THE LONE RIDER

“….At daybreak he came down from the hills and made a little dust as he struck westward with Yuma Crossing in his mind. Logan Cates had the look of the desert about him, a brown, seasoned man with straight black hair above a triangular face that was all bone and tight drawn. His eyes narrow from squinting into the sun and wind, were cold green that made a man stop and think before he looked into them a second time…”
It is a picture that its author, Louis L’Amour, and many others, have portrayed many times. The quintessential lone rider. We romanticize about it. We admire the independence, toughness, resilience of the lone rider and admire the freedom that he has and wish that we had. What started me thinking about the trail rider’s life of independence, as a lone rider, was the thought of big spaces and the idea of solitude and quiet that trail riders know, and how it contrasts with the noise and the social lives that we know and that our children are growing up with.
I just listened to a radio show about the negative effects of noise in our lives and the loss of privacy with texting, Facebook, Chatroom, Instagram, and who knows what. Many kids these days rarely get an hour of solitude, peace and quiet, and would likely feel uncomfortable if they had it. Most of the over forty group grew up with a direct link to the out of doors, whether it was playing in the dirt with dinky toys, helping in the garden or the barn, playing with friends in the park, swimming, fishing with friends, or whatever. Our children live in a different world now, one designed by merchants and technology, countless hours spent hunkering over cell phones, computers, game boxes and whatever. There is something lost with something gained - be careful you might get what you wish for - and other generalizations apply here.
And we trail riders experience the contradiction, we live in the modern world but experience the solitude and remoteness of a trail ride. And this quiet time spent with ourselves in the hugeness and solitude of the out-of-doors affects us differently, in ways unique to ourselves. Some of us revel and bask in the glory of quiet time and the big sky and the scent of pine while others get completely rattled and unraveled when exposed to a world much larger than themselves and foreign, at odds, with the civilized world that is home. I learned long ago to never look at someone and predict how they will handle the bigness of wild country. Many civilized doctors, lawyers, and wealthy types have plenty of grit and smile when immersed into remote country and its hardships, and many self-professed Daniel Boone’s and John Wayne’s fall to pieces like scree on a mountain slope when the smallness of their stature is realized.
I remember two groups of riders that headed out on one week trail rides, both groups planning to ride fifty or so miles into some beautiful wilderness. They headed out on the same trail but on different days. A week later, back at the trail head, the group of young men, loggers, and bush workers, who had headed out second, met me back at the trail head. “Did you see the other guys?” I asked. They had big grins.
“Yeah, they’re just about three miles in, camped on an island in the river.”
It was a shallow stream, really.
“What? Are they headed back out now?” I asked.
“No, they were there when we headed in, they spent the whole trip camped on the island.” Then someone else said, “Looks to me like they’re too scared to go on.”
The group of young toughs had a great trip with many deep adventures, while, needless to say, the others had a less rewarding time camping and worrying on the stream side an hour’s ride from the road!
I am sitting with my laptop pounding out this article so I guess I am as guilty as others for accepting technology, but I draw some hard lines. Personally, I loathe cell phones and walkie talkies while out on the trail. I remember one trip that seemed to take forever, days, to haul horses and push our way into some stunning wilderness. Hard ground mountains with tons of wildlife, caribou on every ridge. It was a huge relief, and I sighed, literally, several times, that my old friend, the feeling of freedom, was with me again, as a buddy and I walked along a grassy valley. I had forgotten that another friend, back at camp, had convinced my buddy to pack along a walkie talkie, which he dutifully had left turned on. At the least expected moment it belched at full volume. “How are you guys doing? Over.” We both nearly jumped out of our skins. I cursed and swore that if he did not instantly turn the damnation permanently off, I would destroy it and him along with it. He was glad to do so, and we, I, went on to enjoy one of the finest wilderness days I have ever known.
Being alone on your trail ride or in the woods does not have to be unrewarding, even if it may be lonely. Aloneness allows for time and latitude in our thoughts, helps us with perspective in understanding our lives and happenings. In a way it forces us to get comfortable in our own skin and, after all, to be comfortable with the world at large we must first be comfortable with ourselves. If the very social lives that we live drains independence, self-motivation, confidence, then getting to know ourselves and re-gain those tendencies is a premium. Being alone on the trail can help build that character and fortitude, if you let it.
But life can be unkind and even cruel to those who do not conform. It used to be that trapper, cowboys, guides, farmers, those who lived life with their hands on a horse or in the dirt, were the majority. Not so any longer. Dyed in the wool horse people who spend endless days in the saddle still exist but they must feel like dinosaurs on a changing planet. There are still cowboys who spend endless days on the range, some in the Chilcotin country, some on large grazing leases and some guides and outfitters. It can be a cruel dichotomy when your life is the saddle, the horse, and the open range but every time you get back to civilization a different reality waits, one ruled by money, material worth, and run by computers and time. Those still out there who feel at home on their horse in the wilderness can feel mighty lonely in civilization. I have known a few old guides and cowboys who wound up homeless street people once their wilderness season and wilderness life came to an end. Truly, to them, civilization is a foreign and unforgiving wilderness.
I clearly remember four or five years of my life when my saddle was far more important to me than my vehicle. My vehicle used to go to town once in a while to get groceries, the memory of each vehicle now as faded as their paint was then, but I lived in the saddle, day after day, from June until November, and the saddle and horse were my true companions. I cannot remember all of the saddles either, but I guarantee that they fit like a glove, day in and day in and day out and were sturdy and well rigged.
Sometimes being alone on a trail ride can be unnerving for even the experienced trail rider. Getting lost is no fun. It can bring loads of grief when you lose a trail and spend futile hours trying to get back on track. The feelings of frustration and loneliness are compounded when you have walked miles with axe in hand and nothing makes sense, not the maps and not the trail you are on, and not the horses standing with fatigue and dejection, wanting a camp and a full belly while the coming dark says otherwise. Worse is when others are depending on you.
A deep fear and loneliness set in me one time in some very wild mountains in the extreme northern edge of B.C. just south of the Alaska highway, not far from Rancheria, Yukon. We were on a one month two-hundred-and-fifty-mile wilderness trip. My wife Marlene, son Dylan and daughter Aaron, then six and five years old, were waiting on a section of trail that petered out in a thick spruce swamp. I set out with axe and bear spray in hand but after several hours could not find what happened to the trail. Worse, I could not find my way back to my family and horses, who by now would be worried sick with the coming darkness and the depressing black of a spruce swamp closing in about them. Again and again, I crossed the swamp riddled thickets, calling and forging ahead and calling again, until repeated exhaustion forced me once again to the ground, this time with tears welling in my eyes from thoughts of my family and the dejected horses. You can see that you do not have to be alone to feel lonely, and that life on the trail can put you between a rock and a soft place. And if you have some quit in you then you then you will likely experience it sooner rather than later. I can tell you that I have misplaced myself in remote country on several occasions and had no trouble believing that tomorrow was a new day, but losing loved ones in the wilderness gives ‘lonely’ a whole new meaning.
I believe that trail riders can relate to the ideas and thoughts in this article, and I believe it is so because even modern trail riders do know what it is like to be alone, and in ways that old timers may not have imagined. Being a modern-day trail rider provides challenges that each of us must face, and often we do so alone simply because no one can live our lives and understand what we go through. Our bond between us and our trail horse is ours alone and so we feel private about our situations. Maybe we struggle financially to make ends meet for ourselves or our horse. Maybe the riding conditions we have are less than ideal and we struggle to have the riding relationship and experience that we know we could enjoy in a better environment. Maybe our horse has health or soundness issues that we alone must face. Maybe those around us do not understand the affinity we have for our horse, our affinity for riding the trails, and so conflict separates us from those close to us. It may not be easy being a modern-day trail rider, and you may feel alone, but remember that somewhere, closer than you think, there are others, hundreds of others, who experience the aloneness that you know. You are not alone! HAPPY TRAILS!

It's difficult to predict how one will react to being alone in the wilderness – its hugeness and our smallness, one’s true insignificance in the wilds. Losing the familiarity of our civilized lives, separation from loved ones, wrestling with our ghosts, regrets, imaginings of bears. The resulting loneliness, can make civilized people wilt.

On the positive side, aloneness allows for time and latitude in our thoughts, helps us with perspective in understanding our lives and happenings. It encourages us to get comfortable in our own skin - to be comfortable with the world at large we must first be comfortable with ourselves. Our social lives drain independence, self-motivation, confidence. Lose screen time and gain health. Being alone on the trail can help build that character and fortitude, if you let it, even if it’s forced into you!

Since the age of 16 I have averaged 3 wilderness trips a year, for 50 years – horse, canoe, and hiking. Often alone. Some of the loneliest days and weeks of my life; hardship you can only imagine, yet I don’t know how I could have lived it different. It does not have to be by horse, just get out there. My advice – Love both of your mothers and show it – mom and mother earth.