San Rafael River Ride- 2001

For the past several years members of the Poison River Party of the American Mountain Men have convened in the San Rafael Swell area of central Utah for a several day horse trip into the scenic canyons there. This year I was fortunate enough to go along. My fortune was only made possible by my father owning two horses and the truck and trailer to transport them. It was even my greater fortune to have him come along.

We all met at the bottom of Buckhorn Wash in the shadows of a towering sandstone formation known as "Assembly Hall Peak." "We" were comprised of My father and I, Justin Hall, Bill Keith(Yaro), Dean Rudy and Chas & Mary Kaye Rauch. The plan was to leave vehicles at the starting point and shuttle some vehicles to the destination point. Some stayed in camp while others shuttled the vehicles and by 8:00 p.m. we were all back at the starting point. We stayed there that night and arose early Saturday morning to begin the trip.

It is always an adventure when you get a group of horses together that aren't familiar with each other. Such was the case here, and upon saddling up and mounting, the remuda was all excited and raring to go. I was riding one of Dads mares called "Antic" and leading the packhorse "Dash-Away." Dad was riding a little mare he had rented which I nicknamed "Geronimo" for the duration of the trip. The packhorse didn't like strange horses near her and exhibited her annoyance by kicking at them if they approached her from behind. This happened almost immediately, which sort of upset the packs. Dad dismounted and got the packs retied and we were off again with better spacing between us.

The morning was pleasantly cool with a few light clouds. The scenery was simply stunning. The towering cliffs to our left rose several hundred feet and the many shades or red and brown were beautiful. Across the canyon and river to the south were similar cliffs equally as magnificent but in hues of yellow. It was simply an incredible experience.

It took several miles of wrestling with my horses before they settled down to the pace of the road. At one point the lead group paused and I was able to pass them. Being in front of the other horses seemed to settle mine down since they didn't feel compelled to try to gain the lead.

Frequent gullies and small canyons broke up the country we rode through, so we were not able to strike across country, but had to stick to the road. A few vehicles passed and the passengers stared at us since we were all dressed in our Mountain Man regalia.

Several hours of riding brought us to the Upper Black Box trailhead. Located there was a metal corral, which provided us an excellent place to tie up and rest. We unsaddled the stock and reclined in the shade for a welcome drink and some trail food. Dad and I had packed extra water, so we gave our horses a drink from Dad's hat. It wasn't much but they seemed to enjoy it.

After an hour or so, we saddled up and were back on the trail. Dad was out of the gate first and rode ahead. The rest of us stayed together and followed Dad along the road to the east. After a couple miles we took a short detour to the south to the rim of the Black Box. It's a narrow gorge about 500 feet deep. The rock is a dark color unlike to surrounding red sandstone, thus the name. After we admired the view and having taken a few photos we headed back out to the main road where we met Dad who had circled back wondering where we were.

The next few hours were spent in endless motion across the open spaces as we continued east toward an access point along the San Rafael River. We could clearly see the monolithic Mexican Mountain in the distance, which is the most prominent geographic feature in the area.

In the late afternoon the topography began to change as we reached the rim of the drainage and began our descent to the river. The trail here was quite interesting as it wound along in snake like fashion with numerous dips and rises. Finally we caught a glimpse of the river and  the horses caught wind of it also and seemed to find a little reserved energy as they quickened their pace.

The bank of the San Rafael was a mite steep where we wanted to cross, but that didn't stop us from trying, and the horses needed very little coaxing before they hopped right into the shallow waters. It was satisfying to watch them as they eagerly slaked their thirst with many gallons of water. The bank on the opposite side was level and grassy and had numerous cottonwood trees with plenty of deadfall around; just the things needed for a good horse camp. And so we dismounted and went about making things comfortable for the night.

We unsaddled and staked them out to graze before we dug waterfilters out of our saddlebags and made for the riverbank to quench our own dry throats. The waters of the river are kind of thick here, nevertheless we filtered a few quarts each and drank  until we could hold no more or could no longer tolerate the taste.

The evening hours were filled with preparing beds, watching horses, and cooking a simple meal. The area around the camp was very picturesque with towering red rock cliffs on several sides along with the abundant vegetation along the river way.

At one point I heard some commotion coming from the direction of our horses and went to take a look. The mare Dad had rented was thrashing around on the ground, and I noticed she had tangled a rear leg in her lead rope. Several times I attempted to get close enough to help her out, and each time she would thrash wildy about making an approach quite risky. Finally she was able to extricate herself and get back on her feet. We discovered that she had cut her ankle in all the kicking. Fortunately Chas had some ointment in his kit and we were able to borrow some and smear it on the leg. The mare seemed to be no worse for the wear and I led her about to graze for a while longer.

With the horses fed and watered we all retired to the shade where we had dropped our bedrolls. We were all pretty tired and thirsty, but there was laughter and small talk to be shared as we discussed the day's activities. A fire pit was soon arranged and water put on to boil. The remaining sunlight was spent cooking over the coals and enjoying company of campmates.

Morning arrived to soon after a restless night listening to horses stomp and chew and cough. The night had been warm and I did not even need the blankets I had brought.  We put the horses out to graze once more as we had a quick breakfast and packed our gear. The morning was spectacular as the tops of the surrounding cliffs were blazing with the rising sun.

We were all soon back in the saddle and headed east around the north side of Mexican Mountain. The horses were all fidgety again and full of energy.  A mile of so down the trail it narrowed between a cliff face and a steep drop into the river. It was here that Yaro's mount was suddenly spooked and it bolted quickly to the left leaving him in a pile of dust where the horse had been standing a moment before. I looked up just in time to see him bounce once. We were all a little shocked and worried until ole Yaro sat up and got this breath back. I wanted to request that Yaro not stir up so much dust, but thought I'd mention it later.

Our destination today was Chas' truck and trailer parked about seven miles to the east as the crow flies. That would seem to an easy jaunt and would have been if not for the 500 feet of cliff in our way. Apparently in days past rustlers had pioneered a trail over the rim and it was this trace we were searching for. A USGS marker confirmed that we had found the right side canyon, but the trail grew more rugged by the minute. Just a couple hundred yards up the canyon we stopped to access the trail and discuss our options. Horses that were out of shape were already breathing hard and some were bleeding from nicks and cuts on their lower legs. In hopes that the trail would improve, we opted to push on farther. Another few hundred yards and we were again halted as the trail took a turn up a steep set of ledges. Here we paused as Chas hiked up to reconnoiter a route. The trail however had already taken enough of a toll on the horses and it was clear that inspite of rustlers and outlaws past success in getting over this cliff, we wouldn't be following their trail today. I hiked up and caught up with Chas and informed him of our decision to turn back. Chas has ridden rough trail many times before and so was reluctant to give up easily, but from our vantagepoint the possibility of getting to the top was appeared even more remote.

After palavering below, it was decided that Chas would hike over the top and bring his truck around to the starting point, while the rest of us started back the way we had come.

Returning to the mouth of the side canyon we had been up, the horses smelled water and it was hard to avert a stampede as we headed for the river. There we spent a few minutes refilling canteens using filters, adjusting saddles and having a few bites of trail rations. The cool morning hours were now gone and heat rising out of the brush was at times stifling, but all were in good spirits as we headed back along familiar paths.

Each of us were lost in our own thoughts and I pondered on Jedediah Smith and his party who had crossed through country similar to this near here 170 plus years earlier. It's impossible for us to understand the feelings and emotions of men who carried their homes with them and who were surrounded by a thousand miles of wilderness. Conversely as we rode along we knew that at the end of that day we would be back at our homes, with our families, and with all the comforts of life. Meanwhile we could allow ourselves the chance to glimpse back in time and for a few minutes ride with the ghosts of old.

We passed the site of our camp from the previous evening and continued up the winding trail. At one point we passed through a gate that acted as a border to wilderness study lands. A few wide-eyed tourists were there as we came through. It was here that we had another small wreck as Mary Kaye's horse suddenly spooked and came charging up the trail. Apparently she had got off to adjust the saddle and something spooked the horse. I tried to block the trail with my horse and the packhorse I was leading. Unfortunately the horses would not cooperate and Mary's horse went right on by. Justin was relatively unburdened at the time and I suggested he head down the trail to keep Mary's horse from leaving the area. Fortunately the runaway turned and headed off the road to an area she could not easily escape. After a short run in the sand uphill, the horse stopped and gave up. It was apparent that Justin would soon catch the horse, so I continued west along the road thinking the others would soon catch me.

It was now midafternoon and the weather was warm and clear. I soon found myself alone on the trail, as the others were longer getting started again than I had thought. It was very quiet along the way and the vistas were incredible. Again I marveled at how lucky I was to be out here  enjoying this opportunity. As before, I wondered at the lives of the trappers long passed. Would I have had the metal to withstand such a harsh existence? It seemed so romantic now as I rode alone in relative comfort, but I surmised that the romance would soon disappear with the reality of everyday survival. Be that as it may, I was reveling in the solitude and aura of the moment.

It was more than an hour before a glance to the rear revealed that my trail companions were gaining on me and eventually they closed the gap and I once again had good company.

We rode along until we reached the corral we had rested at the day before. Here I suggested that we might try to get a ride with someone back to the trucks, and then bring the rigs here to pick up the whole remuda. Unfortunately there was no one else around at the corral. Mary suggested that her horse was in good shape, and that she would like to ride ahead to the trucks and bring them back. Justin also felt his horse had enough left to make the ride, so the both of them headed out at a quicker pace. The rest of us gladly stretched out in the available shade and enjoyed warm canteen water, jerky and dried fruits.

While we waited, we unsaddled the horses and brushed them down. Previous visitors to this corral had left a little hay about which our horses seemed to really enjoy. It seems as though they hadn't been getting their normal amount of feed. I'm sure they were no worse for the wear, but I smiled at their eagerness to vacuum up any edible twigs or leaves.

It didn't seem to long before the sound of the trucks announced their pending arrival. We hailed Mary and Justin as our rescuers somewhat with tongue in cheek. They said they had enjoyed the eight-mile trot and that their horse stood up well.

We loaded the string of horses and ourselves and headed back to the site of our first nights camp. Upon arrival we again let the horses out for another drink from the river. We had optimistically hoped that Chas might be waiting for us there, but he was not. We decided that we all didn't need to wait for Chas, so Yaro and Justin headed home after a hearty farewell. The rest of us sat down and for what we thought would surely be a short wait. We all grew more anxious with each passing minute as we were not sure of the circumstances of our fellow mountaineer Chas. The worry we all felt was most clearly reflected on Mary's face. Eventually we began to discuss plans if Chas didn't show by a given time. It was now approximately 5:30. We decided that if he didn't arrive by 6:00 p.m., that we would drive the loop toward the location of where we had left his truck two days before. If we didn't find him then, we would go over to the town of Green River and call out the search and rescue.

All this was unnecessary as a few minutes later the familiar site of Chas' dark red Dodge truck appeared over the hill. We all let out a sigh of great relief, and it was pleasing to see the expression on Mary's face as her loved one was proven to be safe. It seems Chas had had quite a day since we had separated. From the top of the cliff that had blocked us he said the country became a maze of steep canyons on the other side. He mentioned that it was good we had turned back because in his opinion we would never have made it down the other side with horses. He had been forced to back track several times and box canyons or drop-offs blocked his way. He had eventually found his way down and out to the dirt road, but not before exhausting his water and food. With dogged determination and a bit of luck, he had made the truck and found welcome sustenance their.

Reunited once again, all was well and Chas and Mary, Dean Rudy, my Father and I all bade farewell to each other and took separate trails in the dimming light of evening.  Dad and I discussed the events of the trip as we drove and expressed our own favorite moments. It had been a great experience and one I shall long remember. The red rock canyons and cliffs of the San Rafael Swell are a great place for modern mountaineers to relive the days of old and try their skills. And so we had.