Horses were my father’s passion while I was growing up, and more so the
older we got. Dad loves all things horses, and took great joy in learning
how to care for all of the needs of his horses. He went to Ferrier school,
and learned how to shoe and immunize his horses and what to look for, in
case of illness. He went as far as learning how to make his own horse
shoes(going to blacksmithing school) with the hot oven horse shoe thingy
majigee.(Yes, I wasn’t as avid a horse lover as him, and wanted nothing to
do with hot ovens, open fire OR in the kitchen) He was a horse person, and
if you were to he loved you, no questions asked. His Western wear clothing
betrayed his Cowboy Status from the get go. Even his “formal wear” was
Western Flair and Western style. I don’t believe I have ever seen my father
in any other shoes then cowboy boots in my entire life. At all of his
children’s weddings, his tux was always Western Cut with shiny new cowboy
boots! At last count I know he had in his closet well over 40 pairs of
cowboy boots that he takes in regularly to re-heel, all polished regularly
to a high shine. His cowboy hats don’t quite number that high, but there
are quite a few of them for him to pick from each morning. Dad is a cowboy,
but always a well dressed and groomed cowboy, bless his heart!

He could talk horse talk for hours and never get bored with it. Every
given opportunity was spent taking the horses out to Capital Forest in
Olympia, for day trips. If he got a good group of days off (three or
more), we were packing up and headed to outside of Randle WA for Horse
Camp. Horse Camp, had a different flavor to it then going out to a
campsite, pitching a tent where there was running water, bathrooms and
sometimes showers. We would spend three hours in a caravan headed for the
mountains up past Randle WA into Weyerhaeuser land.

This particular trip, included dad, mom, my son Robby, my girlfriend’s
daughter Janelle, myself, the X and my baby girl Tayler. We were meeting
some Randle residents and setting up camp with them. Mabel Ann gave new
meaning to horse person. Raised there in Randle, owner of a huge ranch as a
young adult, she was the epitome of a cowgirl. Competed, cared for her own
horses and as knowledgeable as dad was about all things horse, if not more
so. She rode like a pro, a complete natural on the back of any horse.

Our campsite had no running water, no bathrooms in any form, nothing that
bespoke of civilized society.We truly were out in Bum F*ck Egypt, packing
in this trip three horses. Mabel Ann brought two or three horses as well.
Water needed to be packed in, and obviously in great quantities. For
keeping horses watered, as well as drinking water, water for cooking and
clean-up. Now add all the food you may need for 3 to 4 days ( for humans
and horses), camping equipment, sleeping gear and tents. Clothing was the
least amount packed, but needed to be done wisely. We leaned always toward
cold weather, but had some hot weather clothing in case the sun decided to
pop out, which it did fairly often, even if it didn’t stick around all day.

This was the reason for the caravan. Every vehicle was loaded to the brim
with supplies and people. The drive up was a fairly slow one as dad led the
way, pulling the horse trailer. We would stop about every hour to stretch,
check on the horses and move on. My favorite stop was always when we hit
Randle. There right at the turn off sat the Big Bottom Tavern. A small tiny
hick town, it was basically the only tavern, with a couple of gas stations,
one grocery store, and not much else.

But stop at The Big Bottom we did. Dad knew most of the people in the Big
Bottom and they would chat him up for a good hour, while we all ate, had a
drink, and played some pull tabs. I loved the feel of this tiny little
redneck tavern, and as dad was well liked. We were always treated to a
friendly atmosphere. Part of the attraction of the Big Bottom admittedly
was that this was going to be our last taste of running water and flushing
toilets. Unless we managed to come up with an excuse to drive back into
town for “supplies,” making the necessary pit stop at The Big Bottom.

Then it was back in the vehicles and to the boonies we went. Part of the
road was nothing more then gravel logging roads made by the tractors of
Weyerhaeuser. On a pretty day, you could count on eating dust for an hour
as you followed the caravan. Bottled water helped turn it to mud in your
mouth, but kept you hydrated anyway. By the time we got there everyone had
a thin coating of dust over their faces, clothes and in your hair. Except
for dad, who led the caravan, keeping the dust behind him. (Daddy is a wise
man!)