This story was written by my grandfather, Jim McLean, and illustrated by my grandmother, Emily McLean. Jim was born in Texas in 1916 and worked on the Rankin Ranch in Southern California when he was younger.
Old Charlie was born in a small town in one of the southern states and always loved the outdoors. From a small child he would often go on long hikes all by himself. He would pack a small bag with something to eat and carry a jar of water and the way he would go, and naturally his little dog Shorty would come along too.
He learned very young to observe his surroundings to keep from getting lost and never, never missed the animal and bird life which was abundant everywhere. These hikes went on all the while he was growing up, so he became quite an authority on nature even at a young age. His schooling wasn’t what it should have been.
He just couldn’t sit in a classroom and concentrate on his studies when the outdoors constantly called to him, so at age fifteen he left school and went to work for his neighbor on a farm. He only worked about six months at farming when he decided this wasn’t for him, he wanted to be in the high mountains where the air was clean and clear. He had saved nearly all the money he had earned as a farm hand, which wasn’t much, but it didn’t take much to keep Charlie going. He decided he would try his hand at a packing station in the high Sierras. The only thing he didn’t like was he was going to have to leave his little dog Shorty behind. He reassured him though that he would be back now and then to see him and take him on hikes just for old time sake.
Well, he found the job he was looking for right where he wanted to be. At a pack station located at about 8000 ft. high and surrounded by tall mountains. This was living at it’s best. This work was a little different than he had done before, but he caught on fast with the help of an old-timer who had spent his life packing mules for hunters and fishermen who seemed to always be ready and waiting.
Charlie had several narrow escapes in the years he worked here. His worst one was when he was returning from a pack trip in the Minarets area, riding a skittish horse and leading six pack mules. He was having to pick his way along a steep mountainside, when the lead mule slipped and fell down the mountain dragging his horse and four of the remaining mules with him. They rolled for what seemed like a mile, but actually it was only fifty yards or so, but it was enough to kill his horse and break his leg in two places.
When he came to his senses he surveyed the damages and found one mule still alive, but his back leg was broken. Charlie knew what he had to do, so he inched his way over to the mule and quickly ended his suffering with his .38 pistol that he always carried. Then he began to wonder how he was going to get home. He was above the timber line so didn’t have any sticks or anything to bind up his broken leg. Then he remembered the pack saddles, sure they were made of wood, he would use them as splints. He finally got his leg bound up but couldn’t begin to walk on it. There was nothing left to do but try to make his way back to the trail by crawling. By this time the sun had dipped behind the higher peaks and he knew he didn’t have much day light left. He started crawling rather fast at first but soon found that this was harder than he thought. Besides he was scratched and bruised all over, and his leg was beginning to swell pretty badly. He knew what he had to do, he had to get up to that trail as fast as he could in case some hunter or fisherman came by. He reached the trail after many stops and rests just at dark to find his only live mule was gone. His only hope now was that the mule would return to the pack station and the station owner would immediately notice something was wrong and send help. He tried to estimate how long it would take the mule to make the trip, which was about twelve miles over some pretty rugged terrain. He didn’t have a watch but he estimated it was about four o’clock when he rolled down the mountain and the mule must have left immediately. This would mean the mule should arrive around eight o’clock if he didn’t fall or get caught by a mountain lion. Even if the mule made it by eight o’clock he knew that nobody would chance this rough trail at night. He would just have to wait and try to keep warm until morning. It gets mighty chilly in these high mountains at night even in the summer.
Charlie spent a miserable night wrapped in a saddle blanket and was sure glad to see the sun come up the next morning. Then he waited and waited for what seemed like ages until he was on the verge of passing out from loss of blood and exposure. He faintly remembered someone saying be careful don’t move his leg. He wanted to say something but couldn’t utter a word.
Charles came to in a hospital not far from his hometown with his mother and dad peering down at him. Son, you’ve had a pretty rough go of it, his mother said, but you’re going to be all right. You’re too darn tough to die now.
Well, Charlie’s leg slowly mended, but it took a long time before he could begin to walk. He started by taking a few steps at a time and then a few more until after what seemed like an eternity, he got to go home.
He spent the next two months just learning to walk again and gaining back his strength. He started going on long hikes like he did when he was a young boy. The only difference was, instead of Shorty running along beside him, he had to be carried most of the way, you see Shorty was getting old and almost blind. Charlie didn’t mind helping Shorty, because he could remember Shorty helping him on several occasions when he was a little boy.
Then, finally it happened. Charlie started on one of his hikes one morning and he couldn’t find Shorty. He searched and searched and called and called but Shorty didn’t come. Around noon Charlie found little Shorty. Not being able to see he had fallen into an abandoned mine shaft and was lying at the bottom of the shaft dead. Charlie lowered a rope down the shaft and brought little Shorty out. He made a casket from some pine boards he had and buried him out on the mountainside. He knew this is what little Shorty would have wanted. Charlie missed little Shorty very much, and every time he went for a hike he would expect Shorty to be waiting for him, but he knew little Shorty was gone forever.
It took Charlie a long long time to get over the loss of his little pal, but he realized the little dog couldn’t live forever, but he never forgot him.
Charlie spent the next two years working at odd jobs, and saving all the money he could. He had always wanted to open up new trails in the backcountry of the Sierras where no one else had ever been.
One day his dream came true, he got a chance to do just what he wanted to do. The Fish and Game Department wanted someone who knew how to take care of himself in the wilds to blaze new trails and map the high lakes and streams of the Sierras. Charlie got the job, was outfitted with the best backpack and supplies the Fish and Game could supply.
Charlie arrived at his jumping off place late one evening by car; the jumping off place was called Lone Pine. It wasn’t much of a town. One little grocery store, a Post Office, and service station.
Charlie assembled his new backpack and picked up a few necessities which the Fish and Game didn’t supply, such as aspirin, fishhooks, and plenty of ammunition for his .38 caliber pistol, Also some fishing line. Then he began to look for a suitable place to bed down for the night.
In the meantime there was a scrawny pup that looked almost like Shorty trying his best to make friends with Old Charlie. Well Charlie wasn’t one to be mean or ignore any dog, but he knew he couldn’t take the pup on a hike the likes he was taking, but he did give him a friendly pat on the head, and went on his way. Lone Pine was nothing but a high desert, sage brush every where, and plenty of rattlesnakes. Well snakes didn’t bother Old Charlie, he had dealt with them before. He knew that if you didn’t bother them they wouldn’t bother you. Charlie found a place in a small ravine about dark and decided this was as good a place as any to bed down, so this is where he settled in for the night. The next morning Old Charlie got up before sunrise ate a hasty breakfast and headed across the desert towards the high Sierras, which loomed high and beautiful in the background.
Old Charlie was a fast and tireless walker but the Sierras were farther away than he thought. It took him all day just to reach the edge of the mountains. He was tired and hungry so he decided to cook something to eat and bed down early so he could get a real early start the next morning. Charlie looked through his supplies and decided he would cook some cured meat and make some water gravy and coffee. He finished his supper, washed his dishes, put some more wood on the fire, and unfolded his bed roll and got ready to bed down. He pulled off his boots and stretched out on his bedroll for just one more look at the mountains ahead before it got to dark to see them. Darkness had fallen and everything was still except for an occasional coyote howling in the distance and a whippoorwill calling to its mate. Then Old Charlie heard a noise out in the bushes, but without a light he couldn’t tell what it was. He suspected a hungry coyote looking for a handout but Old Charlie had all his supplies stashed so not even a coyote could get to them. Suddenly the noise was much closer.
Old Charlie decided he had better put more wood on the fire and maybe scare whatever it was away. He had quite a fire going so he sat back down on his bed roll and all of the sudden he saw two yellow eyes about twenty feet away glowing from the fire light. Old Charlie decided whatever it was it was coming to close for comfort. He pulled out his .38 pistol and took dead aim right between those two yellow eyes. He was just ready to pull the trigger when he heard a familiar whine. Old Charlie lowered his gun and called to the animal. Sure enough who should come crawling in but the pup he had befriended back at the little store in Lone Pine. Old Charlie petted the pup and asked how in the world did you ever follow me this far without either me seeing you or a pack of coyotes getting you? Well the pup reassured him he did Make it, sore feet and all, by licking Old Charlie’s hands and crying all at the same time. Old Charlie gave the pup the leftovers from supper, which the pup gulped down in about six bites. Old Charlie looked the pup over and wondered what in the world he was going to do with pup on a hike he was undertaking. Well he decided he would sleep on it and maybe by morning he would come up with an answer.
Old Charlie woke up at daybreak the next day and there lay the pup curled up in a round ball beside his bed. He still hadn’t come up with any idea of what to do with him. He couldn’t shoot him. Old Charlie just couldn’t do a thing like that. Especially after this little pup had followed him all the way across the desert.
Well there was nothing left but to adopt the pup. First he had to have a name. Old Charlie decided he would call him Shorty #2 since he looked so much like the Shorty he had before. After a hasty breakfast Old Charlie and Shorty #2 packed up their gear and headed up the mountain. They hadn’t gone too far when Old Charlie spotted a jackrabbit standing by the trail about fifty yards ahead. He decided this rabbit would make an excellent meal for himself and Shorty if he could just manage to bag it. It was worth a try, so Old Charlie pulled his pistol and fired away. Well the rabbit fell in its tracks, but Shorty left the country. Back down the trail as fast as his short legs could carry him. You see Shorty had never heard the roar of a gun before and it nearly scared him out of his wits. Old Charlie finally coaxed the pup back and reassured him that everything was all right and nothing was going to hurt him as long as he wasn’t shooting at him.
Old Charlie then picked up the rabbit, cleaned it real good, and stowed it in his knapsack where it would keep until supper-time. The trail got steeper and the trees and rocks got bigger as Old Charlie and Shorty worked their way further and further up the mountain. By high noon they had reached a stream known as South Fork of the Kern River. It was rather warm this time of day even at this altitude, so Old Charlie figured this was a good place to rest for a while and refill his canteen with good cold mountain water. He suddenly noticed little Shorty laying in the shade of a bush and was busily licking his paws.
On closer examination he noticed the pups feet were raw and bleeding slightly. Old Charlie bawled himself out for not realizing the little pup had never been on a hike like this and his tender feet just couldn’t take this rough country. He would have to cut down on the distance each day until little Shortys feet toughened up a bit. Old Charlie decided to hunt a good place to set up camp for the rest of the day and night and let Shortys feet heal somewhat. He found a real good campsite a short distance up the ravine under a big overhanging rock. Old Charlie set up camp and proceeded to gather wood for the fire he would need to cook the rabbit. Shorty just curled up in the shade and, immediately fell asleep, he was totally exhausted. Old Charlie didn’t disturb the little dog because he knew how tired he was. He had come a long way for a pup on his first outing.
Old Charlie went ahead with preparing their supper. When it was all done he awoke Shorty and they had a real good feast. “That was a real meal wasn’t it Shorty”? Old Charlie said. Shorty looked up at his new master and let out a weak woof, as if to say, you bet it was.
After a good nights sleep Shorty felt much better. He was eager to get started again. They didn’t travel too far that day because Old Charlie didn’t want Shortys feet to get any worse. He traveled along the river most of the day and set up camp early that afternoon in a little grassy meadow. After Old Charlie had established camp he got his fish hooks and line out and decided to try for some trout for supper. Now for some bait, “what could he find for bait?” As he was searching he came across a big fallen dead tree. He noticed that the tree was full of small round holes, which had to be made by Grub Borers which he knew would make good bait. Old Charlie got his small hand axe, and started splitting chunks from the log and it wasn’t long before he had all the bait he needed. Then he made a pole from a willow branch and tied his line to it and he was ready. He eased down to a likely pothole and baited his hook. Just as he was ready to lower his line into the pool he heard a big splash. He looked around to see Shorty paddling like mad to shore. It seems Shorty had spotted a good-sized trout in the pool and tried to catch it himself. Well he found out it wasn’t that easy, and it also spoiled Old Charlies chances of catching a fish in that pool. Old Charlie made sure Shorty stayed back from the water and he proceeded to catch enough fish for supper.
In the next few days Shortys feet heeled very well and he was learning the ways of the wilds really fast. Something new was happening every day. By this time Old Charlie and Shorty were well into the backcountry of the high Sierras. Old Charlie’s plans were to cross over the Sierras and come out somewhere along the Nevada-California border by mid October, because after October you can usually expect the snowstorms to start, and he surely didn’t want to be caught in one of those. Old Charlie spent the next few days drawing maps of several streams that flowed down the south slope of the Sierras. In the meantime Shorty spent his time hunting mice and lizards.
One day Shorty was chasing a long-tailed packrat when it took refuge in pile of rocks. Well this was a different kind of challenge for Shorty, so he tried moving the rocks so he could find that elusive critter. In so doing he came face to face with a high Sierras timber rattler, he had never seen anything like that before, but instinct told him to get back, which he tried to do but the rattler was much faster than he was. Consequently the snake bit Shorty right on the left side of his head. Luckily Old Charlie was close by, and heard the snake rattle and looked around in time to see Shorty get bit. He acted quickly and lanced the wound and sucked out the poison with his mouth, he didn’t get it all out but he did succeed in saving Shortys life. He swelled up like a balloon and he was real sick for about two weeks. This meant they couldn’t travel, and this was going to make them late getting to their destination. This didn’t bother Old Charlie too much though because by this time they had become close friends. While Shorty was recuperating Old Charlie spent his time making bird traps which he placed at different places around the mountainside to catch birds for food. They now had to depend entirely on the wild game and fish for food, for they had long since run out of the food they had started with. He caught several quail and two grouse in the next few days so they ate well. By now Shorty had lost all the swelling on his head and with all the good food and rest he was ready to travel again.
They spent the next day climbing the south side of Mount Whitney, which is 14,500 feet high. The air was cold, crisp and thin. They traveled very slowly up here because Old Charlie was doing a lot of mapping and trail blazing. Two days later they wound up in a little meadow, which is now known as Whitney Meadow. This was a beautiful place with a small stream running down the mountain from the meadow and was just loaded with golden trout. They camped here for two days and rested up for what Old Charlie knew was going to be a rough hike down the north slope. The temperature dropped considerably and they spent a miserable night huddled around the fire. The next morning they headed off the mountain towards what is now called Thousand Island Lakes. They hadn’t gone to far when Shorty bristled up and started growling. Old Charlie finally saw what was bothering him. A big black bear was digging in an old dead log for grubs. About then the bear spotted them and headed out across the mountain. Well this was just too much for Shorty, he just had to give chase, which he did. Although he ran as fast as his short legs would carry him he never even came close to catching that bear. Nevertheless when he did come back to join Old Charlie you could plainly see he was taking full credit for chasing that bear away.
That night a storm came up and it started snowing, this wasn’t good, but Old Charlie just figured it was one of those freak storms which occasionally hits these high mountains, it would be gone come morning. Morning came and it was still snowing. Well they couldn’t very well travel in this kind of weather so Old Charlie started looking for a shelter. He finally found a good dry place beneath some large boulders. The boulders had leaned against one another in such a way as to form quite a cave. They moved in and immediately Old Charlie started gathering all the wood he could find before it got covered up with snow. He knew that if the storm kept up they would be in big trouble, because all the game would move down the mountain to avoid the snow. He gathered a good supply of wood, and then he knew he was going to have to find them something to eat while they were cooped up in here. He made Shorty stay in the cave and he took his pistol and started hunting. He knew he was going to have to take just whatever he could find, but he found nothing, all the game had just disappeared. He went back to the cave and broke the bad news to Shorty. They huddled together around the fire that night to keep warm. The next morning it was snowing even harder than the day before. By this time they were both starved. Old Charlie knew he was going to have to find them something for them to eat or they would starve, because there was no way they could travel in a storm like this.
He set out again that morning but the snow was getting so deep he could hardly walk. He searched and searched to no avail, the suddenly he heard a whir of wings and there went about a dozen quail sailing down the mountain. He tried to catch up with them but evidently they didn’t stop. They were trying to escape the terrible storm too. Old Charlie returned to the cave cold, tired, and hungry. Shorty greeted him with wagging tail and whining, he was hungry and cold also. That night Old Charlie built up a good fire and they huddled up close, he was having chills from being wet and hungry. He decided to take some aspirin because he just couldn’t afford to get sick now. He dug into his pack only to find his aspirin had gotten wet and were all melted away. The next morning Old Charlie was running a high fever. He built up the fire and melted some snow so he and Shorty could have a drink. He knew there was some nourishment in the water and that’s all they had. By that night Old Charlie’s fever was so high he was almost out of his head at times. They were running out of wood also and there was no more to be had because it was all covered with several feet of snow.
Shorty could sense his master was sick and tried to help him by licking his face and whimpering. Old Charlie put the last stick of wood on the fire about midnight and wrapped up in his bedroll, along with Shorty to try to keep warm. Old Charlie knew now that he had pneumonia and would be lucky to survive without medicine. The next day his fever was still high and he was loosing his strength very fast. He knew now only a miracle could save them. Even if it quit snowing the snow was already too deep to travel. He did a lot of praying that day and finally dropped of in a deep sleep, with Little Shorty lying beside him.
When Old Charlie didn’t show up at the California, Nevada border as he had said he would, the fish and game Officials knew there was something wrong but couldn’t do a thing until spring because of the deep snow. When spring finally did come, a search party set out to find them. Old Charlie’s trail was easy to follow because he had done a good job blazing his trails.
After several weeks of searching they came upon Old Charlie and Little Shorty lying side by side in the cave. Old Charlie had died of pneumonia and Shorty starved to death. They found a note Old Charlie had written before he died. It said he wanted to be buried with his dog at the base of a big Ponderosa Pine just outside the cave. Well they buried Old Charlie and his dog together as he had wished and put several big rocks on top of the grave so wild animals couldn’t dig them up, then said a little prayer for them and headed back over the mountain.
Today there are good trails through most of the high Sierras where everyone can enjoy the great outdoors, thanks to men like Old Charlie, and later on a man by the name of John Muir. So if perhaps some day you may be hiking through this same area and you happen to stop for a rest under a giant pine tree and the wind happens to be blowing just right you will hear it whisper; At my feet lay the bodies of Old Charlie and his little dog Shorty, may they rest in peace.
Preserved as part of our family history.