A Happy Time (Madeleine Horton)

I had been enticed by the photo of a group of trail riders wending their way through a verdant valley following a crystal-clear river surrounded by imposing mountains. The text for the ad promised home cooked food, evening campfires and singsongs, led by an experienced guide in the company of travellers drawn to the Rocky Mountains from everywhere. Despite not being able to convince my sister or a friend to make the trip, I decided to go. It was my first real holiday as a young adult after getting settled in my first teaching job. It turned out much different than I expected but even better.

When I was picked up in Banff, I was told that because I was there the week before the Calgary Stampede, no group rides had yet been scheduled. I was asked if I would consider riding alone with the guide who was checking out the trails. There would still be the two campsites to return to at night, there would still be breakfast and dinners and packed lunch for the rides as the campsites were gearing up for the following week. I would have one of the large shared tents to myself and we would do as much riding as the regular trips did. So, it was to be just the guide and me.

The situation suited me as one who is more introvert than extravert. And no this is not a romance story though it did have a handsome hero- one who could wear a cowboy hat without it looking like a costume, who sat a horse with ease and grace, and who spoke as befitted someone who grew up as one of the younger siblings in a family of seven on a rural Saskatchewan farm. He was probably younger than I realized then.

It helped that I could saddle up myself and knew my way around a horse in a comfortable if not expert manner. For six days after breakfast, we saddled up and rode for many hours, stopping at noon for lunch and a break for the horses. A simple cheese sandwich on hearty bread, brand name biscuits or cornbread soaked in maple syrup eaten with instant coffee, made from water taken from the stream we rested the horses by, never tasted so good.

And, here I was on a horse, a sturdy bay gelding, nothing to look at but honest and sure-footed and tireless and I was riding through mountains, mountains on both sides off me, mountains behind me, and mountains ahead of me as far as I could see. Sometimes we were negotiating switchbacks, my steady horse sweated up but dogged. Sometimes we were high enough a brief snow shower wetted us. Sometimes we were snaking through trees, sometimes following the path of a silver river and then splashing through it to the other side, a delight unlikely with a large group inevitably with some who had never been on a horse before. The same for a quick canter back to camp down an old lumber road- an unexpected treat. I cannot deny that I felt lucky to be asked if I was game for doing some scouting of a new trail. Throughout those days on horseback, I never heard any traffic, saw a single plane overhead, and only once in the distance saw another group of riders going the opposite direction.

Every evening after a full dinner usually with some cut of local beef, I was invited to sit around a fire. I still remember these fires as a time when I laughed more and harder than I have ever since. I find many things funny, yet I do not laugh easily but I remember laughing so much then that my jaws ached. It turned out that the local park ranger who was stationed on fire watch all day came over to the camp in the evening. He was a natural story teller and my guide a keen acolyte, and they had a well of stories. Most concerned bears and tourists, tourists and bears, and among tourists the most amusing to them were the hikers, usually assumed to be some type of hippy. I remember them waxing on like ancient philosophers about the theories of what to do if confronted by a bear. As in the telling of all good stories, it was in the manner of it, the art of it. The park ranger was gifted in this and perhaps he spent his solitary days honing his stories for the night.

When I withdrew to my tent, I looked up at the stars, so many and so bright, felt embraced by the darkness so deep and a blanket of quiet that lured me into heavy untroubled sleep. No wavers signed, no GPS tracking systems on alert, no cell phones near for comfort. No fear, none.