In August of 2005, I was fortunate to spend a week up in the White Mountains of east central California. About an hour from Bishop, the Mountains rise to about 14,000 feet. Unlike the Sierra Nevadas located just 10 miles west across Owens Valley, the Whites are extremely dry with almost no precipitation at all. From a distance the land looks barren, but once you are in the mountains, the landscape is beyond beautiful.
The 'campsite' was located in an extremely remote location about 15 miles down a 4 wheel drive only road at about 9,000 feet. Nestled in canyon walls 2 miles or so past the nearest campers (fishermen), the site had a rock fire pit and complete privacy. Sleeping under the stars took on a whole new meaning, as the night sky was very crisp and clear and truly breath taking; the stars so incredibly close, you could even track the movements of satellites across the night sky.
It was late in the summer and the sweet sent of sage was everywhere (I brought bouquets home and it just about broke my heart when at long last I had to throw them out). Patches of red and yellow and blue wildflowers flourished near the small trout stream. We brought drinking water, but took water for washing from the stream.
At 9,000 feet the sun was hot, but one only had to stand in the shade of a scrub tree or canyon wall to feel instantly cool. At night, the jackrabbits were plentiful and active, as I assume was their predator. Thankfully all the critters stayed to themselves.
You quickly become accustomed to the solitude of the wilderness. Oh so very quiet; only the sounds of the birds, insects and such. So, I was surprised to see a man on horseback ride into camp. Never mind the couple head of cattle he was herding, he was truly the most handsome male I have ever seen ever. Bar none. Looked like he just stepped out of a Zane Gray novel, complete with gun in holster (defense from rattlesnakes and mountain lions). The young man was a cowboy from the cow camp a canyon or two away. On our arrival, we had gone through 2 cattle gates in the road, and had seen and heard the lowing of cattle grazing, but did not know the herd was moved about. We were actually on private land, but it was not a problem. He was moving the cows and could not stay long to talk, so he invited us to his place. We we walked over the following day.
A small private college (Deep Springs) in the eastern valley below runs the cow camp each summer. The mountain cowboy serves three summers. First summer as the junior cowboy, the second alone, and the third as the senior cowboy mentoring a green trainee. It was Gareth Fisher's second summer. He was in charge of the herd - moving them about to protect sensitive areas from overgrazing and tracking down strays. The camp consisted of two small drafty one room cabins built in 1914; one a tidy living space with a bed and the other cabin served as the tack room. No running water or electricity. I don’t remember seeing or hearing a generator, but he had cold beer (and we brought some) so there must have been one or a ice box. There were three horses and a large fenced corral. The cow camp completely blended in to the landscape. He was brought provisions every few days. It was idyllic.
Ok, so I had to consciously try not to stare at him, as he really was very handsome so one could not blame me, but it was more than that. The young man also had a thoughtful and contemplative nature about him, a lovely aura. You could sense he was completely in his element in the canyon. I thought - if those girls down in Bishop knew about him, they would be finding ways to get up the mountain and get stranded. Too bad he wasn’t 25 or so years older.
Gareth is a very unusual name, so upon my query as to how he was named, he said his mother was born and raised in Scotland and he had spent time there. Perfect! I had not yet started my Scotland quest so I did not know much about my own heritage, but I did mention my family name was MacDonald. Upon learning that, it was as if we were distant kin - he opened up and talked about his family. I mentioned his Mother must worry a bit about him being in such a remote place all alone. When I asked if she had sent him cookies, he said yes, cookies and an old thick warm wool blanket from Scotland which he showed us. It was exactly what I would have sent my own son. There is nothing quite like a well loved blanket which smells of home.
We talked about life in the canyon, music (of course), books, trout fishing and such. He spoke of his college which was student run and geared towards preparation for lives in public service; he was very serious about his studies. I mentioned my youngest niece was just starting at Prescott College which concentrates on community involvement and the environment. He knew the school and said they were similar, although his was much smaller and more intense. Deep Springs College is an all male working cattle ranch and alfalfa farm where academics, manual labor and self governance are its cornerstones. He said it was very hard to get admitted as class sizes are small. We were sitting on the porch of an old cabin, miles from civilization, looking out on an amazing landscape few have ever seen. A most enjoyable visit with a most interesting young cowboy.
Circumstances changed, and I never did make it back to the White Mountains the following summer. No doubt, young Gareth is off doing his part to help change the world for the better. And no doubt, breaking hearts along the way.
"All of the good gifts given today,
Ours is the sky and the wide open range."
Merry Christmas.
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