Jake and the Snake
Noel Laflin
7-21-14
Jake, the mule, knew how
to get to the river alright. But on a fine September day some thirty
years ago, he decided to take a shortcut. Unfortunately, he took me with him.
And although I swear that I saw a most unfortunate end, I am here to tell you
that it was not so. But, almost.
It's all the fault of my old neighbor, Jane, I contend. As she had heard so much of my white water adventures the year prior, it came as little surprise when she suggested that I take her with me should I ever return to the wilds of Arizona.
So that's what led us to that remotely beautiful and yet quite desolate cliff overlooking the mighty Colorado River. It looked deceiving small - the river that is - from our vantage point so high up. The mule train stood silent guard behind us as we took in the view of the massive gorge, the diminutive ribbon of water so far below and the steep trail winding its way through sharp lava and giant cacti.
Now, I had rafted the upper gorge and had taken a mule ride out of the canyon to this very spot just twelve months previously. After surviving the likes of some very nasty rapids, daily temperatures of a hundred plus degrees, monsoonal down pours and a ride on a dusty zigzagging trail out of the canyon, I was ready for a leisurely descent back down that very same trail on this fine autumn day.
This was to be a shorter voyage, but important to me, as if would take us all the way to Lake Mead, thus completing the entire two hundred and twenty-six mile river journey through one of the seven natural wonders of the world.
So, money was put down for the two of us to ride wooden dories through the lower gorge. We would be joining a group of folks who'd been in transit for the last two weeks. I envied their time there. But I was content with the trip that Jane and I were about to embark upon. And, so here we were.
"This here's Jake," the old mule handler from the Bar 10 Ranch informed me as I mounted up at the edge of the canyon.
"Gentle as they come," he added. "He's done this trip a hundred times, so just sit back in the saddle, go easy on the reigns and enjoy your ride, partner. Good old Jake knows the way" he concluded. With that, he moved on to Jane and her mount. I heard a similar pitch delivered her way as he tightened a harness here and there.
I turned in the saddle and grinned at my neighbor. "Gonna be a piece of cake," I bragged. "Ought to be easier than coming up," I surmised, trying to sound confident.
And with that thought in mind, we were off. Jake dutifully followed the mule ahead, who in turned followed the next guy, etc. There must have been a dozen of us or so heading down the narrow old dusty trail. "This is gonna be fun," I thought. So, I let Jake lead the way and do his thing.
The rattlesnake caught us both by surprise.
It's all the fault of my old neighbor, Jane, I contend. As she had heard so much of my white water adventures the year prior, it came as little surprise when she suggested that I take her with me should I ever return to the wilds of Arizona.
So that's what led us to that remotely beautiful and yet quite desolate cliff overlooking the mighty Colorado River. It looked deceiving small - the river that is - from our vantage point so high up. The mule train stood silent guard behind us as we took in the view of the massive gorge, the diminutive ribbon of water so far below and the steep trail winding its way through sharp lava and giant cacti.
Now, I had rafted the upper gorge and had taken a mule ride out of the canyon to this very spot just twelve months previously. After surviving the likes of some very nasty rapids, daily temperatures of a hundred plus degrees, monsoonal down pours and a ride on a dusty zigzagging trail out of the canyon, I was ready for a leisurely descent back down that very same trail on this fine autumn day.
This was to be a shorter voyage, but important to me, as if would take us all the way to Lake Mead, thus completing the entire two hundred and twenty-six mile river journey through one of the seven natural wonders of the world.
So, money was put down for the two of us to ride wooden dories through the lower gorge. We would be joining a group of folks who'd been in transit for the last two weeks. I envied their time there. But I was content with the trip that Jane and I were about to embark upon. And, so here we were.
"This here's Jake," the old mule handler from the Bar 10 Ranch informed me as I mounted up at the edge of the canyon.
"Gentle as they come," he added. "He's done this trip a hundred times, so just sit back in the saddle, go easy on the reigns and enjoy your ride, partner. Good old Jake knows the way" he concluded. With that, he moved on to Jane and her mount. I heard a similar pitch delivered her way as he tightened a harness here and there.
I turned in the saddle and grinned at my neighbor. "Gonna be a piece of cake," I bragged. "Ought to be easier than coming up," I surmised, trying to sound confident.
And with that thought in mind, we were off. Jake dutifully followed the mule ahead, who in turned followed the next guy, etc. There must have been a dozen of us or so heading down the narrow old dusty trail. "This is gonna be fun," I thought. So, I let Jake lead the way and do his thing.
The rattlesnake caught us both by surprise.
He slithered onto the
trail about two minutes into the descent. The rider and mule directly ahead of
us were unaware of him. But I saw the critter. Unfortunately, so did Jake.
Now, I once tried my best to re-enact in a sign language class what exactly happened next. When signing, one should always use plenty of facial expressions in conjunction with the signs themselves. The telling of this particular tale lent itself perfectly to that assignment.
As I stood before my classmates I first drew them a picture of me sitting contentedly atop old Jake by extending two fingers of one hand and straddling them with two fingers of the other hand. I was smiling and bouncing along lazily. I then signed the word for snake - venomous snake - and pointed to where he slid across our path. My facial expression was not a happy one.
From there it became a wild pantomime of Jake going crazy. He stopped abruptly, brayed repeatedly, raised his front legs and then kicked up the hind pair before bolting off the trail like a mule possessed.
My flying signs showed the class a person leaning way back in the saddle before being thrown violently forward again. I demonstrated how my hands first lost the reigns and then my feet, the stirrups. I clasped rider-fingers tightly about the fingers representing Jake. Then I laid them to the right and then to the left. Yes, that was pretty much me holding on by a wing and a prayer, taking in the rapidly descending vista from a horizontal viewpoint.
Trying to recreate the ride straight down the mountain, all the while watching my life flash before me, was a bit of a challenge. But Jake was a master in his ability to dodge (if only by inches) those large spiny barrel cacti, which popped up out of nowhere, threatening to slice off limb and face. Sharp, jagged mounds of ancient lava were no match for my four-footed friend as he cagily wove his way between them, all the while throwing in the occasional kick and screaming hee-haw. But in retrospect I have to admit that we made fantastic time.
Now, I once tried my best to re-enact in a sign language class what exactly happened next. When signing, one should always use plenty of facial expressions in conjunction with the signs themselves. The telling of this particular tale lent itself perfectly to that assignment.
As I stood before my classmates I first drew them a picture of me sitting contentedly atop old Jake by extending two fingers of one hand and straddling them with two fingers of the other hand. I was smiling and bouncing along lazily. I then signed the word for snake - venomous snake - and pointed to where he slid across our path. My facial expression was not a happy one.
From there it became a wild pantomime of Jake going crazy. He stopped abruptly, brayed repeatedly, raised his front legs and then kicked up the hind pair before bolting off the trail like a mule possessed.
My flying signs showed the class a person leaning way back in the saddle before being thrown violently forward again. I demonstrated how my hands first lost the reigns and then my feet, the stirrups. I clasped rider-fingers tightly about the fingers representing Jake. Then I laid them to the right and then to the left. Yes, that was pretty much me holding on by a wing and a prayer, taking in the rapidly descending vista from a horizontal viewpoint.
Trying to recreate the ride straight down the mountain, all the while watching my life flash before me, was a bit of a challenge. But Jake was a master in his ability to dodge (if only by inches) those large spiny barrel cacti, which popped up out of nowhere, threatening to slice off limb and face. Sharp, jagged mounds of ancient lava were no match for my four-footed friend as he cagily wove his way between them, all the while throwing in the occasional kick and screaming hee-haw. But in retrospect I have to admit that we made fantastic time.
I was greeted by a
standing ovation of both river men and paying customers by the time Jake reached the
banks of the mighty Colorado.
Jake wandered off for a drink of water.
Someone handed me an ice cold beer. There were a few dozen more cooling in the river.
I kissed the ground before pulling the tab with shaking hands. Someday those hands would help tell this tale.
The rest of the group, including my neighbor Jane, reached the impromptu party thirty minutes later.
I was only a little drunk by then. But, the day was young.
Jake and author prior to meeting the snake
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