Spring Break

Earlier in this blog, I wrote about the spring vacations I would take each year and spend a week working as a wrangler on a trail ride. The DeAnza Trail Caballeros was the name of the group and there were always 150 riders and horses. Plus, 7 wranglers and assorted cooks and bottle washers. And the route always took us somewhere into the deserts of Southern California.

One of those years had us scheduled to visit Camp Pendleton as we trekked in from the desert side of this huge Marine Corps base. I had been told that we would enjoy a few nights camping out on the beach and after a couple of days of horse babysitting in the desert; that sounded just right!

Like all well made plans, this one came to an end rather quickly. As soon as we entered the base, we were told that the Marines were using the beach for amphibious assault training and we were going to have to go elsewhere. We were given an escort and told to follow that jeep to our campsite.

We were within smelling distance of the beach when the jeep stopped and told us that our camp for the night was just a right turn and a few miles away. The driver of the jeep handed Judy, our head wrangler, a map and headed back where he had come from. We all studied the map which showed us camping near a lake? OK, not the ocean, but a lake would be nice. Now all we had to do was get there. The right turn that had been mentioned was a jeep trail down into a dry wash, up again and then another jeep trail along the side of a steep mountain.

Jeep trails are just dandy for jeeps. But I was driving a 10 wheeler, a hay truck, fully loaded. And we had our 24’ box truck, plus a couple of pickups with horse trailers attached. And since the hay truck was the slowest when loaded, I was going to be the last one to cross the wash and up the hill.

So I sat and waited while watching the others, hoping to pick up some knowledge of the best route through the wash. Yikes! It was scary… as one after another, the vehicles came close to wrecking. I watched as the box truck came up on one side, teetering, and then fell back onto its wheels. Safe.

The other drivers walked back to tell me how to do it. I volunteered to let them show me instead. None fell for it. The only real good advice I got was to not slow down, no matter what. Pedal to the floor, get into second gear, if I could, before I hit the opposite side of the wash and then make a hard right at the top. More speed and don’t look down while traversing the side of the hill.

Off the edge I went; 15 tons of hay swaying and scaring the heck out of me as the truck rolled and pitched. I double clutched and got it into second about halfway across the wash and then accelerated for the narrow trail ahead.

“Turn hard right at the top” was my mantra and as soon as the front wheels cleared the top I spun the wheel and felt the load pulling me over to the left. It was one of those slow motion moments. I remember watching the faces of the other wranglers as they stood nearby to watch my attempt. They were all grinning! Jerks!

Then, with a crash, I was back on level ground for a moment and heading for the side of the hill…just as planned. The side hill climb was a piece of cake after the crossing and I relaxed. A few more minutes and I was around the mountain and looking at our camp site and a mud puddle. The lake.