Fear No Evil

Chapter 80

Pound for pound, I’d have to say that my horse, Toby, was the toughest animal I’d ever encountered. I am not as big as Sampson, but I tip the scales at two fifteen on a good day. That’s a lot of pounds to carry on a long, steep, switchbacked ride to a place like Gordon Pass.

But Toby never broke stride, not once. Neither did John’s horse. Queenie seemed to float up the trail, her gait so smooth that even with his recent injuries, John wasn’t complaining about being saddlesore at all.

I, however, was getting my rump pounded and my inner thighs chafed. By the time we reached the head of the pass, around three that afternoon, and got down out of the saddle for a rest, I had blisters. While I hobbled around trying to get the blood to return to my legs, Sampson was photographing the dramatic alpine views to our east, all forest, high meadows, and crags.

“Makes you feel small, doesn’t it?” John said, taking a panoramic shot.

“Like a gnat,” I said.

“Puts things in perspective,” he said, then called to Bauer, “Is that all the Bob Marshall ahead of us, Lance?”

“The thick of the Bob right there,” Bauer said. “All right, let’s saddle back up.”

“What, already?” I said.

“We need to get to camp in time to eat, inflate the raft, and organize your gear before dark,” Bauer said, climbing back on his horse and whistling to his dog.

I groaned as I got back on Toby. “I feel like my butt’s been spanked with fifteen cricket bats.”

Sampson looked at me. “You’ve been spanked by fifteen cricket bats before?”

“First time,” I said and winced as I settled into the saddle again.

Bauer called back, “You can sit in the river when we get there, Dr. Cross. I guarantee it’s cold enough to take the saddle ache away.”

We rode another five hours that afternoon, following Gordon Creek down its long drainage, an experience I endured by focusing on the breathtaking scenery and the idea of an ice-cold river ahead rather than on my aching glutes and thighs. When we finally reached the point where Gordon Creek met the South Fork of the Flathead, we saw three wall tents in the aspens.

It was almost eight. We’d been in the saddle for eleven and a half hours. I immediately got off Toby, tied him to an aspen tree, and waddled toward the bank, where I took off my hiking boots and pants, put on my Chaco sandals, waded out into the cold river, and sat down in frigid water up to my rib cage.

“Oh, that feels good,” I said, moaning. “Oh my God, that feels good.”

Sampson took several pictures of me sitting out there holding a tin cup containing a couple shots of Jack Daniel’s, which frankly did wonders. When I finally climbed out, my legs were comfortably numb.

Bauer smiled at me and said, “Where’s your lover?”

I looked at him, puzzled. “Uh, Washington, DC?”

“No,” the outfitter said. “Your weapon. The shotgun.”

“It’s still with our gear.”

“I want that shotgun and your bear gas where you can reach them at all times.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding, Dr. Cross?”

“Message heard loud and clear.”

After dressing, I went and found the scabbard with the shotgun and carried the ten-gauge around with me with the bear gas in a holster on my hip. Sampson had his rifle less than five feet away as we helped Bauer pump up our raft and load the things we would not use that night.

We had twenty minutes of good light left when we finished. There were fish jumping in the river. John got out a fly rod.

“I didn’t know you fly-fished,” I said.

“I haven’t yet,” he said. “But I read a book and watched some YouTube videos. And look where we are. It would almost be a crime if I didn’t at least try.”

With Bauer’s help, John got the reel and rod rigged correctly and followed the outfitter’s instructions on how to cast. Sampson’s attempts were more like thrashing the water, but he was as happy as I’d ever seen him when he quit and we went up near the fire where Harden, the hired hand, was grilling steaks.

“Everything you imagined?” I asked John.

Sampson grinned. “And then some. Totally cut off. No cell phones. No satellite phones. Just us and nature, Alex. And you know what? I will never forget that ride in here as long as I live.”

“I have a feeling you’ll never forget this entire trip as long as you live.”