Vacations with Cowboys & Indians : Wyoming : An unpampered ride through Yellowstone Park follows the tragic path of the Nez Perce tribe.

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK, Wyo. —  “I hope you’ll feel the ghosts.”

With this simple phrase, our grizzled trail boss, Richard Clark, hefted himself atop his horse and led us, an eager but apprehensive pack of dudes, out of the parking lot and into the spectacular back country of Wyoming’s Yellowstone National Park. We were embarking on a hard five-day, 55-mile ride in pursuit of a failed dream.

Along the way, we would ford white-water rivers, cross through intimidating grizzly country, endure the pummeling of four separate hailstorms in a single July day, learn how to dig a proper latrine, bathe in snow-fed streams, gape at brilliant fields of wildflowers, count a trillion bright stars overhead and see almost nobody else.

My horse was named Ace, and once I’d learned to bridle and saddle him correctly, we got along just fine. He only stepped on my toes once.

The ghosts who would, indeed, haunt our wild and rugged path were members of the tragic band of Nez Perce, who in 1877 passed through Yellowstone in terror-filled flight from the U.S. Army. We would ride some of the trails they are believed to have covered in their doomed hope of finding sanctuary across the Canadian border. Trapped in Montana just short of the tribe’s goal, Chief Joseph, one of the Nez Perce leaders, uttered these historic words of surrender: “I will fight no more forever.”

It was the historical aspect of the ride that most intrigued me--that for me separated this particular journey from the many escorted rides that plunge each summer into the wilderness of the American West. The sponsor was the Yellowstone Institute, an educational arm of the park. Clark, the guide who leads the ride every summer (it was booked early this year, but you can reserve for next year; see Guidebook) is an Idaho biology professor and horse-pack outfitter steeped in the lore of Yellowstone. And yet the history lesson often was overshadowed by so many other experiences.

One of Clark’s big concerns is protecting the fragile landscape through which we would pass. In our congenial group, there were 11 of us--the nine tenderfoots, Clark and his lanky, young assistant, Shane (what else would a horse wrangler be called?) McClaflin. We each had a horse, and eight other horses and mules trailed as pack animals.

A string of 19 animals can drop a lot of manure. At breakfast, after our first overnight camp, Clark startled us with a little bombshell. Before each day’s journey, he said, we 11 riders would spread out afoot across the fields where the horses had been hobbled, and we would kick each and every pile of manure. The stuff disintegrates faster when spread, and the campers following in our footsteps would appreciate the cleanup job. So out we went, reluctantly at first and then with enthusiasm, challenging each other with spirited kicks that sent the debris flying like a football headed for a field goal. I knew those pointy-toed boots I wore had to be good for something besides fitting easily into stirrups.

As powerfully appealing was the sheer exhilaration of being outdoors surrounded by untouched mountain beauty. Bobbing atop dependable Ace for several hours each day gave me plenty of time to look around. Sometimes our path followed the course of a gurgling stream as it meandered through a valley meadow. Often we tunneled into thick forests of evergreens. And several times we ascended steep switchbacks to lofty ridges where we could see for miles. Except for trail markers, the land must have looked much the same to the Nez Perce.

Sadly, some of the countryside remains scarred from the mammoth fire that swept much of the park in the summer of 1988. But fire is a natural event in the wilderness, Clark the biologist reminded us, and the forest will be renewed. From a lush carpet of grass blossomed a dazzling array of wildflowers in all colors. The most glorious, though, was the aptly named fireweed, a graceful stalk of deep pink petals that flourishes after fires. The hillsides all but glowed in their profusion.

Our group of nine--five males, four females--gathered on a sunny July morning last summer at the Yellowstone Institute headquarters, a cluster of log cabins along the Lamar River in the park’s arid northeastern corner.

From here, we were bused south to the Pelican Valley trail head on the north shore of Yellowstone Lake. In the days ahead, we would make our way north again following Mist Creek and the Lamar River and ending back again near the Institute.

At the trail head, we met Clark, his assistant and the horses. A tall, beefy guy, Clark, who was 51, made an unforgettable first impression. To be blunt, he looked a mess, his faded shirt stained with sweat and his worn jeans caked with dust. But he greeted us warmly, and then politely asked our help in hoisting the saddles from his truck. In about five minutes flat, we matched his appearance exactly. Trying to keep clean on the ride would prove useless.

Countless tasks, some of them heavy muscle work, are involved in getting an 11-person, 19-animal expedition under way, and we struggled for almost three hours at it before we were ready to climb onto our horses. One important matter, the selecting of tent mates--two to a tent--had to be settled, and this was accomplished easily enough. The sole couple in our group took one tent; two sisters, both experienced riders as it turned out, took another; two brothers a third; I paired with an affable guy about my age from Alabama who had come with the brothers, and Tricia, who was traveling alone, had a tent to herself.

At 54, I was the oldest in our party; the youngest was Shane, the wrangler, who was 19. His dream is to write cowboy stories, and he took copious notes.

By now it was almost 3 p.m., and we had 10 hard miles to go before we reached our first camps. Barely an hour into the trek, the warm sun rapidly disappeared behind dark clouds, and a strong wind whipped across the valley. I grasped my broad-brimmed cowboy hat to keep it from sailing north into Montana and reached for my saddlebags to pull out a parka. Moments later, the sky opened and deluged us.

Welcome to the wilderness, I thought, as I shivered on my perch.

In that first afternoon, we saw another small herd of buffalo and a deer or two before we reached our camp. The brothers volunteered to take first crack at dinner. Drawing water from the stream, they soon had it boiling for coffee on our pair of two-burner gas stoves. I headed into the woods to take first turn digging the latrine, and others built a small, warming campfire. At Clark’s insistence, we scattered our tents at some distance from each other. To Clark, a cluttered campsite is aesthetically unappealing, and the grass gets too heavily trampled. His sensitivity to the park’s environment impressed me.

In the glow of a small campfire each night--the Indians favored small fires to save wood--Clark resurrected the ghosts of the Nez Perce. They might well have camped beneath the same tall pines that rose above our heads, and their presence was easily imagined. The Nez Perce, whose original homeland was in eastern Oregon, had been of great help to the Lewis and Clark expedition in 1805 and 1806. The tribe, it is said, never shed white blood despite many provocations, until the fateful summer of 1877.

Over the decades preceding their 1,500-mile flight that year, the Nez Perce had reluctantly given up much of their homeland piecemeal to encroaching miners and settlers, and most had moved onto the reservation that still exists at Lapwai in Idaho. Ultimately, the last group of about 750 holdouts, including Chief Joseph, agreed under pressure to settle at Lapwai. They actually were on their way from across the Oregon border when three angered warriors killed four white men known to have mistreated the Indians.

Fearing fierce retribution, the band decided to flee east, where they hoped to find sanctuary with the Crow but were harassed by them instead. At the end, having passed through Yellowstone, they raced toward safety beyond the Canadian border, but were stopped by a cavalry attack in Montana, 42 miles short of their goal. At times, they had been pursued by as many as 2,000 troops. Their numbers much diminished by the six-month-long trek--and deadly skirmishing--the survivors were exiled to Oklahoma for eight trying years before being allowed to return to the Northwest, although not to the tribal homeland.

In their retreat, the Nez Perce spent about two weeks in Yellowstone, making their way over at least some of the same territory across which we rode. No one is sure of their exact route, but the rugged terrain limits the possibilities.

After that introductory ride, the days blended pleasantly one into another: the cold dewy dawns, the morning push to get under way, a sometimes strenuous ride of 10-12 miles broken by lunch at stream-side or atop a ridge, and an easygoing evening around the campfire telling tales and trying to keep warm in the chilly night air.

The third night’s campground was on the far side of the Lamar River, a wide, rock-filled stream that splashed swiftly in its twisting course through the deep valley. We had forded many small creeks, but the Lamar’s width and its depth--belly-high to our horses--made the crossing tricky. A couple of the horses balked and had to be coerced into the river’s flow. Sure-footed Ace took the challenge in stride, although a hoof slipped a couple of times in midstream. I kicked my boots high to keep them from dangling in the water.

We had arrived late at camp the first night, and dark settled before we unloaded the pack animals. But every day after, we made camp by midafternoon. After we removed their saddles, the horses dropped quickly into the grass to roll in a frenzy of back-scratching like school kids let out for recess. Somewhat less eagerly, we slipped into the cold river to numb the aches of the saddle and wash away sweat and dust. I get goose pimples now recalling those chilly baths. After the swim, we fished, hiked, read, jotted in diaries or napped in the waning sun.

Our final day’s ride was short--nine easy miles in three fast hours--but the morning was one of the most beautiful. The sun beamed down, and the sky was a lustrous blue. Craggy peaks rose above, and Cache Creek spilled down its valley far below. We had spent the night alongside the Cache after following a trail upstream from the Lamar Valley. Now we were headed back down to the Lamar. Much of the Cache Creek area had been badly charred, but soon that was left behind. A broad green plain opened before us, and I figured I could see ahead nearly forever.

There is a poignancy to the final moments of any journey. In the hazy distance, I could begin to make out the blue bus at trail’s end waiting to carry us back to the Institute, and I sort of wished it would disappear for a while. If I felt any disappointment in those last moments of the ride, maybe it was that we had not seen more wildlife. But we also had met only a dozen other people on the trail in five days, among them a ranger making his back-country rounds and a party of five dudes just heading out on a catered trail ride. Such softies.

GUIDEBOOK

Ridin’ High in Yellowstone

Getting there: Trail ride participants gather at the Yellowstone Institute, located on U.S. Route 212 about a 40-minute drive east of Mammoth Hot Springs, Wyo., in the northeastern corner of Yellowstone National Park. The closest major airport is in Bozeman, Mont., about a 2 1/2-hour drive from the institute. Another approach is from Billings, Mont., over the Beartooth Scenic Highway, a 3 1/2-hour route. Perhaps the best option is to arrive in Billings and depart from Bozeman, or vice versa, to take in both scenic drives.

Continental serves Bozeman and Billings through Denver, and Delta serves both through Salt Lake City.

Trail rides: Each year in July, Richard Clark leads a five-day ride over “The Traditional Nez Perce Trail,” and there are additional wilderness rides in or near Yellowstone and Grand Teton national parks during July and August. Unfortunately, all of this year’s rides were booked early, but those wishing to reserve space for next year can order a copy of the Yellowstone Institute’s 1993 trail ride schedule when it is published next February. Write or phone: The Yellowstone Institute, Yellowstone Assn., P.O. Box 117, Yellowstone National Park, Wyo. 82190, (307) 344-7381, Ext. 2384. Enrollment in the Nez Perce ride is limited to 12. Price, including all meals, horse and tent, is about $500 per person. Air fare is additional. Participants must supply a sleeping bag and ground pad.

Other rides: Escorted trail rides are offered throughout the West. More take place during the summer months, but winter is the riding season in central and southern Arizona. For the names of outfitters, contact the tourism office of the state in which you are interested in riding.

American Wilderness Experience is an adventure travel firm that organizes dozens of catered rides--in which the outfitter handles all the chores (setting up tents, cooking, etc.)--using local outfitters throughout the West. A four-night, five-day ride into the Gros Ventre Wilderness of Wyoming, just south of Yellowstone, is $685 per person. Departures are most Mondays throughout the summer. American Wilderness vice president Rick McMahan reports that as of press time Wednesday, there was still space available for rides scheduled to depart Aug. 3, 10, 17 and 24 (July 27 and Aug. 31 are booked). For a brochure: American Wilderness Experience Inc., P.O. Box 1486, Boulder, Colo. 80306, (800) 444-0099 and (303) 444-2622.

Where to stay: The night before the Yellowstone trail ride began, I stayed at the Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel, a fine, well-kept lodge with full hotel facilities. It is just inside Yellowstone’s northern boundary in Gardiner, Mont., about a 40-minute drive from the Yellowstone Institute. A room for two begins at $52.50 a night. About 15 minutes closer to the institute is the Roosevelt Lodge and Cabins, which are more rustic accommodations. A cabin for four without running water begins at $19.95 a night; a family cabin without shower is $36.75 a night; a cabin with full bath is $51.45 a night. For reservations at Mammoth or Roosevelt: TW Recreational Services Inc., P.O. Box 528, Yellowstone Park, Wyo. 82190, (307) 344-7901.

Limited accommodations for program participants are available at the institute in 13 multiple-occupancy cabins. Most have two or three single beds, but no plumbing, heating or electrical outlets. The rate is $8 per person a night. Book through the institute.