A gentle (or maybe not so much) reminder

by Cody Standiford, Prineville, Oregon/Stevensville

On our recent Memorial Day Weekend trip up Lost Horse Creek, we had a handful of encounters with folks that left both my wife and I deeply troubled. Our main goal for the weekend was to hunt spring black bear, so we trundled our converted school bus, Helga, to a gorgeous spot right on the creek, well ahead of any potential crowds seeking the same refuge from their daily grind over the long holiday weekend.

While we are not permanent residents of this great state, my parents are, and we stay in Stevensville with them a decent chunk of each year. We travel full-time in Helga, spending nearly every day on our great nation’s vast public lands, seeking solitude and escape from other people. We’ve been living this lifestyle for more than a year, from coast to coast, without incident. To say we are sensitive about encroaching on other people is an understatement, and we are further sensitive about folks encroaching upon us, so we seek out areas where the possibility of other people camping right on top of us is minimized, if not absent entirely. Which is how we came to be rather far up Lost Horse Creek, with nary a camp spot within sight of ours.

My folks drove up to visit us on Friday, and we took a spin in their Jeep up the remaining four or so miles of the road that is open in order to scope out some of the country I had not yet seen. As we passed a Sprinter Van camped a couple miles up from us, we noticed that the resident had two large, mixed breed dogs running loose. Both dogs actually covered many yards of ground, out of the campsite and onto the road in order to chase our Jeep. This happened again on our way back down the road, neither time did the owner so much as attempt to get out of his chair by the fire in order to call his dogs back. He may well have called out to them, but he was so far away that we did not hear him, nor did his dogs I suspect, for they continued to chase our vehicle for at least another hundred yards or so. Seeing this seriously discouraged me from any thoughts of hiking up the road in order to step off, up the mountain on a hunt.

By Saturday morning, a dark colored pickup with Montana plates abruptly appeared parked within ten feet of Helga, and a man in his late-thirties or early-forties stepped out. His dog actually jumped out and began running around and underneath Helga. Thankfully, our two dogs, a German Shepherd and a small Chihuahua mix, were safely ensconced inside. The very first thing this gent does, upon arriving directly next to us, is step out and begin urinating within sight of my wife. Fortunately for us all, I did not witness this act at the time, for I’m not entirely sure I would have kept my temper in check. I did, however, ask him why he was parked so close to us when there are ample other places to park instead of virtually in our site. After a brief, somewhat tense conversation, I convinced this gentleman to park elsewhere, even though he was only going hiking “right here” where his “friend told [him] to go.”

Sunday evening, after a rather intense early morning hunt that was unsuccessful up the north fork of Lost Horse Creek, my wife convinced me to take a walk up the road with our two dogs, both of which we leashed for their safety and that of any one we may encounter, because that’s just what we believe is part of being a responsible dog owner. While our dogs are not aggressive, we firmly believe it is just plain rude to impose our dogs upon others. We don’t believe, or expect, that simply everybody wants to meet our dogs. To be frank, we don’t want to meet other people’s dogs either. Particularly if they are aggressive. Having been in civilian law enforcement, and then the Army, I have intimate knowledge of just what an aggressive dog can do. So does my wife, having been a competitive dog trainer for decades prior to our retirement.

Obviously, not everyone shares our values. This became painfully apparent as we casually walked up Lost Horse Creek Road that pleasant evening. As we approached the next campsite up the road from us, a large yellow dog came charging towards us from the camp. It bears noting that this camp was a good 25 yards or so off the public road upon which we were enjoying our stroll, and several hundred yards up the road from our site. We both began yelling at the occupants of the camp to recall their dog, but both the man and woman seated at the fire pit did not so much as twitch in an attempt to do so. My wife scooped up our little dog while I attempted to get between the oncoming dog that had hackles bristling and was barking, and my aging Shepherd that is basically without many functional teeth.

I continued yelling and when the occupants of the camp continued to fail to intervene, I drew my revolver, anticipating that I may need to fire it in defense of myself and my family (which includes our dogs). Rather than call the dog off though, the male in the camp began yelling at me to “put my f-ing gun away,” to which I yelled back, again, to call his dog off. Neither my wife, nor I can recall either of the dog’s owners uttering any sort of command to the dog to return. I’m not saying it didn’t happen, we just either didn’t hear it, or just can’t recall it due to the stress of the moment. I do recall, however, that I was able to somehow scare the dog away without having to discharge my firearm. We were able to continue our walk up the public road, on our wonderful public land. We dreaded having to turn around and pass the camp on our way back though. Thankfully, the occupants, and more importantly their dog, were nowhere to be seen, apparently having retreated to the camper shell on their pickup, which had Montana plates as well.

It is my deepest hope that this letter will serve as a bit of a wake up call to folks when it comes to respecting their fellow citizens while we all try to enjoy the public lands that were so thoughtfully set aside for our use. We (and every other person in this country) have a right to enjoy these lands without fear of being confronted by irresponsible folks who allow their dogs (and themselves) to run wild over the landscape.