Bio: Dude Kid, 1953-60; Wrangler 1961-62. Descriptor: Taking a Nobel Prize winning chemist on a pack trip and taking the advice given to learn to relax.
Bernie’s Story: Pack trips were a wrangler’s chance to get away from the daily grind of trips to the Phelps Overlook or Taggart Lake. I remember Frank asking me to take a pair of dudes for a three-day to Marion Lake and Alaska Basin. But not just any dudes. This was a Nobel Prize-winning chemist and his wife, or perhaps “wife”; rumor had it that the much younger, vivacious woman at his side was the happy result of all the prize money. Or not: a picture of the two of them, dressed to the nines, would appear in Life Magazine shortly thereafter as they waited in a line of intellectual celebrities to greet President and Jacqueline Kennedy at a formal White House dinner. In any event, it was a beautiful trip. Perfect weather in a perfect landscape. Just the three of us plus a pack horse. I was riding Socks, a youngster whom I had been doing a mediocre job of training that summer (around 1961?). My guests were at the ranch for only a few days, which for them may have added to the special delight of getting into the back country. The morning of the second day we began the crossing from Marion Lake to Alaska Basin. As we approached the head of Death Canyon (Hurricane Pass?–my memory is slipping), I called their attention to the possibility of sighting mountain goats far across the tableland to the east above Indian Lake. We paused to look. I’m not aware that age enhances vision, but after staring intently for a moment, Nobel calmly dismounted, dropped the reins of his horse and set out determinedly on foot across the rock-strewn surface to the east. His horse, realizing its sudden and unearned good fortune, looked the other way, west down Fox Creek Canyon (?) toward Idaho and the lush hayfields from where he was rented by White Grass for the summer. With equal determination he set off for home. Remember, I was on Socks, not exactly a noble steed, and surely a product of my own inexperience training horses. And, I was holding the lead to a loaded pack horse lagging behind me. In his eagerness to stalk a mountain goat–real or imagined–Nobel was oblivious to the crisis he was precipitating. I spurred Socks toward Idaho and managed to catch up to his emancipated mount just before it would have dropped into Fox Creek Canyon. That afternoon, after we made camp by one of the small lakes in Alaska Basin, Nobel’s consort quietly approached me and suggested I go for a long walk somewhere well out of sight. I was never sure if this was to provide privacy for a skinny dip in the lake or some yet more romantic involvement. In any event I complied with her request and spent an hour or two studying the topography of other parts of the basin. Back at the ranch, as they were leaving, Nobel’s partner gave me a lovely hand-written note of thanks for our pack trip together. Whether in response to the challenges of wrangling a classic absent-minded professor, or my own youthful baggage and exaggerated need to control things, she closed urging me gently to relax. It has taken years for her advice to take hold, but I still think of it as a turning point in my life.