Possessions

Posted on January 29, 2012 by Sea G Rhydr

Heading into the Wilderness we had to carry everything we would need, for all of us, in order to have a reasonable chance of coming out the other side alive.  We would not have cell ‘phone reception or internet access for at least 12 days.  We needed to be self-sufficient and prepared.  So much of this journey has been a daily walk of grace.  There is no way to plan for the responses of strangers; for the unknowns of being travelers with horses in a place where all of the land we are traveling through is owned by someone.  There is less need for planning when we are moving along roads and past stores and in easy range of communication.  The Wilderness is a very different sort of experience.  There was not much margin for error – our carrying capacity was finite.  What did we Need – and what extras were worth the weight?

“The more you know, the less you need.”  I heard those words in my head both as a challenge to my knowledge and skills – and somewhat mockingly as I looked at the pile of gear and food that we planned to pack into the Wilderness on our ponies.  Our “extra” packhorse was suddenly carrying a full load of her own.  The amount of “necessary” stuff always seems to increase to fill the available space.  This is equally true of vehicles, apartments and estates, but it really snaps into focus when the load must be packed up and loaded, carried along with us everywhere we go, with no place to pick up something we forgot.  Everything we carry is blessing and burden.  This is the balance, as much as the size and weight, of the object in question.  Every day we move we have to pack up everything and load it onto the ponies.  Every night we have to make camp and stow everything we own Somewhere.  This is one of the most difficult aspects of the trip – and we often discuss what we can get rid of in order to make our lives easier.

We become defined by our possessions.  We have become “The Women Traveling By Horseback.”  Someone at the hot springs asked if we were the people who owned the horses.  I later had the realization that the horses own us every bit as much as we own them.  At this point our lives are largely taken up with figuring out how to feed and water and care for our herd, and how to move the journey forward.  This is who we are.  We are the custodians of our possessions, the caretakers of the beings and objects with which we share our lives.  When we head off into the Wilderness, the decisions we make about what to take with us can have serious consequences.  Do we or don’t we pack the pepper spray as a defense against bears?  Two cans?  What goes in the first aid kit?  How much food do we need for ourselves and how much for the ponies?  Can we stay warm enough?  What about rain?  How many books do we really think we’ll read?  Spare batteries?  Can we count on cooking over a fire most of the time and how does that effect the amount of denatured alcohol we pack for the camp stove?  Do we have a plan B if the creek rises or there’s an accident?

We called the Ozena Ranger station on Friday before we left.  The ranger filled us in on which roads were closed for the season, water levels in the creek, campsites on the way out.  He said he’d be at the ranger station by 8am on Saturday and we could sign the fire permits and pick up maps.  Cool.  Saturday morning we loaded the ponies into B’s trailer and he drove us down to the trailhead, via the ranger station.  No Ranger.  We knocked and called.  No Ranger.  Plan B – and we hadn’t even gotten started yet.  We took photos of the maps on the display boards – they were not detailed maps, but it was something.  We left without fire permits ($10,000 fine for Any use of flame without them) but carried a list of the regulations D had printed out for us on his computer.  We left without maps.

We’d been in at Willets Hot Springs for a week, supplementing the graze with a bag of alfalfa pellets we found, partially eaten by rodents, in the “bunker”  (a cement room with a steel door which we were using for our food storage), when Finehorn colicked.  Colic, aka tummy ache, is a serious situation in a horse.  Horses lack the ability to vomit, so anything that goes in has to go through, and if they roll on the ground to try and ease the cramps they can twist a section of their intestine so that nothing can pass through.  We hadn’t packed Banamine (a muscle relaxant) or a vet.  We started walking with Finehorn, listening for gut sounds (a healthy horse Always has gut sounds) and offering her water.  She was sweating and uncomfortable, obviously wishing we’d just leave her alone, but we kept walking her, not knowing what else to do.  We’d found a 1/2 bottle of Wild Turkey in the cabin and had a 1/2 bottle of Olive Oil; we’d go old school if it came down to that, but after a few hours she passed some dark green stinky piles and rapidly returned to normal.  Of course, we know Finehorn is sensitive to alfalfa – and here we’d been feeding her compressed alfalfa – no wonder she got sick!  Lesson learned – and cheaply at that.

Sunday, the day before we left Willets, we met a couple who gave us their topo map which covered the route out via Sespe Hot Springs and Mutau Flats.  As it turned out, we Really needed that map!  But that’s a story for another day…

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Hot Springs and High Country

Posted on January 22, 2012 by Sea G Rhydr

Sometimes I wonder what the ponies make of all this.  They have ways of making their preferences clear, and we do our best to respect that and work with them, but it is amazing and humbling how readily and steadily they carry us and our gear down highways and over mountains,  fording rivers and waiting at red lights, patient with barking dogs and honking cars and our occasional ineptitudes…

When we got the horses out of the trailer at the Piedra Blanca trailhead Daisy acted like she’d never seen a pine tree before.  It’s quite possible.  She’d certainly never been packed before and here we were coming at her with bright yellow dry bags and a big white wizard’s cloak to wear.  She sniffed and blew stiff-nosed suspicion at each stage of the process, and stepped mighty high and careful when we first led her out, but never balked or faltered – and by the time we reached camp I had tied the rope up to her pack and she was following Jesse’s tail like she’d been packing all her life.  Jesse was keen to travel, feeling sure and strong and sound under me for the first time in a month and so very happy to be heading away from tarmac and traffic and onto mountain trails.

The ride in was gorgeous, big smooth rocks, orange buff ochre gravel,  scrub grass and sage – good footing for the horses and a beautiful trail that looped and crossed and followed and rose above the Sespe Creek – beauty every way we looked.  Gryph had her hands full riding Finehorn and ponying Cowgirl who was carrying our precariously packed food – the backpack boys we met were impressed!

We missed the turn-off for Willet’s Hot Springs (just as well, since the parking lot had been full of cars and the Springs and camps were just as full of backpackers).  By the time we realized our mistake it was getting dark – we turned around and backtracked to the last campable spot we’d seen, Jesse snorting and grumbling his disgust at our navigational skills.  We untacked the ponies, tethered Jesse and Finehorn, turned Cowgirl loose, and wondered what to do with Daisy.  I was holding her on a long pony rope and letting her graze and she seemed to be sorting herself pretty well, careful of the rope and calm, so I put her on the long thick cotton training tether and joined Gryph in setting up camp.  We’d brought more food than we could hoist up in the bear-bags – so we hung the smelliest stuff, and Gryph slept with the can of “Frontiersman” pepper spray cocked and ready for bear.

Daisy got a little tangled once or twice, but stopped and listened as we helped her out of her predicament.  Tethering is something that horses have to learn how to do – it took Jesse months (and Finehorn weeks) to become adept at navigating the long rope.  We had no idea if Daisy had ever tethered before, but at least she was being sensible.  Then suddenly she wasn’t being sensible any more – she got herself in a bind and threw a fit – horseshoes throwing sparks off of careless rocks that got in her way, a great thrashing about that ended with Daisy lying on the ground, not tangled up in any way.  She scrambled to her feet and then randomly threw herself down once again with a great groan – we rushed to her side where she lay as if she were merely resting for a spell and none of that undignified behaviour had ever happened.  We checked her over for injuries and she was fine, we hung out with her for awhile, scratching her mane and stroking her neck and then encouraged her to get to her feet, which she did with a great shake.  We tied her to an overhead limb for the night, to be on the safe side.

The next day, after a cold but otherwise uneventful night, we packed up and headed back in search of the hot springs.  We arrived early Sunday afternoon as the last of the weekenders were packing up and heading out.  We found a wee cabin with two bunk beds and a tiny wood stove and a pasture for the ponies with a spring fed water trough and felt like we’d died and gone to heaven.  The ponies rolled and wandered and grazed and explored their new domain as we moved in, packed a snack, used our magic Steripen wand to ensure that the spring water piped to the cabin was safe to drink and set off in search of Willet’s Hot Springs.

A kilometer of hiking up a narrow trail around a ridge and into a box canyon brought us to a secluded grotto – and a big round stock tank full of 102* water, which spilled out of a fissure in the cliff above us and traveled through a pipe into the tub.  We stripped down and climbed into the waters, sinking in up to our chins and suddenly becoming aware of every ache and pull and tension of the past three months as we finally gave our bodies and minds permission to relax.  It was hours before we wobbled down the hill on jellied legs under a full moon – to our cozy wee cabin and sleep.

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Words of Wisdom from Gramma

Posted on January 20, 2012 by Sea G Rhydr

“There’s not much that hot water and a pair of clean skivvies can’t fix!”

-Gramma Barb

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The Mythical Finehorn

Posted on January 17, 2012 by Sea G Rhydr

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Words of Wisdom from a hillbilly saint

Posted on January 16, 2012 by Sea G Rhydr

“Make money every chance you get- It’s the best protection.”

-Papa Don

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“Sorry, my horse sat on your house…?!”

Posted on January 15, 2012 by Sea G Rhydr

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Gryph’s journal clippings- Cowboy Camp

Posted on January 14, 2012 by Sea G Rhydr

11/10/11 This morning the grass was frosted over and cowboy camp’s spine shivered.

Finehorn stood with frost in her mane, and I had coffee (which is something i do now on the road) and hitchhiked to town – an insane day of car hopping, back to potter valley 60 miles west to retrieve saddle pads, clumsily left in S’s trailer attic. We arrived to Cowboy camp 1 night ago, as it is night now again sitting in the loo.

The nearest town is 15 miles away. The moutains are bare and dry. Tule elk are about the only thing living around here, and we haven’t seen one yet. There are several invasive species, including the golden star thistle that is poisonous to horses and gives them something called ‘chewing disease’. We came here hearing from several different people that there were corrals and running water, neither of which we found on arriving a half hour ’til sunset last night. So we hitched our ponies to metal posts, brought up water from the river, and camped in the cement box with pit toilet we call the loo. It does not smell in here, we made our bed on flakes of hay that we will need to feed to the ponies- yes, tomorrow the ponies eat our beds.

General hilarity fills the loo, and we almost die laughing, watching a miniature scene take place on the cement floor, shared between a spider, a fly, a rolley polley, a smashed can, and a red candle.

Rolley Polley: ” Bring out yer dead! Bring out yer dead!”

The old street corner, smashed can alley.

And the rabbit stick street light burns.

Tiny suitor is toast. Fruit fly thrashes, flails.

Spider wanders up and down the alley, paces the bright lit corners

and perched on shiny rim.

The fly is having its way with a piece of grass.

It’s scaring me that i have not ridden in over a week. There are some trails around here- and we found a western saddle that fits Cowgirl’s high whithers. Her legs are doing better.

At this point, 3 different people have driven into Cowboy Camp and upon seeing us and our horses, have marched up and demanded “Where is your vehicle?” We tell them, “You’re lookin’ at them”. I guess there have been a high number of horse abandonment cases in the recent past- people that can’t afford to keep their horses anymore, so they take them out to somewhere like Cowboy Camp, wait until some horse people with a big trailer come along and go out riding over the hills, and then proceed to tie their own horses to the trailer and walk away. Suprise! Either that, or they just let them wander into the hills to fend for themselves.


And i wish we could get the hell out of here soon, the creek is undrinkable even steri-pen-ed and boiled. We are sleeping in the loo mainly because it is warmer. Actually that’s the only reason, now that we have our bedrollls  back….There are rumours of rain – and it is dry in here, with one red rabbit candle burning. If no rain- i move back into tent, frost or not.


November 12th – S & J came today, bearing packages and gifts, as well as very encouraging and Real energy to ride on. We were able to get rid of some of the extra burden, precious as it was… took fiddle and summer clothes for safe keepings- was loath to leave Thalia but winter is here and the leather case doesn’t fit, just throws me off balance riding. Rode Jesse today around Cowboy camp, Sea rode Dolarosa, found out guitar works with new western saddle. I will start out from here on Jesse James, Sea on Dolarosa. For then M, silent but lightened, who packs mules in the hills, found us here at random and brought de-natured alcohol! we needed it for fuel. He threw in some candy bars and black velvet whisky, which we all sipped together in the pink cloud strewn sunset, poring over the map from the tail of his white pick up- he gave us some useful information about the trails to Capay, and brought our extra grain to Full Belly Farm, where we will see it again in three days or less, if all goes well. We leave from here tomorrow, on BLM trails to the next campground est. 10 miles.
Sea and i got tipsy and silly,  i cooking spuds and she reading from the Golden Ass, a trash romance from over 2000 years ago, badly translated and raunchily hilarious. Porno before Christ.


Well we’ve gotten along okay. Luxuries (whiskey, chocolate etc.) in abundance, lots of grain for the horses and alfalfa, which has got Finehorn snorting all the time- that or the golden star thistle- don’t know which but she’s not well. She is on the roam now, our golden beast becoming more mythical with each day. No ropes bind her yet she never meanders far. She woke me up last night, come between the tent and the loo to get the alfalfa, i went out under the full moon and saw how the mist was glowing and caught in the mountains, and Finehorn roamed the misty bright meadow in huffs. Come to see me and meet my embrace, moving with her prehistoric amble and flux,  something strange- and wonderful is happening with her.

Señora Dolarosa is still sad, she is tied to a ring that moves freely back and forth across a taught rope above her head, 20 feet beetween high posts. She is behaving wonderfully, but has resigned herself from life. Her wounds are looking not as gory, swelling down on right knee, udder still swollen and hard, so uncared for, our beautiful Dolarosa, the dried afterbirth of her baby still clings to her tail. Next time we have hot water. A hard life she’s had, flinching away from kind unmeaningful gestures.


Finehorn snorts around the tent on this fine night, allergies in the crisp air. Sea has taken to the loo, and i sleep alone in the tent not far. I feel better in here/out here. A red candle glowing, the epic shapeshifting Finehorn makes herself heard.
And Jesse was good to ride today. I trust him to understand and take care of things. He will need to lead for a while. Good herd. Jesse, and the one we call Dolarosa, lying down in the dry grass and hay and thistle, the faithful herd, waiting. Our noble beasts lounging on their arses like us and waiting to go somewhere. We call Cowgirl Senora Dolarosa for now, because of her melancholy elegance.

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Walking down highway 16…

Posted on January 13, 2012 by Sea G Rhydr

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Wanted: Touchdown Cowgirl

Posted on January 12, 2012 by Sea G Rhydr

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Gryph’s journal clippings: Oct. 30- Nov. 9

Posted on January 11, 2012 by Sea G Rhydr

Sunday October 30th, and we have been rescued by a hillbilly and a city slicker. This morning we left the sweet haven of J’s, serenaded goodmorning and goodbye by cages of colorful birds. The day was hot already as we started down Black Bart Trail, and about the first mile in on that sharp gravel road the ponies were already footsore and dragging. The road seemed endless, snaking along the mountain, dusty and rocky under the burning sun. Five miles took three hours, Bacca was not doing well and i had to get off and walk her, it took all my energy to persuade her that we had to keep going. Such a frustrating stretch, as she was obviously lame and hurting from the gravel, but we had to keep going regardless, all tired and lagging, yanking our horses down what seemed like the longest road yet…

When we finally got to the creek under Potter Valley Road, we took the ponies to drink at the edge of its questionable scumminess, reminding ourselves that we still had 10 miles to go down highway 20 before decent camping- if any…

We were all footsore and irritable with exhaustion, and Bacca was lame on her back left..

That was when the good shepherd found us. We didn’t know that guardian angels rode ATVs. A funny little man showed up, gnome-like with a grizzly beard, and offered us a rest in his 20 acre cow pasture across the road. 
[It was still a dark moon, that phase. I felt it, accepting the offer to rest, felt it walking through the rusty wire gate, while knowing that going on was not a choice either. We were all tired, Bacca was not fit to go on as she was…]


The tent is on the only flat spot amongst hills so steep that we find ourselves walking vertically, out of breath, to try and get anywhere. On a search to find the water trough, we found fenced in plots of very fragrant plants…Little did we know, this raggy shaggy little man bounces around like a pingpong ball between growing enclosures scattered all around his land. Also a strange pond covered with algae, 6 roaming cows and 1 black bull glaring with red eyes. A crescent moon cratered in the hills across the way, watching us all the while.

[watching everything change, while i die inside of stagnation and am enveloped in grief. Another valley I cannot see out of. (dont linger- i hear it, and worry)]

After we got the ponies untacked and tent set up, the first thing we did was sit down in the sun and rummage through the food bags to find something edible…not much there. D had gone off to find grub for the ponies, so we waited, tired and not knowing what step to take next. Suddenly, a figure appeared on the distant hills- we got up to meet this person, and found him to be a cute guy bringing us a skillet full of potatoes, scrambled eggs, toast and cheese! He also handed us chips and sodas- hill service. We thanked A for his graciousness and good timing, then he turned around and vanished as quickly as he’d appeared.

Thursday Nov 3rd Today I can feel winter here for the first real time. The rain this morning, cloudy silver skies, chilling wind, and the trees bursting into flames down State st. in Ukiah. So individually breathtaking, these flames licking out of deep mossy undergrowth. I went to Ukiah for a provision run with A this morning, feeling surreal in the bustle of the city world. Looks like we will be here throughout the weekend-another 3 days and hopefully no more- when will Bacca heal enough to press on-?-the question. The strangeness of the hillbilly haven, with a wandering herd of seven cows, and the bull i had to cross on the tiny ridge on the hill. He is gentle though. And, now moved into the tiny not-quite-plyboard drying shack on the hill, we wait. It doesn’t count as lingering as we have no choice.



Scared, Scared, Scared. But we have found work here, and climb the hill up to Ds house day after day. Bacca not improving, and i am starting to realize Ds persistent questioning is not just blind negativity. “What are you gonna do if she don’t get better?” I hear his worry, and the anxiety creeps in. I am still telling myself that Bacca is fine, it’s just a sore muscle, but her walk is not sound. “Shoot her” i tell him, half joking..

been here 3 1/2 days now. 4 nights. i am loosing track of what i am here. bacca suerte still not improved, limps on her left back hind, we can’t move till she’s sound. no choice now. and here we have made $1200 in 3 days. my hand looks scaley in this green lantern light. tonight is cold, winter is here and settling in my bones like a deep howling warning-
Don’t Linger-  i am aware of the constant whisper, then shouts of urgency. all time has seemed to be swept up in a vacuum, swallowed by dark hills. but we cannot leave now and it feels like a curse. with all the blessings of finding work, still cursed.



Tom Waits with the garage door open.


Awake: Friday morning the 4th and it is cold in what Sea calls Turkey roll plyboard shack-hut. The mist is bright and all consuming for the hills. I awake with a knot in my stomach -a day bringing what? i dont want to say good bye to Bacca Suerte -it’s the last thing i can think of doing-but let’s be honest and consider her state- what if she does not get better? and it is not just the pulled muscle to worry about – it’s the fact that she is losing weight even though we are feeding large amounts of grain and hay and not working, but she won’t gain. Unhealthy – too much maintenance. And then there is the rain rot, a bacterial condition where her hair will just flake away in chunks when exposed to constant rain/moisture. We’re headed into rain, not to mention she already has large patches gone on her spine where the saddle sits- i look at it and shiver- what have i done? i have been treating it with expensive medicated shampoo, but no access to water right now and there is nothing i can do. I know at this point it sounds stupid and troublesome to try and do this trip with this horse when looking from the perspective where it all comes down to composition, the physical, the thoroughbred in her. Can’t think what im going to do about it now, she is part of me, the trip, the herd, bonded.
Another dream built and shattered and i have not left myself a way out. There is no choice but to do what the trip requires, to proceed, to succeed, to hurt. No choice. Two dead ends and you still got to choose.
And there is no way to stay here much longer. No more trimming work for now, we should be moving on. It all just feels wrong, misplaced, not anything i imagined happening, and i have to change a lot about myself to accept it. Always changing always scared. Scared of winter…I am allowed to write how i feel: heavy, burdened, dark, broken and i actually feel hopeless. Feeling is overwhelming. If Bacca doesnt get better in three days (including this one), i have got to find another horse. Fast. Just carry on, do what it takes, let the bad luck and uncompromising choice make me into a cold, hard bitch- is this what i want to become? Just not seeing another way. Am i wrong?
do i hang myself from a tree? move to Paris and become a film star? Does life get easier as i step through these jagged doors?


Today is a day and now is night. Bacca Suerte must go. I can’t even saddle her what with the rain rot, hairless patches on her spine. She’ll never make it through the winter and that’s the cold truth. I have started searching for another horse and home for Bacca, where she can stay in a barn that’s dry and where there’s a lot of food throughout the winter. Scared. 
Oh How it is cold, from the stars to the earth and straight into my bones.
and they say don’t linger and i say where am i? And then, yes, i’m listening, i’m here, screaming at my failure, hanging hooks where no hooks were. trying to believe in my self and and the power of visualization, because it has been working, throughout all of this, take it with the bad but if i lose faith now i lose the trip, and maybe that’s the worst that could happen.

The rain has started, perhaps in earnest this time. It pours and trickles and slides down on us, making muddy rivulets in the hills and sinking into baccas coat like the plague. No time to think about anything except that she needs a new home at this point- i need to find her a good home, i am consumed with pain, frozen in it, and faced with the fact there is no time to curl up in the morbid harshness of bacca leaving. If i want to keep her, i forfeit the trip, and when i think of forfeiting the trip, i realize that i have not left myself any other options but to continue. there is no way for me to keep a horse right now, except if i am moving with it as part of the herd. bacca will break on this trip, her mind and hooves might be made of steel, but genetics are inevitably racked against her. Admitting this is really letting the knife in, but if i love her, what more can i do than let her go?

And the truth is, there is just no Time. This is the last string of our stay here– we need to get moving. Work is done and the lady of the house (who has never spoken to us and vice versa) scowls at us. It’s almost M & L in a parallel universe. She stakes her claim of the house and we stay in the domain of the garage with D. Things are weird, the port-a-loo is gone. i need to find bacca a new home. i need to find another horse. we don’t have internet or a car or any running water. these are the facts.

Tonight in the rain a woman from the horse rescue came to bring a blanket for bacca suerte. at least now, with every wet saturating drop, i don’t cringe at the thought of it touching her. 

It is a dark place, this not knowing. It takes everything i have to remember that i am doing what has to be done. Life needs me to think and not feel right now. To find bacca a home, admit that she is leaving, to not break under the incredible unhappy ending of it all, the things that i just don’t understand….down this road that may twist and wind, but i am in the middle of a dark desert and there is no turning back.

Remember, remember the 5th of November, the gunfire, treason, and Plot.
The 5th of november has Touchdown tonight. Is this a bad sign, that the new horse, who goes by the name Touchdown Cowgirl, has joined us on this very particular november day? She already has a pretty intense past, and has basically been condemned for the past 3 years. She was delivered to us in the rain, after we met her this morning with her wounded legs and spry young foal, weaned way too early. She ran out into the pasture, up and down the slick hills with her clunky platter feet, all but tripping over herself.  In her distress, Jesse recieved her and brought her up to see the mares. cowgirl kicked at bacca. bacca suerte seems to know what is happening and is very dark. 


Today is the 6th. This morning a pack of ponies came to our shack. i fed them on the hill. The day is clear and bright, and M is taking back bacca tomorrow- the best possible outcome in my mind- M will take care of her and ride her and see her as the smart, quick, good, beautiful horse that she is. I got on cowgirl today, Sea rode her down the road. she has proved herself a horse and a lady from this short excursion, and she just might work…the wounds on her legs are worrisome and disgusting: mentally so, when i have told myself i don’t need another horse to doctor. after bacca, after katy mae, the scar tissue is more than physical. impossible, on the road..

Its night and i sleep soon. not much else to do in our tiny shack with nothing but the tiny light i wear on my head. Its cold, clear not raining, but a chill that cuts cold stars. We will get moving from this place soon. tomorrow i ride cowgirl, order boots, trim pot. things are getting stranger and stranger, stretching in ways time and reality should not, it’s really, deeply time to go. Thoughts strange, astounded by the dark intensity, scattered in ways i cannot put together, trying to turn my thoughts into some explanation, some picture to prove the realness, the warped enchantment.

We have left hillbilly hill. We currently sit across the street at the creek, looking up the 100+ feet elevation of Papa Don’s land. The ponies are now tied to trees, standing in the dappled sunlight of golden leaved elms. We spent the morning hauling all the gear across the hills, up and down unreasonably steep sod, and now sit on large rocks waiting for S to arrive with her trailer. We chose the trailer because it is the only way to get out of here in any sort of sane and smart way – cowgirl slipped on steep cement a few days ago and got a pretty good gash on her knee – now 3 out of 4 legs sport wounds – she needs few days rest – and it’s not gonna be on hillbillyhill now that we have been here 10 days. S is being so gracious and taking us, gear and 3 ponies 50 miles down the road to Cowboy Camp- B.L.M. land close to the highway with corral and toilets- what a concept. We’ll get a couple bails of hay from S and rest cowgirl for a few days, and look for a saddle that fits her withers. Its getting cold- freezing at night but no rain yet. Sea scouted via car the route we were going to take on horseback, recommended by the forest service, got 7 miles up and hit snow – 20 miles and still no water!

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