Winter at the pack station.

Leavitt Meadows overlook.

At the start of November, Hippo went down with common cold. Meanwhile we had arrived into the state of complete road-tripping withdrawal syndrome, and quickly planned a visit to Leavitt Meadows. You see, in the summer we did some talking and Craig had offered me a horse for the winter. I had arranged boarding at the stables, began to work on beautification of his paddock, and was looking forward to having a horse, who was meanwhile awaiting the end of the season in the mountains. Then it got complicated with the transport and I reached a phase when I wanted to at least SEE the horse and go over some details. With Hippo's cold, it actually wasn't a bad combination — he was not up to any super-active weekend, and so he coped with going on a trip just for me to have a chat at the pack station.

And to make it a bit less simple, the gummint had closed all the mountain passes — apparently for the whole winter, due to snow. Thus we had to go through Kirkwood — yet the road through the ski resort is much straighter and faster, albeit longer, and time-wise it did not come out too bad. We stopped on our way in Pine Grove for lunch — standing in front of the entrance before opening time, and ordering their excellent burgers. We somehow counted on taking a motel in Walker. Alas, all accommodations in this small town were already closed, or we could not find the attendants. Having made a natural stop at Jeff's BBQ, we asked him if he knew where to find somebody or at least recommend where to go. Jeff suggested Meadowcliff Lodge, and we tried it. The office had a sign on the door that guests should proceed to room 110; there were tools and materials scattered around and in room 110, and apparently a maintenance job in the middle of doing, but no one around. When we were just about to give up, the owner came rushing back from the attached restaurant, saying he was having a soup. We received a room, huge one, clean, visibly renovated. Thus becoming much less anxious, we could set out into the mountains, to see the horse(s). The pack station is behind the winter road closure gate, but it's possible to go around it. It was interesting to note how, in the few days since it went down and people stopped using and maintaining the highway, snow drifts and icy patches had formed, and rocks had fallen and now were scattered on the blacktop. Luckily, the pack station is only a mile or so drive up.

It gets dark soon.

A morning view from the lodge.

A moon-surface weather ruled there — snow and cold in shade, t-shirt warm in sunshine. I led Ned Pepper around a bit and learned that his name comes from a villain in a John Wayne western movie True Grit from the year 1969. The kids were losing their patience with me and things eventually lead to a snowball fight. And to complete it with a proper outing, we drove up to the second, ultimate winter closure gate, where we usually camp in summer. It was quite cold there, and once we spotted bear tracks in the snow, we were rather glad of having secured our motel room. Even Leavitt Falls were all frosty and we looked forward to a dinner at Jeff's and our warm beds.

In the morning we arrived for breakfast in the diner attached to the hotel — a very dignified replacement for the now closed Hays Street Cafe of Bridgeport, with a view to mountains, autumn trees and pastures. The beauty outside the window had lured me out with our camera, and almost caused my breakfast to get cold. The saddest part was, Walker was getting prepared for winter hibernation, and within a few weeks everything would get closed for good — restaurants, hotels — until next spring. It's a pity, for this friendly base behind the mountain range would come handy all year 'round.

Despite it being so nice outdoors, we had to leave. We needed to cross the Sierra Nevada before the next weather front could deliver much needed storm — and wanted to stop in Carson Pass for a stroll in the snow. As much puberty seems to appear on the horizon, our children have been capable and willing to enjoy simple pleasures of the world, including a few inches of fresh snow, sliding down a slope on their butts, and make a snow ball fight — and we intend to exploit it. Especially on a beautiful day like this one — clouds began to gather only after we got back to the car, and we had entered the rain at the foot of the mountains, and thus all went well.

It's nice and sunny here, and it rains on the coast.

Meadowcliff.

I had talked Craig into loaning me a cowboy slicker — a long, heavy, weatherproof coat, which came handy right on Monday while I visited the stables. Perhaps I look a bit crazy in it, but I can ignore how much it rains; combined with a hat I stay comfortably dry. The only one who did not appreciate my slicker was Lisa's pony, Sugar. He said that it was too spooky for him and refused to get anywhere near. At the closest opportunity, on Thursday, I gave the slicker to Lisa and let her introduce it to the pony. First just tossed over the barrier, then she carried it closer, let him inspect and sniff it, put it over his back — and eventually she put it on herself and I took them on a walk. Sugar was all right, despite the long corners of the coat flapping on his legs and butt. Simply, he would let Lisa do anything to him.

Meanwhile it became more likely that Ned Pepper would not arrive on the following weekend — or rather that it made no sense for Craig trying to cross a nine-thousand feet pass in a blizzard with a horse trailer. It was a setback, but then it gave me time to finish setting up Ned's paddock. And to discover, how many friends and helpful people actually surround me. Chris brought a trailer of gravel, put together frame for the footing, helped transfer the gravel, mixed it with cement and limestone, poured water and compressed it with a machine???? (which I was allowed to drive, too!), and eventually charged me with a bill that probably did not even cover the materials. Peter and Andreas brought and nailed on plywood boards for the horse rain shelter. In part, I received some stable mats for free, in part I bought them used — but most importantly I did not have to haul them from some store (they're very heavy and hard to manipulate). Similarly with the water container. And I got a whole shed for saddles and stuff at my disposal. Everything was suddenly possible, got organized, and functional. That is, except for the weather, which did not cooperate, but I had not expected it to.

A hairy woodpecker.

First snow in Carson Pass.

Then it was necessary to pack Lisa for her science camp. She had been very excited, which she alternated with phases when she hang herself on us, parents. Given the fact that none of our family lives nearby, our kids don't generaly ever spend nights outside their parents' home (they stayed a few time at grandma's or on a sleep-over at their friend's place) — and now suddenly Lisa was facing a five-day stay in a school-organized camp in the woods. I don't blame here for being a bit uneasy and needing some reassurance of our presence and love. Her absence, in turn, demonstrated to us how much quieter and serious our home atmosphere became without Lisa. She is a sanguine type, enjoys every small thing, keeps on talking all the time, singing, playing, and she's everywhere, and we truly missed her.

After coming back she hurled herself at me again; I think she was glad to be back home again, although she returned happy. The teacher thanked her for taking care of her friend Maggie throughout the camp, who did not cope well with her separation from her family. So Lisa, for whom it was not easy either, managed to keep the spirits up — she's really incredible.

And as if it was not enough, on Sunday Craig finally arrived with Ned. Craig would not only loan me a horse for the winter, but he brought it all the way to the stables, three hundred miles one way, crossing the mountains and wrestling with traffic jams in the Valley. Then our trainer Sue wrote me asking if Craig could take another horse on his way back to Sacramento, which in the end became a benefit. Cappuccino's owner did not have to pay professional round-trip rates for a horse transport, and Craig's trip got financed. We gave him some money just to cover his gas expenses, and perhaps his good deed would at least break even — six hundred miles with a trailer is pretty brutal.

Kirkwood Backside from Carson Pass.

On a rock in Carson Pass.

We had agreed to meet in the suburbs, at the house of Craig's brother. I think that the view of a typical American suburb with single-story ranch-type houses and their miniature front yards, with one of them having a HUGE WHITE HORSE GRAZING, is not one to easily forget. Craig said that in the half hour of waiting for us, they almost caused five traffic accidents — driver passing by simply could not believe their eyes and had to swivel around to make sure IT (the horse) WAS THERE. I saw a jogger who nearly missed a street lamp post.

Craig loaded Ned back into the trailer, I joined him in his truck to help him navigate the remaining fifteen miles to the ranch; Hippo and the kids jumped in the bus and off we went. Ned was welcomed by a whole committee — besides our family and trainer Sue, there was Katja and her family. It started to dawn on me how different the two horsing world were in which I operate. On one side the city edge stables with arenas, round pens, balanced nutrition, food supplements, training aids, and training schedules. Then there are ranches where horses are work tools. Our stables are not nearly posh, most horses are rescue material (from knockers), slow racers, discontinued breeding mares, and so on. Still Ned made the impression of a lumberjack at a king's court. Perhaps he does not waltz, but he can do all the necessary horsey things — enter and exit a trailer, wait perhaps longer than five minutes for a human without throwing a tantrum, lift his legs when asked, and don't jump on people whenever some door smacks shut.

The pony does not mind the slicker as long as Lisa is wearing it.

Ned has arrived at Bear Creek.

Sue and Craig covered a few items regarding horses, for Sue would train Ned, and we should be in the know. Ned was not very happy when I led him away from Craig; he probably sensed that he was losing his human. There was hay and water waiting in his paddock, but he naturally first went to check it all out — and to meet his new neighbors. They exchanged more or less civilized greetings with Buddy on the right, but a crazy mare to the left was in fitful mood and started toward the fence at full speed. Ned looked at her in disgust — and turned his back, starting to sniff the ground with interest. Apparently he had met a few hysterical mares before and besides he noticed that she could not get to him across the fence.

We parted with Craig and Cappuccino, heading for lunch. I had to get back to the stables in the afternoon to check how Ned was doing. And I was glad I did — his morning hay remained untouched. They have classic feed racks at the pack station, while at the stables they put hay in black rubber tubs. Ned was staying away from the black monster, and apparently made up his mind not to get trapped by sticking his head in. I had to lure him step by step, and stay with him while he ate nervously. I hung around until they were distributing dinner — by then he stepped up to the hay with an old hand's expression, so he had figured it out.

I went back home in a state of excitement and anxiety at the same time — just like one feels when coming home from the first date, not knowing if the other one will want a next-time. Now I don't know if Ned is going to get used to everything, if he's going to like it here, and if I'm going to manage it all.