Bev Henry
Originaally published in the Fall, 2003 BCL.
"I just drive to the alpine," he said, "It's almost always sunny
out there, and no bugs." Wow. This sounded too good to be true. So when
this man invited Barry and me along on a hike the following summer, we eagerly
accepted. We would bring our own llamas and supplies.
The man’s name was Ernie, and he operated a part-time packing business
in a remote area a few hundred miles north of us. Accompanying us would be his
two paying guests -- Monique, a young woman from Quebec, and Hans, a retired
European fellow. In addition, Ernie had invited Sally, the 15-year-old daughter
of the local river guide to come along and help. Our group would have six people
in all.
We needed to transport our llamas 400 km over a network of rough and dusty logging
roads from Ernie's place to the trailhead. Buying a several-thousand-dollar
tall fiberglass canopy such as Ernie had for his llamas was out of the question
for us. For long distances on dusty backroads, stock trailers are not advisable
as thick choking dust is sucked into the towed vehicle resulting in respiratory
problems for the animals. So we would haul our llamas in the trailer as far
as Ernie's place -- that portion was all paved -- and then switch them to our
stock rack for the remaining 400 kilometers of gravel and dirt road.
Ernie said the road would be watered down to improve visibility for the logging
trucks that would be hauling during the summer. I had made lined, waterproof
coats for our llamas that we had used before on long trips in the rack, so I
figured they would be okay.
The young lady from Quebec, Monique, would be arriving at our nearby airport,
so we offered to pick her up and drive her to Ernie’s home base to save
Ernie the long trip. It would be cramped in the tiny back seat of our pickup,
but I was sure Monique could manage for the evening drive. The European fellow,
Hans, was already at Ernie’s. He had booked a week of canoeing with the
local river guide prior to the llama hike.
We packed carefully. The planned trip was for seven nights and we always pack
emergency rations for a few extra days as one never knows what might happen
that far from civilization. There was one logging camp along the road to the
trailhead and not much else. The two llamas we were taking were tall and powerful
fellows in peak condition, but they were young and inexperienced. With Ernie’s
knowledge of the route and his seasoned packers leading, we expected this would
be a great training expedition for our llamas.
Friday July 26th finally arrived, and we met Monique's early evening flight
at the airport. She was expecting Ernie to meet her and was apprehensive about
coming with us, but seemed reassured when she saw our llama trailer in tow and
two curious faces peering out at her. Although she struggles with English, her
English is better than my rudimentary French.
Arriving late at Ernie’s place, we parked the trailer, settled our llamas
in a pen with a shelter and a manger full of hay, and then we all found a corner
to bed down for the night. We were up at dawn the next morning to give our llamas
a generous ration of grain in preparation for the long drive. As we packed our
sleeping bags into the truck, Ernie casually informed us that Monique would
be traveling the 400 km to the trailhead with us because he does not have room
in his truck. This came as a surprise and we hastily repacked to leave a little
corner open in the back seat.
The country
was new, the scenery different, and nobody complained about the cramped and
dusty ride. We made a fuel stop at a logging camp and then a lunch stop along
a scenic river. The llamas took this opportunity to hop out and graze the lush
forage along the riverbank. When it was time to go again, they leapt effortlessly
back up into the rack and we were on our way. They were traveling well.
It was a long, tiring day over the network of rough and dusty roads. There had
been no water trucks, so each time we encountered an oncoming vehicle, we were
enveloped in a thick cloud of powdery dust. Although they were up above the
worst of it, the llamas looked like they'd been dusted with flour. We stopped
frequently to check them and wiped out their eyes and nostrils with a damp rag.
We were all weary when we finally arrived at the old hunter’s camp where
we would spend the night. This old campsite was a pleasant, mossy clearing beside
a river and we soon had tents pitched and supper cooking. Thick grass along
the riverbank provided good grazing for the llamas.
The next morning we began the day with a swift and icy river crossing. The glacial
meltwater was so cold that it was 
excruciatingly
painful until numbness set in, which thankfully happened quickly. The thigh-deep,
wide and rocky crossing was tricky and our hiking staffs came in handy as we
leaned on them to keep our footing in the powerful current.
Our white gelding, Willy, was anxious but trusting and crossed safely. Willy
is a sober and dignified young llama who takes his responsibilities very seriously.
Wee Geordie, the young stud, trusts only himself. He snorted, bolted away from
me, and crossed with a series of scrambling lunges. He looked startled, but
rather pleased with himself as he stood dripping on the far shore. This big
fellow has the makings of a first-class packer once he learns to channel his
incredible energy. At that moment, he was a gangly, boisterous, and strong-willed
but good-natured teenager.
Sally, the river guide's daughter, took Monique's llama and crossed without
incident. I was impressed at her quiet and confident way with the llamas. She
had no prior experience with them but told me later that she runs her own dog
team (her family's only contact with civilization in the winter). Hans had no
trouble crossing with his llama, and he seemed to be a tough and seasoned hiker.