The Call of the Giddy-Up (As featured in Vail Valley Magazine Summer 2004)

Hiking, concert-going, dining and shopping are all lovely Vail Valley summer pastimes to be sure. But beneath the clink of wine glasses and the ka-ching of the cash register, who among us does not hear, faint yet wild, the irresistible call of the giddy-up. The profound longing to shake the dust of town, swing aboard a trusty steed, and gallop off into the true west, the wild west of Annie Oakley and Buffalo Bill Cody, the untamed west of Lonesome Dove.

It still exists, and not so very far away from here. It’s a land of pure crystal see-through mountain lakes, meadows brimming over with wildflowers, elk hideouts and fox lairs, and views that go on forever. A place best reached on the topside of a horse.

Six intrepid women last summer heeded the call of the giddy-up and set out with local guide and top cowboy Kip Gates on a four-day adventure of a lifetime in the gorgeous Flat Tops Wilderness. We were blonde, brunette, and red-headed; we hailed from Michigan and Colorado and Boulder. For those of us who grew up or went to college together, this was a reunion. All of us are moms, with kids ranging from toddlers to 20. Two of us have our own horses, one of us had some past riding experience, and three had no idea what side to climb up on.

No problem, we had Kip as our great scout – just call him Kip Carson. And we were, as they say, hot to trot. On a sparkling July morning we all reconnoitered by car in the parking lot of the Burns trailhead up the mountain from the Colorado River Road. Kip was already waiting with his string of sturdy quarterhorses, one for each of us and four pack horses.

All the horses are raised and trained by Kip on the Gates cattle ranch just down the road. His dauntless forebears homesteaded the high-mesa ranch five generations ago, and their descendants have been raising cattle and horses here ever since. His dad, easy-going family patriarch Bud Gates, was a two-term Eagle County Commissioner and is one of the all-time favorite characters hereabouts.

Kip grew up exploring the vast reaches of the Flat Tops on horseback, and knows it like a suburban kid knows the bike routes to school. For nearly three decades now, he’s led wilderness camping and hunting expeditions through these mountains. He’s something of a local legend since becoming the only American ever to compete in the Man from Snowy River Challenge held in the Australian outback. The cowboy’s version of the Olympics, the contest includes nine events such as wild horse catching, bareback obstacle jumping, bronc riding and the like. In 2002, he competed with a broken collar bone and three broken ribs from a little horse mishap a few days before. Yep, a dude or dudette can feel safe in the wilderness with this cowboy.

Kip quickly and expertly stuffs our sleeping bags, clothes duffels, and miscellaneous girl gear into the panniers (French for big fat canvas saddlebags) slung over the pack horses’ sides. We’re introduced to the horses that will be our faithful companions for the next several days. Mine, a black and white paint mare called Dolly, is newly pregnant, but not enough to bother her.

We follow a trail winding through the tall aspen forest, leaves winking bright green in the sunlight. Soon we’re on the open, grassy meadows on our way to distant mountains. We breathe in the sweet, sun-warmed grass scent as our high-spirited horses show us they’re a far cry from your typical stable plug. They’re out to have fun, too, and just a little cluck sends them into a lively trot or canter whenever we want. We laugh out loud, totally exhilarated to be sharing this odyssey under the huge Colorado sky with these grand and willing steeds.

Kip tells us we’re riding the Ute Trail, an ancient path we can still faintly see that the Indians traveled every spring from the lower valleys to their summer hunting grounds in this lush high country. When his ancestors settled here, the Utes were still making this journey. Now, as then, these mountains are home to enormous herds of deer and elk, as well as fox, porcupine, beaver, pine martin, and the occasional bear. Native trout fill the lakes and streams, awaiting the fly rods we packed along.

The country through which we ride is blooming and radiant with mid-summer. We climb steeply up the mountain’s flank, a trail which our horses, sure-footed and steady, know well. Kip turns off the track and we cluster the horses around for a photo op, handing our cameras to him one by one. We’re six happy cowgirls in big cowgirl hats, our conspiratorial grins betraying how we feel about fleeing jobs, families, and responsibilities for a few ecstatic days.

With a sweep of his arm, Kip takes in the stunning immensity stretching out all around and below us, and says, “You’ve been in paradise -- now we’re going to heaven.” In minutes, we’re poised on the shoulder of the mountain, looking down, down into a deep sapphire lake -- a gemstone set in craggy mountainsides and forests. It’s like peering at a magical scene inside one of those old-fashioned Easter eggs. We can see a tiny canvas tent pitched on a spoon of land that juts out into the miniature lake. That’s where we’re headed.

As our horses angle down the slope in single file, someone cries out, pointing, and we all look up. Two gigantic golden eagles are performing a sky dance for us. Just above our heads, they pirouette, then dip their wings and eye us with a keen and curious stare. It’s a welcoming omen, we agree.

When we get to the lake, our horses plunge in and send up big fans of water as we splash across to our campsite. We help Kip unload the panniers, then we roll out our sleeping bags in the big canvas wall tent that’s tall enough to stand up in.

Soon we’re ready to jump back on our horses for a late-afternoon romp to one of Kip’s favorite spots. After we’ve tied up to nearby trees, we troop over near the rocky rim of the mountaintop, venturing as heart-poundingly close as we dare to the cliff. Tier after tier of velvety green mountains and shining emerald valleys march endlessly to the horizon. Very far below is our lake with our camp.

Kip stands at the sheer edge of crumbling rock, nonchalantly kicking off the loose stone which free-falls in a silent thousand-foot drop. We yell at him to step back from the rock face, but he laughs and goes a few inches further. Finally, he sits down on the rocky ledge and the rest of us bunch together several safe feet away. He begins to talk about trust and life and the wilderness. This trip is all about trust. We must trust him that he isn’t going to fall off the cliff, he says, and we have to trust our horses. Most of all, we have to trust ourselves. He tells us that the wilderness, if we let it, can take away the mundane fears and cares of life and replace them with a deep eternal solace.

Some of us begin to open up about our longtime fears. And as we look out from our sky-high perch, the grandeur and immensity of it all overwhelms us and yet is somehow soothing, too. Kip says when we get back to the daily stress of our real lives, we need to take this moment from our memories whenever we need it.

Back at camp, we ravenously chow down on the elk steaks Kip sizzles on the campfire grill, elk he hunted himself. We talk and laugh and have silly fun arguing over ongoing “best products” lists. Some favorites: Pearlizumi for bike wear; REI for quick-dry camping clothes; Luna key lime for energy bars; Mary Kay’s SPF30 for sunblock; Patagonia for travel underwear.

As dinner’s sweet finish, Kip creates his specialty cowboy pie. Into his long-handled iron sandwich press he layers a bread slice, then fresh raspberries, chocolate, marshmallows, and another bread slice. Closing it all up, he holds the press over the fire until the decadent treat is meltingly ready.

The next days each have their own unique flavor. Waking up early to birdsong, we step out into the bright mountain air, reveling in the freedom of doing anything we want, anytime we like. No daytimers, no schedules, no cell phones – and our watches came off when we first got here.

One morning, Rita leads us in an incredible impromptu yoga session that leaves us all feeling like we can conquer the world. We explore the hidden places where elk gather, we charge across the mesa, whooping with our new confidence on horseback, and we learn horse-whispering lore from Kip as we saddle and bridle our mounts.

One day, we climb up an enormous rock. After we eat our salami and cheese sandwiches on top, spontaneous singing breaks out. We warble through some Beatles, some Sting, Bob Dylan, and Ian Tyson before a soaring finish of “Amazing Grace.” Another afternoon we put on bathing suits and lurch into the lake, the icy shock prompting screams and laughter. On a hike through the woods, we come upon a gigantic, lumbering porcupine and Kip plays dodge ‘em with the critter to more general hilarity.

At nearby Crater Lake, our guide demonstrates how to cast a wily line, and a couple of us actually hook some midget cousins to the fat fish he reels in. That evening’s cowboy cooking ala Kip just may be the best ever: luscious, fresh-caught Rocky Mountain trout grilled to perfection over the coals with fried potatoes and carrots grown on the ranch.

All too soon, it’s Sunday, time to pack up and trek back to the life we left. We may smell a little funky, but we’ve had a walloping good time. We’ll remember the sweet-tangy scent of sagebrush after rain, the Milky Way blazing over the campfire, and that first evening on the rock cliff. We’ve found the feisty cowgirl that lives in each of us, and we’ll never lose her again.

Kip Gates -- River’s Bend Outfitters. To find your inner cowperson, call 970-653-4306 or email Kip at kipelk@colorado.net