Mountain Spa

A meat customer told me about her Nature Bath – when she took off her shoes and socks, stretched her arms into the air and inhaled the sights, smells and sounds of the natural world.

My partner, Erik, and I decided we needed more of a fully immersed, multi-day Nature Spa instead of just a Nature Bath so we loaded up the horses and dogs and headed into the Bob Marshall Wilderness for three days.

The dogs and horses were as happy as we were to smell the blooming wildflowers, feel the warm sunshine on our shoulders, listen to the creeks sing their laughing songs and admire the immense, humbling power of granite peaks.

Grizzly scat and tracks peppered the trail, too.

We paused to read an orange Forest Service sign declaring a horse had died recently in a popular campsite.

We camped about 5 miles past that site, along the edge of a huge mountain meadow.

Although we had never been here together, both of us had spent plenty of time in this special place. Sharing old memories created new ones, all anchored to this land.

As the sun dropped below the horizon, Erik played his mandolin while I watched the meadow.

Then I realized my mind was completely blank.

Nothing.

I couldn’t remember the last time I wasn’t mentally juggling a thousand ideas and responsibilities.

I’m a pretty good juggler, but it can be exhausting.

I felt Erik’s music match the peaceful meadow and crackling fire, breathing my frazzled exhaustion away.

We rose with the sun, dark camp coffee, black crunchy bacon – oops -- and grazing horses, then saddled up to revisit deeper wilderness.

Life among the mountains is tough, but pure.

Consequences come from natural laws of physics and animal instincts, with no ulterior motives or hidden agendas.

Yet those consequences can kill a person.

I had ridden this series of switchbacks on steep talus several times, always stiff in the saddle, feeling every single hoof step from my toes to my tense shoulders, ready to bail off on the uphill side at the first indication of a slip, silently talking myself out of a panic with reminders that horses don’t want to roll off of a 200-foot cliff either, knowing all three horses are experienced on mountain trails, knowing I’ve made this trek before and survived.

And holding my breath for the eternity of terror.

The mountains push a person past her fears and reward her when she responds.

The reward came from a clear stream and views of endless mountains, quaking green aspen leaves against blue sky and fluffy clouds.

And a deep breath.

Knowing we would traverse the same trail to get back to camp.

Then, on the way back to camp, something happened.

The trail made sense.

My horse stepped confidently, clinging to the mountainside.

I could breathe, even enjoy the view.

Without even knowing how, I was not afraid.

By the next morning when we rode out, a steady drizzle soaked our jeans as one dog scouted ahead and one protected the back.

As we approached the Dead Horse Camp, the dog in front raised his hackles, both ears perked.

My horse pranced as we planned to spin and run if the grizzly hidden in the brush protecting his breakfast made an appearance.

I didn’t need the .45 ready on my hip, but I was glad for the backup plan.

The bear heard a lot of human hollering.

The dogs and horses relaxed.

We moseyed past that danger zone.

A few hours later, we left our Nature Spa and crossed back into the treacherous noise of civilization.

Rejuvenated, the laws of the mountains helped us face those exhausting demands once again.