SI Vault
 
STRUGGLE ON FOG MOUNTAIN
Don T. Hibbard
November 12, 1979
When the roan declared war and the blizzard lashed the Bitterroot Range, the author had a brush with death
Decrease font Decrease font
Enlarge font Enlarge font
November 12, 1979

Struggle On Fog Mountain

When the roan declared war and the blizzard lashed the Bitterroot Range, the author had a brush with death

View CoverRead All Articles View This Issue
1 2 3 4 5 6

Camp lights suddenly appeared out of the swirling blackness. And Lorin, beside our tent, was taking hold of the mare's bridle. I could have sworn he muttered, "Thank God." He jarred me out of the saddle, guided me to the tent flap and left to care for the horses.

For three days and nights snow fell heavily, and howling winds piled it around in great drifts. For three days 10 carloads of us stayed in our tents, except when nature made us tunnel out. We shared food and fuel oil, and were grateful for the warmth and shelter from the cold and wind.

When the storm broke, a small plane flew over from Salmon City, dropping fuel and newspapers and telling us we had been marooned. The packer rode out and arranged for a bulldozer to come and clear a trail down the mountain.

Before leaving I walked down to the corral. My roan was there with the other horses. He walked a few steps in my direction, his ugly countenance almost saying, "Do you want to go another round, bub?"

"Not me," I said aloud.

1 2 3 4 5 6