Saddle Sore: Horse trailers and non-existent trails

It was a last thought, as in, where the hell you going? Wednesday, no less, and with our plan to visit cow camp scuttled, we thought about Hannon Creek for a nice, cool ride, but there were two cars parked at the trailhead, making it impossible to safely park the horse trailer. What the hell, let’s head up to Lenado, maybe we can find some parking for the Tinpot trail or maybe the Woody Creek trail. Imagination’s a great thing. 

The once-good parking for a horse trailer at Lenado has been trenched-out on one side and taken up by two, forever-parked cars in the middle, making it basically impossible, as well. Up the road, the sign says “Don’t Park Here, Snowplow Turnaround” — ha-ha, but it was taken up by cars, as well, apparently unaware that snowplows might be swapping ends there at any time.

No big deal, we’ll just cruise up to Kobey Park and ride around that beautiful place. Would have been a pleasure to drive up there — I love that drive — but perhaps the last time Pitkin County graded the road was shortly before or after rifle hunting season last fall. Maybe 2023. My poor horses, basically standing in one place in the trailer, their legs acting like shock absorbers taking up the bumps, washouts, and washboards. Once you start up there with a four horse trailer, you’re committed — no turning that bad-boy around.

We made the top, nobody died, and a last-minute decision came forth from yours truly: “Let’s start off from the head of Collins Creek.” Parking, plenty of, and away we went. As I looked down the wide expanse of the openness, they started coming back, those events, those memories of childhood and young adulthood. This was one of my go-to places for many things.

It started when I was about twelve — I’d haul 12-16 salt blocks up there and stash ’em under a big pine. Next trip, driving our stock truck with two horses — one to ride, one to pack — I’d load up and based on nothing more than a conversation with my father, no map, find the salt licks, well-established over decades. Surprisingly, I always found them. There’s a trail from there, once wide and beautiful, going over to Kobey Park and down to cow camp. Oh man, the hours I spent up in that country. A confrontation with a bear, cattle drives — could it get any better? 

The last time I rode a horse down Collins Creek from the top, George Stranahan and Jesse Steindler were running some yearlings up there on a permit, almost 30 years ago. There were a couple of U.S. Forest Service ladies out in the middle, taking soil samples or some such thing, couldn’t believe there were cattle on the range. I couldn’t believe there were good-looking official women working on the range. That day was different from back when, whenever that was.

My partner in crime, Deborah, and I worked our way down the non-existent trail (as it should be in an open meadow), and as it narrowed and we entered the evergreens, the remains of the old trail made itself known (It was kind of like old home week). And even though it was relatively clogged with down timber, we made it through to the next clearing, the bottom of which where the old cabins once stood, next to each other much like city duplexes sit today. When I was a kid, riding up there with my grandfather, those cabins had intact windows and doors, could have made good employee housing in today’s world. Over the years, they deteriorated, but as of today, they’re gone, not even a shred of log foundation left. Maybe it was the controlled burn in 2023.   

A cool breeze, the skyline encompassing Capitol, Daly, and Sopris behind a translucent haze of thick smoke, we found an old log for a lunch spot, turned the horses loose for a little bit of green grass, and had some great sandwiches. 

Time to go — my horse who had been acting a little off, turns up lame. Damn, it’s a steep walk out of here. “No, no,” says Deborah, who tallies in under 100 pounds, “let’s just trade horses and see how that works.” It worked.

Despite my occasional surly attitude about the parking and the rough road, we ended up having a great ride and made some more lasting memories of the place. Have to go now — gotta get my horse, Easy, to the vet. 

Tony Vagneur writes here on Saturdays and welcomes your comments at ajv@sopris.net.

Tony Vagneur writes here on Saturdays and welcomes your comments at ajv@sopris.net.