Remote Camp

The day has come, at last it’s here, we load each horse, and pack our gear.
Three horses and one long-eared beast, one friend, one family, all head east.
The day is fair, and time flies fast, and soon we’re up on Tombstone Pass.
We’ve left behind our normal pace, to journey to a desert place.
To rest a while midst rocks and trees, to climb the hills and feel the breeze.
Through forests still and vales we’ll plod, to view the glories made by God.
The bird, the deer, the sage, the wood, He made for man, and called it good.
A stop at Sisters for some sweets, brings smiles from all for special treats.
The Moffitt Ranch is our next stop, where plastic barrels we fill to top.
With cold fresh water, clear as sky, oh yes, we give our friend a pie.
Dust rolls behind us as we go, this journey now seems oh so slow!
The road is rough, but we give thanks, for soon we see two water tanks!
We look real close, and shout hooray! There’s water there in 18-A!
A little more to journey’s end, Remote Camp waits around the bend.
A peaceful camp, amidst tall trees, a place of happy memories.
A tranquil site where time stands still, sereneness here our souls doth fill.
Back in among the shady pines, from tree to tree we string high lines.
We tie our horses here to stay, then feed them flakes of fresh mown hay.
The outhouse next, goes up with care, remember, we have ladies here.
Beds of straw on level ground will help us sleep so very sound.
Soon time to mount each noble beast, and through the trees we’re headed east.
Or is it North, or South, or West? To check our map is surely best.
For being lost is quite a pain, so check that compass once again.
The beauty of this tree clad land, gives credit to the Master’s hand.
We lift our hearts in thankful praise, to Him who blesses all our days.
Creation shows His wondrous love, sent down to us from up above.
But soon a problem we do find, our mule is lagging far behind.
Why is it that he walks so poor? Dear me, his knee seems very sore.
Our spirits are a little damp, as mule he hobbles into camp.
But God that made a donkey talk, can surely make our mule to walk.
There’s nothing more that we can do, so Lord, we give him o’er to You.
Our campfire burns with warmth and cheer, as sinking sun warns night is near.
But ere the darkness dims the sky, we feast on fish and berry pie.
Now snug in beds beneath the stars, we think of horses, not of cars.
And as we doze away to Nod, we picture forests where we’ll trod.
And late at night…was that a dream? Or did I hear a cougar scream?
But just before I call for help, I hear a lonesome coyote yelp.
The nighthawk chirps a dull refrain, and soon I’m fast asleep again.
The day dawns clear, and soon it’s hot, we ride and lounge around a lot.
Come evening once again it’s cool, so saddle up both horse and mule.
And yes indeed, his knee seems fine, we thank you Lord, it’s perfect time.
We wind through prairie, sage and pine, Plotte Butte our goal, but lots of time.
To plod along and rest our soul, look out for all those badger holes!
The mountains round are lush and green, it surely is a wondrous scene.
Rimrock, bitterbrush, grass, and sage, make a calendar picture page.
Now from the Butte we turn aside, to camp it’s now a three-mile ride.
But as we scan the mountains high, a might rumble shakes the sky.
Black clouds are boiling to the south, we’re headed for the dragon’s mouth!
here’s naught ahead that’s looking fair, as bolts of lightning split the air.
Three miles to camp, to far I know, but mule, he seems to say, “Let’s go!”.
He steps out front, and takes the lead, there’s no sore knee in his ground speed.
The thunder crashes louder still, and lightning spreads from hill to hill.
We’ve got to get to lower ground, or just our bodies will be found.
For as this prairie we do trod, each man is just a lightning rod.
The rocky trail to vale below, we finally reach, now going slow.
But as we drop to lower height, our eyes behold an eerie sight.
Like smoke or fog from out the ground, a bluish haze our group surrounds.
It lingers in the trees ahead, and fills us with a strange new dread.
The rain we feared, we’ve not yet seen, but what does this strange spectre mean?
We ride on through this cloud of gloom, our journey finished very soon.
For camp is close, not far to go, we glance behind, and see the glow.
Of sunlight shining through the clouds, as once more thunder rumbles loud.
Four riders finally reach the place, of shelter, yes, we won the race!
This night in rest we safely pass, though thunders roll and lightning's flash.
Then in the morning we do rise, to gentle breeze and sunny skies.
More lands we cross the next few days, we even find the cougar’s cave.
But no one’s home, to our relief, if Cat was there, ‘t would be real grief!
The evening brings a special treat, as friends from home we warmly greet.
And welcome to our forest home, to share the blessings all our own.
The children bring a joy with them, their laughter echoes through the glen.
With smiles just like the bright sunshine, they run and play with ne’er a whine.
Of outdoors meals, we never tire, as burgers grill on open fire.
Each appetite is quenched that such, most would agree we ate too much.
As daylight fades, and turns to night, we gather round the campfire’s light.
We count the blessings of these days, and sing our dear Redeemer’s praise.
These hymns of joy, they rise above, and tell of our Creator’s love.
His plan for man is grand to tell, He truly hath done all things well.
Soon silence reigns, for all do sleep, in beds of straw in forest deep.
This tale could go much longer still, and tell of many a horseback thrill.
Of Watkins Pass’s splendid view, of thirty eggs, and sausage too!
Of hillsides white in Buckbrush flowers, of youthful hikes of several hours.
Of red-barked Ponderosa trees, of morning twenty four degrees!
Of painting rocks, of buck and doe, of lizard we named Ivanhoe.
Of coyote’s howl, and dog-like bark, of yellow eyes that pierce the dark.
Of antelope out on the flats, of scary tales of mountain cats!
Of coffee’s scent when freshly brewed, how can that taste be oh so crude?!
Of mountain breezes fresh and cool, of dips in cow tank swimming pool.
Of evening treks with riders small, of good times had by one and all.
We now look forward to the day, when we can journey back and stay.
Among the deer and antelope, at mountain camp we call Remote.