Bio: Dude, 1952-53; Wrangler, 1954-57. Descriptor: The adventure of taking an Argentine family on a pack trip that didn’t turn out well.
Fran’s Story: Hope this story does not appear twice Summertime – A Dude Wrangler at the White Grass It was the summer of 1956 – my third year as a dude wrangler on the White Grass and I was headed into my freshman year at Princeton that Fall – Frank Galey had gone to Princeton quite a few years before I did. ———————————- It was mid-summer and Frank asked me if I wanted to help take a family on a pack trip up to Pacific Creek. The family was from Argentina – a man, his wife and two children. I hadn’t been on a pack trip since our family had been guests at the White Grass in 1952 and John Lewis had taken us on an overnight up into Death Canyon, and, since that one experience, I had wanted to play a “wrangler role” on a pack trip, so, I quickly said “yes” to Frank. ————————————– Don Kipp was to be the lead wrangler and I would help set up the tents, do some cooking, wash the pots – and all the other menial things a “dude wrangler” was supposed to do to help out and keep the dudes happy and coming back to White Grass. Don (who was part Indian) had arrived at White Grass in early July from Billings, Montana with his “wife”, Pat, a cute blonde, who was really not Don’s wife. Don and Pat had had a few vehement arguments while they were working on the ranch and, on one occasion, Don pushed Pat out of their old red pick-up truck while he was driving. ————————- Don gave me a quick lesson in “packing” a horse, since as a “dude” wrangler my main job was to take the guests out on day trips and picnics to Phelps Lake, Death Canyon, Taggart and Bradley or over to the Bar BC and once in while, up to Amphitheater and Surprise Lakes. ———————————- Frank and George Clover, White Grass’s head wrangler for most of the 1950’s, trucked us, the horses and all the equipment up to the Pacific Creek trailhead, near Moran Junction. Frank and George packed the horses, turned them over to Don and me and, on a beautiful Wyoming, early August morning, we started out on the pack trip – Don Kipp in the lead with me, bringing up the rear, leading the pack horses. —————————————————— As we rode, I noticed that the wife of the man from Argentina quickly maneuvered her horse into second place in the group, right behind Don Kipp. They were carrying on a nice and prolonged conversation, which I really couldn’t hear – but it was obvious they were getting along. We stopped for a picnic lunch beside a pleasant stream and the wife had many questions, mostly directed at Don. ———————— The afternoon’s ride continued the same way – through that magnificent Jackson Hole, Yellowstone, Pacific Creek landscape. We spotted a number of deer, two moose and an elk, which thrilled the family from Argentina and finally made camp for the night beside Pacific Creek. At dinner, the man’s wife sat next to Don and it was obvious to me that they were getting along very well – maybe, too well. The Argentinian offered us drinks and Don had his flask, which supplemented the drinks we were enjoying as we sat around the campfire. —————————————– Finally, it was time to bed down and the wife announced that she didn’t want to sleep in an old tent so she would be going down to the river to sleep under the stars. ————————– Don and I sat around, finishing off his flask and Don began talking about how “nice” the wife was and did I notice that she went down by the stream to sleep by herself? Then, all of a sudden, he proclaimed, “I’m gonna ‘git’ that woman” – and he was off. ————————————- I don’t know how much later – I woke up to Don shaking me and saying “I’ve gotta git out of here” – and he was gone again – for good. ——————————————- By this time (it was around midnight), the husband was on a rampage, rushing around the dying campfire, waving an axe, screaming, “Where is that … … cowboy? Where did he go? I’m going to kill him. I have a “black belt” – and I want “at” him – alone – one-on-one”. ——————————– I tried to calm him down – unsuccessfully. He continued to wave his axe, shouting into the woods for Don to come out and face him. Then he insisted he wanted to get away from the damn campsite and get back to the ranch. The kids were crying. The wife wasn’t saying much at all – although she did try to calm her husband down, too. ———————————————- I packed the horses as best an untested, inexperienced “dude” packer could do and we started on our six hour ride back down the trail. ——————————————– It was after midnight and I had no idea where the trail went or which branch we should take when we came to a split. Luckily for me, we had two things going for us. One – it was a beautiful night, with a full moon, making the trail and the woods almost as light as day and: Two – the horses knew the way home and they knew we were headed for home. ————————————- The packs came loose a couple of times, due to the novice packer, so after a few stops to adjust the packs, and hoping the horses knew where they were going, (because I didn’t), we made it back to the trailhead, where there must have been a pay phone and I called Frank Galey and explained the “situation”. ——————————————— Not much more than an hour later, Frank and George were there with a truck and we were back at the White Grass later that morning. ——————————– The aftermath The Argentinian wanted to press charges against Don and he told the sheriff, Art Jones, that once they found Don, he wanted some time with Don alone, emphasizing his “black belt” background. The family left for Argentina ahead of schedule. —————————- A few days later, Don did come back to the ranch and picked up Pat. The last I heard, he was back in Billings. ————————————– When Don got back to the ranch, he told a fellow dude wrangler that he had followed us all the way back down the trail that night (keeping well out of sight) – but, we were never out of his sight. I have no idea whether that was true. ——————————————– That was the most memorable out of six summers of countless unforgettable, fun-filled and thoroughly enjoyable experiences on the White Grass for this “dude wrangler”. ———————— Fran Strawbridge – The White Grass: 1952 – 1953 as a dude. 1954 – 1957 as a dude wrangler. Summertime – A Dude Wrangler at the White Grass.