With his mules Nip and Tuck in tow, wilderness ranger Jason Fisher rides his horse Billy along the Watchtower Creek Trail while on a four-day hitch into the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness. "You've got no one else but the horse you're riding to ask, 'should I be doing this,'" joked Fisher while talking about the decisions he has to make while working in the backcountry. Photo by JEREMY LURGIO -- Ravalli Republic

It's Fisher's habit to feed his stock breakfast before fixing his own, which will consist of freeze-dried beans with cheese, wrapped in a flour tortilla and washed down with a little coffee.

Daylight is still an hour off and in the high-mountain meadow there is still a sharp cool bite in the late-August air. Dew is thick on the grass, tack and camp gear.

Fisher, 30, is a wilderness ranger with the West Fork Ranger District of the Bitterroot National Forest.

Wilderness areas in the west are some of the few places left in the country where the Forest Service operates pack strings. But there is so much remote country and traveling on foot or with stock stays true to the concept of wilderness - solitude, quiet and gentle on the land, said Fisher.

This assignment has taken him up Watchtower Creek Trail, near Nez Perce Pass, to cut out some downfall and check out a user-made trail to Watchtower Lake. It's a typical stint for Fisher; four days out with a horse and two mules for company.

"I'm definitely a social creature, but you need to have that loner attitude," said Fisher, who stands about five foot, eight inches with his boots on. "You spend a lot of time back here talking to your horses and mules."

Even with a reporter and photographer in camp for the night, he still had a lot of words for the stock.

"Hey! Knock that off," he hollered at his horse Billy, who was pawing at the ground waiting for breakfast.

Later when he is getting the mule's pack set just right, he asks their opinion.

"How does that feel?"

The night before, under a wild mountain sky full of stars, Fisher reflected on the past 10 years of packing.

Originally from Ohio, he got his start with the Forest Service in 1994 when he volunteered for a trail crew in Wyoming.

The crew worked closely with the Forest Service packers and Fisher helped out as much as he could with the mules and horses. The packers noticed his interest.

"I was lucky enough to have some guys take some time with me and really help me out," he said.

He worked on Wyoming's Bridger-Teton National Forest for five years. He did a few stints on wildland fire crews there, but decided to stick to horses.

"I decided I'd much rather be in the woods with my stock than deal with fire," said Fisher.

Four years ago, Fisher took the job as wilderness ranger on the West Fork Ranger District. It was an opportunity to continue packing into the wilderness that drew him to the job.

But the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness is the steepest country he's packed in.

"Typical Selway country is steeper than a cow's face," he said.

The ruggedness can be dangerous and when you're working with stock, accidents are bound to happen. And in the wilderness mishaps with stock can take different forms: horses bucking, mules falling or the whole string running hell-bent back down the trail, spooked by a bear.

This year was the first time Fisher had a mule in his string fall off the trail and down the hill.

It was on a steep section of trail and the mule had just one misstep that sent her rolling down the hill, said Fisher.

The way the pack saddles are set up, the ropes connecting the animals are hooked to lighter cords that break loose if an animal falls. That ensures the whole string doesn't go down the hill, he said.

The situation was scary and tense.

The mule came to a rest upside down against a tree well below the trail. Fisher ran down the hill after her, assuming the worst.

"When I got down to her, she just looked like a turtle."

The mule, Reba, was on her back lying still. He didn't know if she was hurt initially and she didn't want to get up. But he was finally able to get all the gear off her and coax her to her feet.

"She stood up and walked around and ended up being just fine."

Though the mule is the one who stepped off the trail, Fisher takes responsibility. It happened under his watch. Fortunately, other than some cuts and bruises, Reba was OK.

"She's one of the best mules we have," said Fisher. "Real tall and gentle as an egg."

Packing in the steep country of the Selway takes some experience and wouldn't be a good place to learn the trade, he said.

"If I learned how to pack in the Selway and Salmon (River) breaks country, I can't tell you how many mules I'd've killed."

But accidents come with the territory.

"Every packer's gotta million stories where they almost got killed or maimed or whatever," he said.

Fisher is no exception. He's had horses buck on him, flip over on him, and he's been tangled up in the pack string in the middle of a wreck.

But when an accident starts, whether it's a horse bucking or a mule rolling down the hill, you are pretty helpless, he said.

"Once it's going there's nothing you can do," said Fisher. "Just deal with the after effects more than anything."

But the string he had for this trip was good - his favorite.

The mules were from Missouri, he said. He didn't know if they were related, but suspected they were.

When the Forest Service first bought them, they had never been packed before.

"They'd been worked before and were gentle enough you could do anything with them," said Fisher.

They're also shorter than the other mules the Forest Service owns, making them easier for him to pack.

Camp

Fisher didn't go too far up Watchtower Creek the first night, mostly because of the company he had along. The meadow he picked for camp was below the trail and a good flat spot - something that's hard to find in the Selway.

In the late afternoon, he hobbled the stock and turned them out to graze.

"This is unique to have even this," said Fisher. "It's hard to find a little meadow in the Selway at all, it's so steep."

When Fisher gets to camp, he typically is busy right up until he crawls in his sleeping bag. He packs along a book, but he hardly ever has a chance to read.

Generally he gets to camp about 5:30 in the evening. He unloads the stock and turns the horses out to graze. He then goes about the business of hanging a high-line that the stock will be tied to overnight. This involves Fisher scaling up a tree to get the rope as high as possible.

The stock will spend the night standing up. If they have too long of a lead rope or the high-line is low enough for them to step over then there can be a midnight accident.

After the high-line is set, Fisher goes about setting up his own tent, if he needs too. But on clear nights, he likes to sleep under the stars.

Then he waters and feeds the animals, ties them up and finally gets around to his own dinner. He tries to be in bed by 9 p.m.

"You put a lot of hours in you don't get paid for," he said.

Oh, and that book he brought along ...

"I maybe read a page or two before I'm asleep."

Daylight will find him on the trail with camp broke and stock packed.

The Job

"There's a lot of country back here and I'm only one guy," said Fisher. "There's 300 miles of trail back here that I'm responsible for. In a season I don't even see all the country I'm responsible for."

The majority of his summer work is clearing trails and cleaning wilderness campsites. He chats with the few people he sees on the trail and answers any questions. Sometimes they're doing stuff they shouldn't be and he may get their information to send them a ticket later.

Tucked under his stirrup is a double-bit ax rather than a rifle. He keeps it sharp and swings it efficiently when clearing trail.

In the wilderness, chainsaws aren't allowed. He has a crosscut saw strapped to his pack saddle, but prefers the ax. It makes him concentrate.

"Your attention's riveted so you don't put an ax in your foot."

He tells about one mis-swing that nearly cost him his big toe. It's a cautionary tale about the danger of the wilderness.

"You screw up out here and it could mean your life pretty quick," he said.

Watchtower Creek Trail didn't have much downfall across it, but that isn't always the case.

On some trails that go through old burns the downed timber can take hours to cut through. But he won't leave anything lying across the trail.

"I was brought up with a different standard," he said. "You clear the trail behind you. Riding over and past logs drives me nuts. I hate it. It's like little knives in my back."

Besides, reputation is important in the backcountry.

"You show up to a camp and you're dirty and sweaty and grubby it looks a lot better than showing up in a nice clean uniform. It shows you've been working rather than just hanging out

In the fall, his job is mostly patrolling hunter campsites.

He inspects the camps outfitters use in the wilderness. There are about 50 in his area they can use each fall, he said.

Checking camps mainly involves making sure the hunters are doing things right; that their latrines are dug right and they aren't tearing up the land. Many outfitters will drop hunters off at campsites for a few days, so he makes sure those people know about wilderness ethics of no-trace camping and being light on the land.

"It's just having a presence out there I guess," said Fisher.

Not all hunters are happy to see him and that can get a little tense.

"I've been in hunting camps where people hate the Forest Service and are very vocal about it," he said.

But that has only happened a few times in 10 years.

"Most folks are pretty dang good, they just have a lot of questions for you."

In the spring, his job is mostly picking up trash in the wilderness. Most people are good about not leaving trash, but some camps are disgraceful, he said.

"I've had camps where I've packed out four mule loads of trash," he said.

Often it's not only trash, but dealing with old latrines people have left.

"That's the glory part of my job, burying exposed human waste."

But despite the sometimes difficult work and long days, Fisher wouldn't want to do anything else.

"It definitely challenges me on a lot of different levels," he said.

And it's the wild of the land that he loves.

"It's someplace that your soul can take a break," he said while resting in a meadow near the top of Watchtower Creek. "It's someplace where there's danger and people need that."

The ruggedness, danger, adventure and pure wild of the land is the reason to have designated wilderness.

"I guess in my eyes you lose a lot of the value as soon as you can drive to it," said Fisher taking off his worn black Stetson hat and shedding his wool vest in the late morning sun. "You didn't earn it if you didn't work for it."

Trying to estimate the value of wilderness is difficult for him.

"It's always been a big question with people. Why should we have it?" he asked.

"It's more of a personal choice than an economic definition," said Fisher. "When you're constantly putting economic value on everything you tend to come up short with wilderness."

But Fisher sees his role in the wilderness clearly.

"All I'm out here doing is trying to protect the resource so people can enjoy it."

Reporter Greg Lemon can be reached at 363-3300 or at glemon@ravallirepublic.com

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