Whistler Wilderness Ride Day Four

Coming Down

Vacations, by definition, end. And so a wistful layer hung in the mist that last morning at camp. Our host Don served the prettiest, yummiest breakfast yet: thick slabs of French toast with fruit, whipped cream, and bacon. The air was chilly, and some of us lingered around the fire before resigning ourselves to getting dressed and packing up.

After lugging our bags to the trailer and bidding silent farewells to our tents and the circle of chairs around the stone fire pit where we had bonded, we mounted up and began our final ride. I found myself clutching the sights, smells, and sounds tightly, shoving them into my pockets for later. I was grasping the moment and trying to drag it forward through time with me. This was not how I wanted to spend these last hours riding a cayuse in the backcountry of British Columbia.

With tenderness, I put my hand on my chest and filled my lungs with clean alpine air. Then I exhaled slowly through my lips. The stark beauty of rugged peaks, the verdant scent of pines, the rhythmic clap of hoofbeats, it was all so invigorating! Of course I didn’t want this trip to end. I asked the Great Mystery, Fundamental Source of All, to help me stop clinging to this experience as though it were a large rock in the river of impermanence and to help me surrender to the current of life. Inhale, exhale. Beneath my hand, a wave of appreciation swelled in my heart and when it subsided, so had the resistance.

Jayden on Mellow, followed by me on Lonesome. [Photo courtesy of Elizabeth]

I was surprised to find us ascending for a while in the morning, on trails we hadn’t yet seen. Jayden was leading the way on Mellow, the big bay who’d bucked his rider off the day before. Mellow was a little nervous in his new position at the front and Jayden managed him with patience and encouragement. Eventually we arrived at a dead end and each tied our horse to the nearest tree.

Carrying our brown bagged lunches, we clambered up a series of boulders after the wranglers until we found ourselves standing atop a giant pedestal, gaping at a stunning panorama of summits. As we sat and ate, I felt comfort in the presence of those massive, austere peaks. They reminded me that humans are but tiny, soft, short-lived creatures. And the magnificent mountains persist, unfazed by our worries and folly.

“How did anyone even find this spot?” someone asked.

“See that logging road down there?” Jess was pointing down and across a valley to a narrow rust-colored ribbon. “Dudley was driving there when he saw this place. He figured the views would be amazing.” He was right. “Then he used this app called Gaia,” she continued, showing us a topographical map up on her phone screen, “to figure out how to get up here.” So much thought and work went into making this experience possible for us, from finding and refining routes and clearing and maintaining trails to negotiating access to areas prohibited to the general public! I felt lucky to be a beneficiary of all the expertise and labor behind Copper Cayuse Outfitters.

Tired, sore, and feeling a little blue, the group made a quiet descent to the trailhead. There our vehicles sat waiting to transport us back to gas stations and grocery stores, to traffic and headlines and politics. I thanked Lonesome for carrying me through this adventure. I scratched his thick, muscular neck and told him I hoped we’d meet again. Then I walked Lonesome to the trailer and handed his lead rope to Brian, the trainer. I thanked Brian, too. Under his care and guidance, these wild mustangs developed into trustworthy mounts for hundreds of people like me, letting us experience the land of their birthright in a unique way. Brian smiled and gave a nod, and I wondered if he could see a transformation in us after four days in the backcountry. I wondered if the transformation I felt was visible, in a lingering aura of awe at nature’s majesty and in the steadiness of a woman who’s learned she is capable of far more than she had imagined.