CAMPFIRES AND CAVALRY: REENACTMENT OF 1916

“The Last Horse Mounted US Cavalry Campaign”
	The reenactment ride began at Cambry Station between Deming and Las Cruces, NM, where Blackjack Pershing’s troops were offloaded from the train in 1916 . The ride finished in Columbus, NM: four and a half days and 60 trail miles later.

My experiences on trail rides, even when taking the place of a wrangler, have been two hours to all day of looking at the same trail and the same derriere of the horse in front. This ride was not at all like that. Once we left the old and crumbling adobe railway station, the only man-made things we saw, except at great distance, were windmills, corrals and stock tanks.

Late Monday afternoon we set up our first night’s camp at the Cambry railway station. That evening there were period displays, a seminar and demonstrations by a historian and re-enactor from Arizona. People from as far away as California came to do the ride.

Our original schedule had been to leave Tuesday morning at 9:00 AM. None of us had worked together before Monday evening and breaking down the camp Tuesday morning took longer than expected. With gear loaded and ready to leave, one of the mule teams decided HAW was better than GEE, and ended up in a loading chute instead of on the trail. We crossed the last tarmac road we’d see until Columbus and rode onto private property a little after 10:00.

The wagon wheels and horses hooves picked up sand and dirt. The dust, blown by a light breeze, drifted lazily into the desert to the East. The perfect weather, repetitious movement of the horse and the swaying of the canvas covered, drab army green wagons in front, made it difficult not to become mesmerized. During the next four days, our world would consist of pup-tents, wagons, windmills, stock tanks, leather, horses, mules and corrals. We were a mix of western and period military. In 1916, the time of the Pancho Villa raid on Columbus, most photographers and writers were civilians. IN dress and mindset, I was somewhere in between.

Breakfast the first day had been at the station, over a mesquite campfire, as had dinner the night before. At noon on Tuesday, after dismounting, we walked around in an effort to get some of the saddle imprint out of our backsides. Lunch was passed to us over the rear gate of the supply wagon.

The next few hours passed quickly and we were at our campsite around 3:00 PM. It was almost dark before we got wagons unloaded, tents set up, sleeping bags and other gear in place and extra clothes ready for the coolown at sundown. Once we got a system established, setting up camp became quick and easy.

The second day it was a little harder to sit a horse. We rode military McClellan saddles and they take a little getting used to. After saddling up, hitching teams to wagons and breaking camp, we again headed in a southerly direction. The terrain is mostly flat with long vistas to the purple mountains, some in Mexico, that rise from the desert floor.

Breakfast had been a hearty meal with lunch out of the back of the supply wagon, the same as the day before. We’d left a little earlier in the morning and got to our second night’s camp around 2:30. Everyone had a little better idea about how to make pitching tents and setting up camp more efficient and all went smoothly. A large, 4’ high, 25’ long, water holding tank was our sink for washing off trail dust and supplied the water for doing dishes and shaving.

We were almost on a full moon. After the moon set and with the tent flap open, you had the feeling that you could reach up and touch the stars. The first two nights, one at Cambry Station, had been a little cooler than anticipated. Sleeping bags were available but I’d brought the one I use when backpacking. It proved too light and I was thankful that wool blankets were part of our gear issue.

The camp cook and outfitter slept under wagons, as did the teamster who drove the supply wagon that was drawn by Belgian draft horses. This was a re-enactment of the last US 13th horse mounted cavalry campaign and we slept on ground cloths in pup tents lined up in a row and spaced equal distance apart. Even this civilian photographer/writer wore khakis, a tan belt with brass buckle and a campaign hat.

The ride was on private property and we followed the contours of property lines. A finger of BLM land juts out into the private property and our route for the third day is best described as a long fishhook.

On the third day I walked and jogged the 15 miles the riders and wagons covered plus an extra three miles. To get the video I wanted, I’d need my tripod. I’d gone ahead to find the areas and angles I wanted, and the tripod was a mile and a half behind in the supply wagon that had stopped for lunch. It was easier to be on the ground all the time than to be up and down off a horse.

It was worth the extra miles. We were on the East side of the Florida Mountains with the Tres Hermanas Mountains to the southwest. That scene is like looking back 100 years or more. A 360 degree panorama; mule and horse drawn wagons, horses and mules with riders atop, all surrounded by Nature.

In the mornings everyone gathered by the chuck wagon and campfire, the sun barely brightening the sky to the east. Stars faded and the black velvet night changed to orange, red, pink, yellow and then blue. Coming over the horizon between two mountain peaks, the sun grew into a giant, yellow disk. Steam came from the coffee pot, the aroma made the mouth water. Scrambled eggs and bacon sizzled on the griddle, while tortillas warmed on the thick wire grille. In the evenings after washing off the trail in a pan, we feasted on pot roast, short ribs, tortillas, beans and dessert.

After dinner, while sitting on hand made stools and boxes with US burnt into the wood, we watched the sun disappear behind the Tres Hermanas. For five minutes flaming red clouds stretched from horizon to horizon and the desert took on a rose tint. Red gave way to purple, light gray then deep blue. The moon, Venus and Mars winked into life, other stars less bold followed. Undisturbed by city lights, we sat, talked and watched the stars on their journey across the sky, . Campfire images and shadows danced across faces, wagons and tents. The fire turned to coals and was banked so the coals could be blown back to life in the morning. Small talk made new friends, eye lids became heavy and one by one people were swallowed by their tents.

In the mornings and evenings, everyone had their own horse thing to do with the outfitter there to oversee and help. Usually on trail rides, all the horsey stuff is done by someone else. It felt good to relearn some of the things my sister and I used to do when we had a horse, way back when.

Riding through the desert made it possible for memories to spring from the deep recesses of the mind: post WW2 Saturday morning matinees with my cousins, Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, Lash Larue, all the old cowboy movies. The mind never forgets, we just cover it with a blanket of hurry.

The third night was spent with a windmill standing watch over our camp. A very large water tank was our swimming pool. Goldfish with transparent, wispy tails darted about, unused to having dusty troopers diving into their home. With the camp setup down to an art, we had lots of time to spend enjoying the company, the horses and the scenery.

The last day the wind blustered, just to give us an idea what it could really be like riding long distances across the desert. Where distant lights had been the night before, buildings began to take shape. Towers and power poles slowly rolled over the horizon. Gates were taken down at cattle guards so horses and mules could pass. The horses and mules were tied to a fence in front of a deserted farmhouse and we had our last lunch on the trail; a lunch eaten in the wind shadow of the supply wagon.

Too close and too soon, Columbus appeared a few miles to our right and then as we turned off the dirt and gravel onto a paved road, town was straight ahead.

One is left to wonder, when traveling slowly by horse, how time can pass so quickly.