles and related injuries.

Breast collars are also a must. They keep the saddle from sliding back on steep uphill pulls. Our saddles were equipped with a set of specially designed tapadero-style stirrups, with full floor, to keep the rider's foot from ever getting hung up, and eliminating the need for high-heeled boots. All the leather gear was freshly saddle soaped and lightly oiled (we use olive oil, not neatsfoot oil), then carefully inspected for weakness that might cause an accident or require a difficult repair out in the back country.

*Note: I now use an orthopedic pad, made of foam and synthetic felt, with good results.

Each horse had its own nylon halter and cotton lead rope. A small cow bell, attached to the halter at turnout time, was insurance against a misplaced horse (see pg. 17 of Pickets, Bells, and Hobbles"). Comfortable hobbles, a couple of rock climbing carabiners, and 50 feet of yellow polypropylene rope rounded out our tie-out gear. A properly fitted head set, including bridle, bit, and reins, completed the outfit. Oh yes, we all decided to take a few pounds of oats for horse treats. Treats help keep the horses hanging around camp, looking for more.

Personal items and clothing made up another pile. We each checked the items off our list (see Appendix pg. 88, "Personal Clothing List and Personal Items Possibles"). In a little group pile we had a small bottle of biodegradable soap, a larger first aid kit, fix-it kit, and of course, the maps and compass.

Clothing was chosen for its layering ability. Jeans and short sleeved cotton shirts were for riding in warm weather. Sturdy sneakers, or lightweight hiking shoes, with a couple pairs of wool or polypropylene socks were a must. Polypropylene (or one of the latest similar synthetics) long underwear, tops and bottoms, were added for cold weather or around camp and would serve as P.J.'s, too. A sweater or fleece jacket would keep us warm in a storm, or on chilly mornings. A baseball cap to shade the eyes, and a lightweight vest and wind-breaker were on everyone's list. A wool or poly-pro stocking hat and gloves, and rain gear, top and bottoms, filled out the list, assuring comfort in foul weather. Other than jeans, jockey shorts, a bandanna, and a light weight shirt, cotton clothing was left behind. They absorb moisture quickly, dry slowly, and can cause hypothermia if they get wet in foul weather.

For sleeping comfort, we each took a good quality backpacking sleeping bag: light weight and super compressible. Self-inflating, half-length air mattresses served double duty: to wrap tent poles, protecting them from damage on the trail, and to assure a good night's rest. They also convert to handy camp chairs. The tents, too, were ultra-light, two-man backpacking models.

All the cooking was going to be done on an ultra light-weight backpacking stove. Each person had their own spoon, cup, and bowl. They nestled into a stainless-steel pot and pan set. One quart of fuel, in an aluminum fuel bottle, assured enough cooking power for our three-day trip. A cigarette lighter, stored in the pot set, made lighting the stove easy.

Needless to say, our meals consisted mostly of dehydrated food, in order to save on weight and bulk; no heavy cans or fresh stuff (except for the hamburger and onion I smuggled in for the first night's spaghetti). Actually, dehydrated camping meals have "come a long way, baby," and don't taste all that bad, especially after a long day in the saddle! Salt and pepper, and some favorite spices, carried in 35 mm film canisters, can add a lot to the palatability of camp meals. And a fresh, steaming hot cup of coffee, made with a one cup gold filter, can ease the transition from the world of dreams to another day in the saddle, with a certain degree of civility.

Now we had everything sorted out. All we had to do was pack it. The clothing that we would not be wearing, along with other soft items, such as sleeping bag, part of the tent, and foam pad, all went into the cantle bag. This would ride on the horse's back, behind the saddle, without doing any damage or causing discomfort. Pots and pans, stove and fuel bottle, food, and all the group gear were divided by weight and bulk, and put into our well padded saddle bags. Water bottles, munchies, lunch for the trail, and such personal items as cameras were kept close at hand in pommel bags. That way, we wouldn't have to stop and dismount to get a quick drink, or a snack.

By the time we had everything packed and the compression straps cinched down on the load, it didn't look so bad after all! Although each horse would carry about fifty pounds of gear (including saddle and tack), it would be distributed so that it would cause the horse the least discomfort possible. Note: getting in shape and losing some extra, unwanted weight doesn't hurt anything either. Compassion for your horse might even give you that extra incentive to shed the pounds you put on over the winter!

We ran through our checklist one last time. Had we forgotten anything...or taken something we could have done without? Everything seemed to be in order. Tomorrow, like a bunch of modern-day Conquistadors, we would be off on our own horseback adventure.

 BACK COUNTRY ETHICS AND UNFORGETTABLE MOMENTS
Every trip has its "special moments", those little events that come along when least expected, to make an otherwise routine experience live repeatedly in your memory. As time consumes the details of day to day events, these little daggers keep a fresh edge and maintain their sharpness. Let me give you one personal example; so you'll understand what I'm talking about. I had been with my clients for two days (and nights), almost full time. Although they were interesting people, and had been great company, I was looking forward to a little escape into my own private space. In short, I needed some time alone.

We had made a high camp, right below timberline, where a group of ancient spruce trees stood tall, like sentinels, guarding a small pass, crowded in by two 13,000-foot peaks that towered like citadel spires, above. A side valley, carved into the larger of the two mountains, by ages of glaciers that receded 10,000 years ago, now provided a foothold for a meadow with a little stream meandering through it. Further up the ever-steepening hill sides, the native grasses reluctantly gave way to thick groves of aspen. Above that, nothing but huge boulder fields of granite blocks, piled helter-skelter on top of each other, covered the mountain side. They could be seen, running up to the skyline like giant metallic fingers, as though a steel gloved hand had reached down and crushed the stunted spruce trees that clung to the well-defined ridge lines.

My plan was to get up before dawn, climb up one of these talus slopes, and have a world class view of the land that fell away at my feet; a mini-solo for sunrise. And, that was exactly what I did! The moon had dropped down below the horizon, off in the west, a few hours earlier. In the heavy, nearly absolute darkness, that proceeded the dawn the stars glittered in the sky as though a black blanket had been riddled with pinholes, and thrown over the Earth, with a brilliant light source behind it. I had planned (and carefully studied) my route the evening before. Just as I had imagined, it was fairly easy going...at first. Huge blocks of granite, unmoved for eons, trundled grudgingly under my weight. They made a deep, growly noise as they reluctantly shifted their position. Sometimes their movement created enough friction to release ozone. The unmistakable smell came wafting up to fill my nostrils, an interesting, but seemingly out-of-place aroma.

As I climbed higher, my route became steeper. The boulders diminished in size until I was walking on a stack of dinner plate sized slabs that made a clattering sound as they rearranged themselves under my feet, with every step. I just let my intuition be my guide. Having no final destination in mind, I just searched for a place that felt "right"--my perfect spot--my throne in the wilderness. At last, I was alone, and at peace with the world.

I didn't have to go far. I was only fifteen minutes out of camp, and perhaps 100-yards above it, but still I felt as though I was in a different, separate universe. I sat down on a made-to-order boulder and just let the peace and quiet sink into me. Already, streaks of color were starting to show on the eastern horizon. The skyline began to shimmer. First light was only minutes away.

As I sat there, eyes closed, breathing deeply, lost in my own reverie, waiting, I enjoyed the feel of the shifting breezes, caressing my face through the darkness. Then, unexpectedly, another smell came floating out of the darkness. Almost indistinguishable, like a phantom, it was there for a moment and then gone. It was faint, but familiar. No, I must be mistaken! That smell could not be what I thought it was. Could it?! But, sure enough, there it was again.

The sun popped up abruptly, like a red rubber ball. It showered the landscape with long streaks of light; an absolutely, although momentarily, spectacular way to start the day. And in the brilliant light that now illuminated everything, I saw just below me a large mound of human feces, with a streamer of white toilet paper stuck to its top, gently flapping in the morning breeze.

As you might guess, for me, the magic spell was broken. I have to be honest here. I was annoyed to find, in such an unaesthetic way, that I was not the first person to enjoy "my spot". Those of us who appreciate the wilderness qualities of our adventures prefer to at least try to create (and maintain) the illusion that we are the first to visit the wild places we seek out. In order to foster this fantasy, we must all discipline ourselves, establish environmentally friendly policies and procedures, and practice low-impact camping techniques. Our goal should be to leave the wilderness looking untouched, exactly as we found it, so that someone else can enjoy it in the same way we did. That's the guiding principle...and the challenge.

We already know that by reducing the number of horses to a minimum, by keeping on the trails and being extra careful riding through fragile areas, we are practicing good back country horse manners. We have talked about tying out our horses, using tree saver straps and high lines to lower our impact. But what about the things we do ourselves? How do we reduce our own wear and tear on the wilderness we love?

One of my favorite rules to live by says "imitate success." Our backpacking counterparts have been doing a good job, and have set the standards in this department for many years. This is, at least in part due to the fact that it is hard work to pack tools of destruction into the wild places when you have to carry them on your own back. But, in all fairness, it can also be said that the early day backpackers had a strong sense of true wilderness values and were vigilant in wanting to preserve the natural features of the environment. From them, we have inherited the mandate, and have been shown the techniques needed, to take nothing but pictures and leave nothing but footprints (or hoof prints).

On the other hand, many professional guides and packers saw the wilderness through more utilitarian eyes. They were men who made their living from the land, often farmers, ranchers, and loggers who took up packing in dudes and tenderfeet as an extra source of income. They viewed the back country more as a commodity to be used in the spirit of taming it, rather than a sanctuary to be appreciated by preserving it.

We still see the end product of this "macho" attitude in the luxury horse pack trips that include canvas-wall tents, fold up cots, tables and chairs, foam mattresses, sheepherder's stoves, chain saws, generators for electric lights and heaters, and steak and lobster meals served ten miles from the road head (by "authentic" looking cowboys). As appealing as these "city-slicker" outings may appear in glossy magazine pictures, portraying them as a piece of nostalgia right out of the "Old West," there is a heavy price to be paid for these opulent wilderness excursions. It's not just the "dudes" that pay the price, it's the wilderness. Other wilderness users are well aware of, and are getting fed up with, our bad back country manners.

So, what can we do, and equally important, what shouldn't we do? Let's deal first with the business that I first eluded to, and then move on. If you plan to stay out in the back country for more than one day, and unless you eat nothing but vitamin pills and lomotile (Imodium), you will probably, at some point, have to make a toilet. Human feces spread disease, (as well as smelling and looking unpleasant). It is not unusual to find one, along with an accompanying wad of used toilet paper, under every medium sized rock, within easy walking distance of well used campsites. For this activity it is best to choose a site well away from camp, and well away from all water. Pick an area with good soil, dig a "cat hole" hole about six to eight inches deep, first removing the top layer (to replace last). When you have completed your mission, (done your duty), put your toilet paper into a zip lock bag, and either pack it out or burn it in an appropriate, safe place. When you are done, fill the hole back in. Remember, a good long hike out of camp usually makes this a more thoroughly satisfying, and solitary, contemplative experience, so don't have it cut short by an unexpected intrusion on your privacy. Take your time. Enjoy nature, and go long.

After a day or two of traveling, another consideration might be how to take a bath. Don't just take your shampoo, go down to the beaver pond, jump in and lather up. Soap, even biodegradable soap contaminates streams and lakes. The best method for washing yourself is to heat a few pots of water on your stove, go well away from the stream and wash yourself with a little washcloth, and then rinse off with the warm water. Then, when you are clean, if you still want to go for a dip, have at it. Usually, at least in the mountains, you won't stay in very long.

Dishes should be washed the same way, that is, well away from the stream site. Finding strands of the spaghetti the last traveler scraped off his or her pots along the stream bank is unappetizing when you go to fill your pots to boil cooking water. Don't rationalize cleaning dishes as "just feeding the fish". Take the extra precautions. Keep the streams clean.

Note: Almost all back country water is now polluted with giardia and bacteria. Speaking from first hand experience, diarrhea is not compatible with high quality horseback riding. To avoid the very unpleasant consequences of ingesting these tiny devils be sure to boil all water (rolling boil), or treat every quart with two or three drops of iodine (wait 30 minutes). Backpacking filters are also great, provided that you follow the instructions carefully and don't get your filtered water contaminated.

Another wise practice is to always wash your hands with a little bleach, before you handle food or begin cooking. Hand transferred fecal contamination is a real cause of concern in back country cooking. Hygiene is important! Rinse your dishes in a bleach solution before you put them away, that helps, too.

On the subject of cooking: In this day and age, with more and more people wanting to use less and less wilderness, fires should only be used for emergencies. All cooking should be done on gas stoves. If you feel you must have a fire, reserve it for a special night, and keep it small. Gather firewood far away from camp (most campsites are already stripped of dead wood as high as you can reach, from previous campers). Spread out your wood gathering, so that it is not noticeable, and use as little as possible. Prepare the fireside by removing the top layers of soil, down to mineral soil, and then carefully replace it afterwards, the next morning, when you are absolutely sure the fire is dead out. Do not keep the fire going all night. Burn all firewood down to white ash.

With everything you do, remember, this is a fragile environment. It needs our thoughtful care to survive. Not only is it a pleasing thought that someone else might enjoy finding it "intact" as you did, who knows, you might even come this way again yourself someday.

This book is available in it entirety from Have Saddle-Will Travel, Inc., Innovative Outfitter. To get your autographed copy go to www.havesaddlewilltravel.com, www.donwest.net, or call 800-821-3607.