We left the $11. a night motel just outside of Winthrop, a sleepy little town in the eastern foothills of the Cascade Mountains. 
We had to be at the corral by 6AM sharp. The pavement became dirt four miles out of town and we drove the last few miles dodging pot holes and rocks. It was September 10, 1962. Nestled amongst quaking aspen trees just off the road was a large fenced corral. Pick up trucks were parked haphazardly about and men were off loading horse-pack gear and tack. As we parked, our guide walked over and introduced himself. He reiterated that we could take as much as we liked to insure our comfort at the camp site. We had taken him at his word. We had packed a camp stove that was made from a half 25 gallon barrel, stove pipe and all. Our large canvas tent slept four even though there was only the two of us. Camp chairs and a folding table. Sleeping bags, extra pillows, Army folding cots so we could sleep off the ground and gun cases. We were traveling in style. Continue reading “Nostalgia….Spanish Camp (Part 1)”
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