Whistler Wilderness Ride Day Two, Part 3
All In
Rain began to drizzle from the grey sky, so we all donned the long sand-colored raincoats lashed to our saddles. The air was cooler at altitude, and I was grateful for the additional layer. The drab, oversized coats camouflaged our group against the craggy terrain below the summit. Gazing up, I wondered if I could hike to the top but guessed the way up there would be longer and more difficult than appeared to my inexperienced eye. Not to mention getting back down.
“We’re going to head to the mines now, “ Jayden announced. “You're all welcome to come along or to stay and rest as you wish.” I patted the pocket containing my headlamp and joined the flock of flapping beige coats behind the wranglers. We stopped at a loose pile of hard, pale green foot-long cylinders. Jess picked one up and we passed it around. It was surprisingly heavy, and its ends were white. “That’s quartz,” she explained. “These are core samples. Although the mines were abandoned in the 1950’s, a group came up here twenty years ago to take samples. Prospectors get excited when they see white quartz, because gold often accompanies it. No luck here, though.”
Getting to the mines wasn't easy. There was no clear path, and the incline we had to traverse was steep. The terrain was studded with stones ranging in size from softball to soccer ball, many of them loose. “If you’re going to fall, try to fall into the hillside,” Jayden advised. Heard. It was hard to find firm footing, and I frequently used my hands either for balance or to keep the long raincoat from getting under my boots. I began to breathe heavily in the thin air and wondered if I should have stayed back with the horses. Then looking ahead, I saw Laura, a grandmother, nimbly picking her way across the treacherous ground. I can do this, too. I scrambled up a patch of boulders to a mound in front of an opening into the mountainside. Sweet relief swept over me. I’d made it!
The first mine was cramped and short. Plucky Elizabeth was determined to enter despite her fear of enclosed spaces, and we all cheered her on. The group filed into the tunnel and immediately had to maneuver around an old mine cart on rusted tracks. It was dark inside, and the surfaces were damp. Our headlamps illuminated embryonic stalactites on the ceiling. Elizabeth ventured into the tunnel until satisfied that she had met her personal challenge, and was soon awash in congratulations: “Way to go!” “Good for you!” “You did great!” The rest of us shuffled, hunched over, to the end, where it opened into a space large enough for a couple people to occupy at a time.
The next mine was more spacious. It was wild to see the marks left by handheld tools on the walls. I imagined a man standing in this very spot, maybe a hundred years ago, chipping away at the rock to create this tunnel. My maternal grandfather was a coal miner, and this was the first time I’d had the barest inkling of what it might have been like to spend long days toiling in the inhospitible darkness. Stepping over puddles and rubble, we pressed on as the tunnel looped around and back out to the mountainside. There we spent some time admiring the fuchsia wildflowers and photographing each other against the grand, swooping landscape.
I felt more confident navigating the treacherous ground back to the horses, in part because I knew how far we had to travel. Like how when you drive a distance to someplace new, the ride home always goes quicker. We initially took a high route too and reached an impasse of sheer rock. The younger among us managed to jump to passable ground. Looking down, I could see a wide strip of dirt winding around shrubs and leading to a patch of small boulders, after which the going would be easier as we neared the horses. “I see a path,” I shouted. “Just scoot down to it on your butt!” Someone called out, asking if I was sure it was safe. I sat and started inching downward over rock with my palms down behind me, half sliding and half scuttling like a crab. “Only one way to find out!”
The clouds had dissipated some, revealing patches of vibrant blue sky. Untying our horses, we took last admiring looks around, savoring the view from this astounding height. Then we mounted up, formed a line, and began our descent. Those of you who do mountain sports know the way down is always harder. The rest of you, trust me.
I followed Jess’s lead and resisted the urge to steer, leaving the reins loose and letting Lonesome find his balance and pick his route down the steep serpentine path unless he started to stray entirely off course. We were descending through pine forest when I heard someone behind me gasp, “Oh my God!” Jess whipped her head around to check on her charges. Then she pointed her arm forward and in her English accent cheerily encouraged us to “keep your eyes on the trees in the distance, Ladies!”
Of course, I had to look down. Immediately to our right, there was no trail. Just air. The ground fell sharply away for as far as I could see. My gaze was abruptly broken by the lurch of Lonesome’s hips as he eased us down a drop, carefully lifting and moving each leg, straining against gravity. I relaxed my hips into the sway and leaned back a little, bracing my weight in the stirrups. What we were doing was incredible! A huge grin spread across my face and I could feel myself beaming with delight. It was official: Adventure riding? I’m all in.
Don and Brian were waiting for us at the trailers. Although I thought the most-asked question about the ride might be Can we do that again?, Don told us it was Do we go down the same way we came up? Mildly disappointing, but I get it.
Elizabeth and I piled into the back seat of Don’s truck with his black and white dog Johnny. Johnny lay stretched out between us on the bench with his head on my thigh all the way back to camp. I stroked his sleek fur, and he sighed. Contentment.
That evening there was laughter around the campfire as we relived the ride, quilting together our snippets of experience into a shared memory. Don and the wranglers recounted wild stories of mishaps and antics on the ranch and mountain trails, tales that would not have been shared with us guests before we’d conquered the day’s challenge. They told us we should be proud of ourselves.
We were.
What a fantastic read! I, too, am afraid of enclosed spaces and applaud Elizabeth for conquering that fear.
All this adventure makes me want to learn horseback riding… never say never. Or as the French put it: il n’est jamais trop tard !
Beautiful description of the excitement glee and bravery of an adventure. Definitely brought me back to the intensity of my own similar moments, so thank you! "quilting together our snippets of experience into a shared memory" - such a wonderful way to capture the sharing and synthesizing of a days journey and adventure. Thanks for this read!