08-06-2013, 01:05 PM
I've been having all sorts of dreams lately that just don't seem relevant to anything.
In last night's first dream, I was with a group of dudes and packers on a pack trip high in the Rocky Mountains. I found myself on a large pack mule, in the saddle but facing backwards. I was trying to help a friend of mine mount the mule. Now, this chap would never go on a pack trip; he's more the kind of fellow you'd see on one of those shows on the Bravo channel, if you catch my drift. Anyway, he got up onto the mule's rump, facing backwards also. I had to explain to him that he had to face forwards to ride the mule. So I got him turned around, and then, in a feat of martial dexterity that would make a Cossack jealous, I hopped up, pirouetted 180 degrees on the pommel with one hand, and landed facing forward in the saddle. I put my feet in the stirrups, gave the mule a cue, and away we went, at a trot; we were way behind the others by then and had to hurry to catch up.
After a bit we caught up, and the pack train wound its way through a couple of miles of winding, very rugged mountain trail. Then, inexplicably, the trail led right into the front door of an enormous old Victorian mansion with about 40 rooms. The house, and the trail through it, were maze-like; and we again fell behind the others. In the center of the house, the trail turned into a sort of pack-horse obstacle course (with tests rather resembling the sort of things one sees in doggie agility courses), and we had to dismount and coax the mule over and through the obstacles, which took some doing, and put us even further behind. We then remounted the mule and followed the trail out of the house, through the back door.
Upon exiting the house I could see that the trail branched into three trails, none of which looked well-used, but we could not see the others in our party, so far ahead of us were they. I looked to my right, and, about 50 yards away, next to a corral, saw a couple of wranglers (not ours) talking to a park ranger, all of them surrounding a pack horse. I dismounted and walked up to them, planning to ask them if they had seen which trail our party took. Before I could speak, one of the wranglers turned to me and said, "One of mine tattooed a moose yesterday!" (meaning, that a bull moose had confronted one of his pack mules on the trail, and she had bucked and kicked the moose right in the nose, causing him some injury.) "I just don't know what I'm going to do!" (meaning, that he feared that he was now in trouble with the National Park Service). The park ranger standing next to him just smiled and chuckled. Then the dream ended.
In last night's first dream, I was with a group of dudes and packers on a pack trip high in the Rocky Mountains. I found myself on a large pack mule, in the saddle but facing backwards. I was trying to help a friend of mine mount the mule. Now, this chap would never go on a pack trip; he's more the kind of fellow you'd see on one of those shows on the Bravo channel, if you catch my drift. Anyway, he got up onto the mule's rump, facing backwards also. I had to explain to him that he had to face forwards to ride the mule. So I got him turned around, and then, in a feat of martial dexterity that would make a Cossack jealous, I hopped up, pirouetted 180 degrees on the pommel with one hand, and landed facing forward in the saddle. I put my feet in the stirrups, gave the mule a cue, and away we went, at a trot; we were way behind the others by then and had to hurry to catch up.
After a bit we caught up, and the pack train wound its way through a couple of miles of winding, very rugged mountain trail. Then, inexplicably, the trail led right into the front door of an enormous old Victorian mansion with about 40 rooms. The house, and the trail through it, were maze-like; and we again fell behind the others. In the center of the house, the trail turned into a sort of pack-horse obstacle course (with tests rather resembling the sort of things one sees in doggie agility courses), and we had to dismount and coax the mule over and through the obstacles, which took some doing, and put us even further behind. We then remounted the mule and followed the trail out of the house, through the back door.
Upon exiting the house I could see that the trail branched into three trails, none of which looked well-used, but we could not see the others in our party, so far ahead of us were they. I looked to my right, and, about 50 yards away, next to a corral, saw a couple of wranglers (not ours) talking to a park ranger, all of them surrounding a pack horse. I dismounted and walked up to them, planning to ask them if they had seen which trail our party took. Before I could speak, one of the wranglers turned to me and said, "One of mine tattooed a moose yesterday!" (meaning, that a bull moose had confronted one of his pack mules on the trail, and she had bucked and kicked the moose right in the nose, causing him some injury.) "I just don't know what I'm going to do!" (meaning, that he feared that he was now in trouble with the National Park Service). The park ranger standing next to him just smiled and chuckled. Then the dream ended.