We’d camped back in the Yellowstone, October 2010. The rain changed into freezin’ snow, we sure weren’t mountain men.
So, we shoveled in our breakfast, bacon, eggs and fried up spuds. Then we had to get a movin’ or we’d freeze right in our duds.
We caught and grained the pack mules, cinched a saw buck on each one, and started fillin’ panniers. Soon the tedious work was done.
Each pannier had to weigh the same for balance on the mule. If your load rolls underneath the mule, you’d be a doggone fool.
We tarped the packs and tied em down with rope and baler twine. We were pressed to hit the trail. No more usin’ borrowed time.
I climbed up on my saddle horse with lead rope in my grip. My body felt the sudden pangs inflicted from this trip.
When dang it all I saw our coffee pot still on the ground. How did we miss a red tin can with white stuff all around?
So, we climbed back down then tied the pot up top the mule and pack, with a handle that was clankin’ like a rundown Cadillac.
For sure we all knew better. Should have fixed the coffee pot. But were tired of wastin’ time and kicked the horses to a trot.
We didn’t make it out of camp before ole Pal went wild! He started in a buckin’ like a spoiled, unruly child.
I dropped the pack mule’s lead rope then he started in to buck. When he bumped the mule ahead of him. It weren’t our day for luck.
‘Cuz that dang ole mule decided he would buck a time or two. He ran into his saddle horse. That horse was buckin’ too!
Two doggone mules, two saddle horses buckin’ in the snow. It sure werent’ like a rodeo. More like a horror show.
We calmed the buckin’ horses, but the coffee pot and gear were strung from hell to breakfast, prob’ly tossed into next year.
I cussed the ground we walked on and so mad was blowin’ snot. Then started packin’ panniers, but this time, no coffee pot.