It takes all kinds to make a world, is the old saying. We find that this is very true and it applies to people in the world and to all of the plants and animals and creatures in the creation of our Heavenly Father. As we contemplate the variety of the individuals in each species we can only imagine the great work of the creation. We would like to record here an experience or two that will demonstrate the differences we have observed in people and even in the horses and mules that we have used.

I remember one trip wherein the people that we took on the trip were so vastly different from each other that the differences remained in my memory. Ray Wood brought a group down from the Phoenix and Mesa area. Ray Wood was a very good brick layer and mason who made his living at his work in Mesa. He had been raised in his early life in Colonia Juarez. When his father died from a bee sting, his mother moved to Mesa. Rae continued to come down in the summers to be with his grandparents. Because of his love of the Sierra Madre Mountains he would organize these groups and bring them down for me to take for a weeks pack trip into the Sierra Madre Mountains. This Particular trip I decided to take them over into the three rivers country. I prepared by sending Lalo Murrieta and Hector Lopez over to the San Juan ranch with the animals that we would need for the trip. Among these animals I sent some big new mules that we had been breaking at the ranch.

My brother Maurice had been trying to break a mule that he had raised from one of his mares but he had not been able to do much with him for the lack of time. He asked me to take his mule on the trip and use him so he could learn to be ridden and to be packed. On the long trip Lalo started to ride Maurice's new mule but found that he tired very easily. Even though he did not ride him anymore the mule gave out before reaching the San Juan Ranch. That mule had been raised in Maurices small flat pasture so he was not physically fit to travel in the mountains. He was in no condition to continue on or make the return trip home. I gave him to Rafael Garcia who is the owner of the San Juan ranch. I suggested to Rafael that if he would let him run free in the mountains with the other horses and mules of the ranch that he would build up his physical conditioning and be a good mule. The new mules that I had sent up were born on our ranch around the lake in Dublan but before they were a year old I took them up to the Cebadilla country in the rugged mountains. There they grew up in the rugged country and became very shure footed and were very strong physically. They were used to running around in the high mountains and deep canyons of that country. I knew they would be very good riding and packing animals to use in the rugged mountains.

My purpose in using them for pack animals this trip was to train them to pack and take care of their packs. They were big long legged mules with good spirit and good disposition to learn. One of them was not shaped like a mule but was wide in the shoulders and slender in the back more like a horse. I mention this because at the time I was doubtful about using him under an aparejo. The aparjeo was made for mules that are narrower in the shoulders than in the back. Therefore they use only wide tail piece to keep them from going forward. They do not have a breast strap to keep them from goingback.

Monday morning early Rae Wood arrived with the group and found me putting the last minute things into the van. We traveled up through Pacheco. Over the continental Divide, down the long ridge to the Gavilan river. From there we continued on through the country and climbed to the high ridge that runs between the Gavilan river and the Hole. At the end of this ridge the road turns west across the Sonora line then drops down the steep switchback road into Three Rivers. We crossed the three rivers bridge and turned up river to the San Juan Ranch.

We had spent most of the day traveling to the San Juan so we decided to put up camp there near the river. Early the next morning we finished breakfast and went to the corralls to pair up the animals with the people that were going with us. I was choosing good steady horses for our guests from Phoenix when Jack Reider came to me and requested to ride a good mule. I roped a little black mule that we called Cantador for him to ride. He was a big man and looked at that little mule doubtfully. I assured him that if he would treat him well that he would learn to like that little mule.

We finally got everyone mounted and the packs cinched down tight. Rae Wood, the cowboys and I led off each leading a pack mule. We crossed the river and followed the road down river as far as the bridge. From there we began climbing a gentle slope northwest through scattered pine and white oak trees. The grass was belly high to the little black mule that I was riding. I loved to ride this little mule because of her calm and willing disposition. She had a fast easy gait that could go up and down the mountains with ease. There were no trails across this beautiful wide open country. So I turned my pack mule loose to follow the others. I came along behind so that I could watch the procession so I could spot anything that might develop into trouble. My pack mule was going along behind the others, doing very well for a young mule. He seemed calm and even grabbed a mouth full of grass occasionally as he was going along. I was enjoying the beautiful country around us. When I looked back I saw my pack mule trying to go between two big pine trees. There was not enough room for the pack to go through and it was caught on each side against the trees. That big black mule pushed his way on through. The pack simply slipped back over his hind quarters and easily slipped to the ground. The mule trotted up to the others and fell in behind. I called to Lalo telling him to rope the mule and bring him back to his pack. He brought him back to where I was waiting by the pack. We slipped the leather blindfold down over his eyes and repacked the mule tightening everything very well. This mule was the big black mule with the broad shoulders and the narrower in the back. We decided that we had better lead this one all the way. So he would not get in the habit of slipping his pack like he had just done.

We taveled through this beautiful country climbing steadily to the north west. A little afternoon the group halted at the edge of the rim of the Nutria canyon. I rode forward to seek out the illusive trail. That led down what seemed to be a very steep drop into the canyon. I soon found the land marks that I had in my mind that marked the place where the trail started down. This was the only trail that I knew of that went into this part of the Nutria canyon. I waited for the others to join me and led them down the switchback trail that wound down the steep side into the canyon. It was a good trail that wound back and forth on a natural little level place all the way down back and forth to the bottom of a very steep incline. Down in the canyon we came into the beautiful Nutria Canyon. The ancient inhabitants of this beautiful place must have been a happy people. They built beautiful wide terraces all the way down the canyon where they planted their gardens to be watered with the stream and the rain. The Nutria creek ran along the western foot of the mountain. It rippled along over the rocks in the bed of the stream running about 6 inches deep and 6 feet wide. It looked as if the ancients had purposely had it placed along the west side of the steep mountain.

I chose our camp site in a sheltered spot in the shade of the towering black oak trees that abounded in the canyon. With the help of the cowboys we unpacked the mules while our guests wandered around in this beautiful place. I set up the kitchen fly tying it out of reach to four trees. Lalo found a pole and tied it between two trees on which to put the saddles and aparejos so that they would be up out of the damp ground and grass. I soon had the kitchen set up and a fire going. I put on the herb tea to steep so it would be ready when we needed it. Jack, who was a Vietnam veteran, came and asked if I had any coffee. I told him that I never took any coffee on our trips and that the herb tea would soon be ready. He complained that he needed his coffee to calm his nerves. I suggested that the caffeine in the coffee might be part of the problem and not the solution.

I took my little fishing pole and reel and went to catch some trout in the near by stream. After fishing down the stream for about a half an hour I did not catch anything or even see any trout. What I did see was all along the bank of the stream were little piles of fish tails and fins that had been left piles neatly by the nutria (Mexican otters). It seemed that the otters had cleaned out the stream. I was surprised and disappointed because we had come to the Nutria where the fishing had always been very good. The stream had been named the Nutria because of the beautiful little animals called Nutria.

After supper we all sat around the camp fire drinking herb tea and munching frosted doughnuts. Jack Rieder was the first to tell some of his story to the group. He talked of the time that he was a contractor and was building the famous Boulder Dam. He talked of some of the problems that they had to over come in building that huge cement dam. He said he remembered the time when his friend Max Spillsbury came with his football team to visit the construction site. He said that he wanted to see how brave these big tough football players and their tougher coach were. He took them in the cage up high over the dam to a swaying walkway. He began to laugh as he described how especially Max Spillsbury had quailed down and closed his eyes holding on for dear life. I later asked Max Spillsbury about that experience. He confirmed Jacks story saying that he had never been so scared in his life as when he looked down and became dizzy at that great height with nothing under foot but a swaying plank.

Next the Vietnam veteran began to talk calmly about his tour in the war. He said that when they first arrived that they were ordered to make night forays into the jungles to find and kill the enemy. After many of his buddies had been killed he commented that he had learned how to stay alive. He decided to be like the Vietcong only better. He learned to drink the evil smelling drink that they drank so that he would smell like them. This drink was made in a barrel with a spout on the bottom. They would place a layer of fish. Then a layer of hot chilie peppers, then another layer of fish and another layer of peppers until the barrell was full. Then the barrel was closed up and left to cure until it liquified. The liquid was drawn off through the spout at the bottom of the barrel. He learned to drink the fiery liquid and even learn to like it. He took a Vietnamese rifle and ammunition from a soldier he had killed. He used this rifle so that the enemy soldiers could not recognize the sound of the American rifle. He told of how he would go out into the jungle in the dark of the night and find the enemy and kill them. Sometimes with his knife and sometimes with his rifle. Each enemy that he killed he would cut of a left ear and string it in a necklace that he hung around his neck. He became famous among the enemy and they called him Dr. Jack because if his habit of cutting off an ear. He became so obsessed with this deadly game of war with the enemy that when his time was up to come home he declined and remained for another tour of duty.

When the new recruits came to replace his buddies he tried to warn them of the dangers. In spite of his warnings many of them went out into the night smelling of beautiful save lotion and deodorant. The enemy could smell them at a great distance and easily kill those inexperienced young men.

In his sixth year of his stay in the war he was driving a jeep with his captain at his side when they ran over and land mine. The explosion left him terribly wounded, but still alive. His captain was killed instantly. When he awoke sometime later he was in the hospital with an oriental nurse taking care of him. He thought that he must have been captured and was in an enemy hospital. When the Drs. came in they asked his name and other questions. He would answer them nothing. He would not give his idenity or any information. They kept telling him that it was all right and that he was in a hospital in San Francisco, Ca. After a few days of this he finally told them to bring him a picture of a certain building, that he knew in the city. He told them that it take a half an hour to go from the hospital take the picture and return and if they could do this, he would believe he was in San Fransisco. They left hurriedly and returned after 35 min. with the picture that he recognized. It took him a long time to heal from his terribly wounded body and was still suffering some pain and from shattered nerves.

Early the next morning after a good night's sleep, we had a breakfast of hotcakes and scrambled eggs washed down with hot herb tea. We packed up all of our camp and were ready to leave. I had decided to move our camp over on to the Bavispe river. We mounted up and our procession wound up the steep trail climbing out of the Nutria canyon leaving our beautiful campsite behind. We travel down a long sloping wooded country descending down toward the west bend in the Bavispe river. I still remember the feeling of peace and wonder that I felt as I rode along in front of that long train. My little mule easily walked along snatching a mouth full of leaves and grass as we wound down the gentle slope. There were no trails, but it was easy traveling. The grass was green rubbing the tops of my boots as we traveled through the unmarked country. Early in the afternoon we made our camp in a beautiful little cove near the river where it makes a wide bend running back east and on north in its ancient course. I suggested to Ken Rowley that he go catch us some fish for supper. I busied myself setting up my grills and other camp equipment. Ken came rushing into camp holding up a big black bass. He excitedly asked me why I had not told him that these big beautiful wide mouthed bass were in this river. He said that he could easily win the fishing contest by catching one of these big beauties. He explained that every year he entered the Az. Wide mouthned bass contest. He had never won, but many times he had come very close to winning. He said, that his two favorite hobbies were fishing for large mouthed bass and digging for ancient pots and Indian relics. He told me that he was going to bring his brothers and their families down to go on a trip with me to fish and dig in these big wonderful mounds that he had seen on our trip.

I suggested that we would need a few more fish to eat for supper. He gladly went back and caught five more of those beautiful black bass. That night after a short session around the camp fire, everyone sought out their tents and were soon comfortable in their beds for the night. After another day in that beautiful place near the river we packed up leaving a clean camp and rode up the winding trail along the river to the San Juan ranch.

Early the next morning I sent the cowboys off with animals to take them back to our ranch in Corrales. After a leisurely breakfast we packed up the vehicles. We thanked Rafael Garcia for his hospitality and started on our journey of our return trip home.

We met the cowboys at Las Amarillas. We set up camp just off the road in a little pasture where the horses could feed and be secure. While we were sitting around the campfire that night a pickup truck came along the road and stopped to open the gate. The gate was about 50 yards away from our camp. We could hear two men who were apparently drunk talking loudly to each other. Suddenly three or four loud shots rang out. Apparently they were shooting into the air with a 30'6'rifle in celebration of their drunken fealings. Dr. Jack was immediately on his feet pacing nervously back and forth watching toward the truck. He was muttering to himself something about going after the men in the truck. We managed to calm him somewhat, but he was still pacing back and forth even after the truck had driven away. We could only imagine the memories and the scenes that the shots had brought into his mind.

The next day we saw our hoses and mules put safely in our pasture in our ranch in Corrales. We took the cowboys on with us on home to Dublan. Hector Lopez caught his horse and rode to his home in Cave Valle. This was his first trip with us. He said that he wanted to go again.

Through the years we have taken many people on trips into the mountains and found that each person is different. They live in a different world. By that I mean, that each person sees things differently and has a different concept of the things around them and the things that happen in their lives. I forgot to mention that Jack told me that if he could have some of my tea every morning and evening, that he would not need his coffee. Jack Reider told me that he had fallen in love with that little mule Cantador in spite of his doubts. When I had give him that little mule to ride. Ken Rowley thanked me for a wonderful trip and said, that he wanted to bring his family and take them into the beautiful Sierra Madre Mountains.

As we walk out into out yard, we see our rosebushes loaded with beautiful blooms. Roses of all colors and hues. The roses as beautiful as they are are not any more beautiful. The rare red lilies that we found deep in the mountains at a little place called El Terro de Arisiachic . These lilies are very different and beautiful in their way , but are not more beautiful than the snap dragons, or delphiniums. Truly it takes all kinds to make a world. The world the Lord has created for us, is a perfect place for Him to accomplish His purposes.