Adventure, Inspiration and Tragedy at Sperry Lodge

“All right, move off the trail quickly now,” our trail guide ordered. The ride up the mountain to this point had been cold, but uneventful. We were on horseback, Ann and I, with our guide in the lead. Fog had slowly descended in the last mile or so, limiting our view of the world around us to maybe fifty feet in all directions. I asked our guide, Frank, about the conditions on the trail ahead.

“Oh, this ain’t bad here, it’s up higher that it gets real scary.”

“So, do you ride this trail very often?” I asked, hoping for some reassurance.

“Yep, just about every day. But that don’t make it any easier.”

I decided not to talk to Frank anymore.

From out of the thick blanket of white, several men suddenly appeared on horseback, and then a string of heavily - laden mules followed by two more wranglers, apparently in a big hurry to get past us. We were late, and they had been waiting up here at the only place wide enough for horses to pass each other, for over an hour. A few perfunctory greetings …