Jason The High Country Guide

As I recall, Jason was thirteen years old when he guided me upslope from the Rio Grande Reservoir where I met him the morning after arranging with his boss, Ralph Conkey, to pack me up to a place called Rincon La Osa. Jason quickly lashed my backpack to a mule, we mounted our horses, and off we went with very little discussion aside from brief introduction. But as we eased our way up into high country, Jason opened up and talked about how he had come from Oklahoma to work the summer for Ralph, what his first day on the job was like, which was a hoot to hear him tell. After a big breakfast at Ralph's house, he then set him loose in a grassy pasture beside the Rio Grande with a canteen full of water, a sack lunch, and a bunch of bridles where he told him to chase down horses and mules and bridle them until he had no more bridles to put on animals. Jason succeeded at this task and had been working all summer since. I had chosen to go upslope in mid August, so he told me we probably wouldn't see each other when I finally hiked back down and out to Ralph's place.

Our ride up was uneventful except for a moment my mount spooked at something neither of us could spot in our immediate surroundings, but the horse rapidly calmed down and on we went at a steady, fairly brisk pace since daylight is lost fast where mountains are so tall as those we were trekking by. Past Simpson Mountain and Rio Grande Peak, we passed close to The Window and a short distance further on from there we arrived at my drop off point just beneath a ridge I would cross the next day to descend at leisurely pace into Rincon La Osa.

A storm was brewing to the west and was moving rapidly to the east where we were. Jason had already pulled my pack off the mule and I had already started pitching the tent, knowing that within minutes the rain would start falling hard. But the rain wasn't what either of us was worried about. The devil's chains lashing the slopes was what had us both concerned, and before Jason could get off and down slope far enough to be in a safe place, the lightning was striking close by with its characteristically vicious and unpredictable manner. Jason turned to me, suddenly looking as young as we was, and asked "What do I do?", fear tinging the edges of those four sparse words. I had no idea what the protocol was for a pack string guide but hazarded as logical a guess as I could, shouting "Tie the animals off then get in!"

He promptly did just that and by the time he dove into the tent, I had the thermarest pad inflated and spread out for us to sit on, the best I could come up with for insulation which might possibly keep us from being electrocuted by a nearby lightning strike to the ground. Jason was drenched by then but it was warm inside the tent so I didn't worry much about hypothermia setting in there and then, but as the storm passed Jason got up and told me he was heading back down. That's when I began to worry about his safety. It was getting late and I doubted he could get back to Ralph's before dark, his clothing was wet, and the nights at that altitude could get pretty cold very fast after sunset. I urged him to stay overnight, but he insisted he had to get back down to Ralph's. I didn't argue further, with time a wasting.

The clouds broke up as he was leaving and warm shafts of sunlight began shining through. Still, I worried. And that worrying didn't end after I slept hard and woke up eager to hike on down into Rincon La Osa the next morning. Scaling up and over the ridge, immediately below was a small circa lake as beautiful as any I had ever seen in The Weminuche, so I spent a night there beside it, having a hearty meal of freeze dried chili followed by a handful of freeze dried strawberries for desert. The weather was perfect and I relaxed a bit while eating and watching a water vole foraging along the edge of the little lake. I was still worried about Jason, hoping he had indeed made it back to Ralph's safe and sound, if not before dark fell.

Several days later I hiked down canyon, turned left at Fuch's Ditch, threaded my way over Weminuche Pass and then alongside Weminuche Creek to the reservoir, arriving at sunset to find Ralph preparing his stock for nighttime. He assured me Jason had made it back down safely after dropping me off in the high country, arriving after dark a bit, but safe and sound.

Next time I made my way out to Creede in late summer of 1998, the local hotel owner told me that Ralph had been kicked by one of his stock animals and wasn't doing so well. This saddened me more than expected. I wanted to do something for him, but had no idea what that something could be. Having been a happy client who had gladly paid his reasonable fee for Jason to guide me so far so well up into the Weminuche Wilderness was enough, maybe.