Like Father, Like Son

"He's young," stated Gary while pointing to Shasta, one llama out of six that were going to be strung together, nose to butt, to pack gear out. "He had a few training walks at home along the river and his first real trip was coming up here...he did pretty well," Gary added.

The 2014 Leadville 100 (LT100) trail race was over and the Hope Pass aid station had been broken down, packaged tight and compartmentalized into panniers to be hung on the llama pack trains.






Not Shasta, but another llama posing pretty up on Hope Pass.

One volunteer of The Hopeless Crew had a magical piece of wizardry strapped to her wrist and claimed 3,000 vertical feet over 4.1 miles separated camp from the parking lot and multiple llama pack trains had already departed. The summit of Hope Pass at 12,580 feet loomed behind us as Gary began the sequence of strapping pack saddles on llamas who were snubbed off on stunted, weather ravaged pine trees.

"Hold still, Shasta!" Gary blurted to a young llama who danced away from him.  Stretched to the end of his lead rope, Shasta swung in an arc until a brush barrier forced him to stop.  Nervously, he pranced around as I held the rope just below his halter as Gary cinched on the equipment and we moved on to the next one.

"This is Tony and, How you doing ol' man?" Gary interrupted himself while untying Tony's lead rope. "This is his last trip up here to Hope Pass," Gary added while looking towards Tony's bug eyes and crazy-long llama eyelashes.  "The previous aid station captain died and I got Tony from him and when packing in, Tony was struggling so I had to unload his panniers and leave them on the trail."  Gary then explained taking Shasta, and other llama as a babysitter, back down to fetch the gear to bring it into camp.

"He's about 20 years old and made this trip annually for most of his life," Gary continued while tightening Tony's pack saddle in place.  He reached out and rested a hand near the base of Tony's neck and added,"You're headed down empty..." Gary's announcement was a tribute and a thank you for all the years Tony was such a steady beast of burden.

All llamas had their panniers in place and Tony's hung open like a hungry mouth wanting to be fed.  

"Let's put Shasta ahead of Peek-a-boo," Gary said as he tied Shasta directly behind the lead llama who remained tied to a tree.  Shasta nervously bounced around as the dominant male, Peek-a-boo, was tied behind him. 

Instantly, ears were pinned back and heads were cocked rearward with body language yelling, "I don't like you!" With their giraffe-like necks, Shasta and Peek-a-boo looked like 2 huge snakes standing tall, strutting around in a testosterone fueled performance.  Suddenly, green mist exploded from Peek-a-boo and the coated Shasta's face, head and upper neck. Llama juice. How unpleasant and disrespectful it must be to have the contents of the upper throat and mouth being jetted all over you with laser accuracy!

Eventually, the six llamas were hooked together and Gary untied the lead animal and we began the descent. Peek-a-boo's muzzle looked like he dipped it in a can of black paint and Shasta was constantly darting looks behind him to keep tabs on Peek-a-boo. Styles of pack saddles varied and Shasta's had metal hooks where a metal rod on the top of his blue panniers simply dropped into the hooks. Like an instantly overweight animal unaware of his bulging sides, the panniers constantly were hitting trees beside the trail with some hitting hard enough to nearly stop Shasta in his tracks.  While he displayed his rookie status, other seasoned llamas knew their dimensions with their panniers not even brushing against the trees.

Shasta refuesed to follow the leader as he continuously barged to the left and ahead, hoping to get away from tailgating Peek-a-boo. Leaving the worn single track trail provided much more treacherous travel, but Shasta stumbled along as if he did not know any better.

His antics finally had Gary stop the train where he re-arranged the sequence by making Shasta the caboose. With my sweeping the trail behind everyone, Shasta's new position gave me front row seats to the rookie.  His charging up and to the left of the trail remained constant as I became frustrated watching him struggle over difficult terrain when a nice trail was right beside him. It was similar to watching a gawking teenager constantly tripping over huge feet, totally unaware of what he was doing due to being lost in far-away thoughts

The descent dropped into a wooded section where a large tree had blown down across the trail.  The steep trail re-routed around it and while the pack train zigged, distracted Shasta zagged.

In slow motion, while everyone else went to the right of a sizeable tree, Shasta went to the left.  His lead rope drew tight around the backside of the tree as he stabbed all 4 feet into the forest floor.  Five against one are poor odds as the lead rope snatched his head around the tree.  With feet still anchored, I watched Shasta's neck stretch and then recoil like a rubber band as his body followed in slingshot fashion  The force of five llamas pulling against him, coupled with the speed of gravity,was tremendous as his left pannier bashed into the tree.  The unforgiving tree nearly ripped the equipment off.  Panic-stricken with a now dangling pannier banging into his lower legs, Shasta thundered ahead to upset the entire procession.

Gary stopped the train by tying the lead animal off and then unhooked nervous Shasta and tied him to a tree.  The pannier's straight metal rod resembled a crooked snake and the pack saddle was missing a metal hook.  I returned to the scene of the crime and searched the freshly rototilled earth and found the hook. While holding Shasta's lead rope just under his halter, Gary made repairs.

Having survived his chiropractic session, Shasta pinned back his ears, bulged his eyes and I tucked my chin.

Ker-plewy!

"Did he just get you?" Gary asked while looking up from his repair.

"Yup," was my simple reply as I felt Shasta's shower of llama juice trickle down through my hair.  I envisioned my instant super-sexy look of green llama mist on my forehead with hair blown back and set with llama hair spray. I've never heard anyone comment on what llama tastes like (probably like the proverbial flavor of chicken), but my mind instantly flashed to Shasta on the grill...

Like a cat working up a hair ball, Shasta prepared for Round 2 as Gary waved his hand in front of Shasta's face for a distraction. We returned to the trail as I wiped my spotted sunglasses clean that were propped on top my head during Shasta's shellacking.

He continued his off the trail antics and when passing urine or pellets from earlier llamas, he jabbed his nose into the dirt for analysis.  His investigation was always cut short via the lead rope yanking him back in place.

While nearing the parking lot, Shasta suddenly collapsed. All 4 legs went under his body and the lead rope stretched tight. Again, his neck lengthened and I called out to Gary to stop. Shasta belly skidded along the ground as the pack train came to rest and I assumed the childish brat simply was doing a llama-styled temper tantrum.  Gary called out that a big nasty fly was probably biting Shasta's tender spot and I instantly apologized to him for my assumption.

We finally reached the trailer and I wondered if rookie Shasta had learned anything from the experience. As I departed, Gary mentioned, "Would you believe that Shasta's dad would routinely walk right into trees?"

Like father, like son.