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Name
Street
ciV Zone State
skHvgB. tw0 sheepherders lose
t-l.J!leir sight from the dazzling
glare of sun on snow; how
would they get down?
We Went Blind in
By JOE VIGIL as told to Hal Higdon
I FIRST FOUND fear that day I
faced the dawn and saw noth
ing. I stood on a snow-covered
mountain plateau, 13,000 feet
high and miles from help. Joe
Chacon and I had fought storm
and sun for three days, attempt
ing to bring sheep down from the
high country to green grass below.
Now we were snow-blind, our horses
wandering lost. And I cried as I realized I
might never see my family again.
The storm had begun four days earlier.
You don't expect 30 inches of snow even
in the Rockies before Labor Day.
Joe Chacon and the ranch boss banged
on my door during dinner. (During sum
mer months I irrigate meadows on a sheep
ranch near Snowmass, Colo. The rest of
the year I help herd sheep.)
Seeing Joe Chacon surprised me. He
spends the entire summer in a tent above
timber line, grazing sheep in the high
country. With lush grass and cool air,
lambs can be fattened for fall markets.
Joe Chacon would not be down so early in
the year unless trouble threatened.
The boss sat down to explain : "Snow has
trapped Joe's sheep above Taylor Lake.
Can you help him break them loose?"
Early next morning, we bumped along a
gravel road toward Ashcroft with my
horse and a mule in the back of a truck.
As we rode, Joe Chacon talked. "The
snow started Saturday noon," he said. "She
lookfrl bad, so I rounded up the herd. Then
more snow. I try, but one man cannot push
2,300 sheep through deep drifts. I finally
come down for help."
At Ashcroft, we mounted our horses and
took to the trail. Even at this low level
snow had begun to fall.
As we rode upward, snow, whipped by
wind, slashed at our faces. Heavy fog cut
visibility to 20 feet. Even with Joe Chacon
14 Family Weekly, January?!. 19G2
leading, we often wandered off the trails.
Nearing camp, we -could hear the cold
and hungry sheep blatting their protests to
the wind. It had taken almost the entire
day to get to them, but during the blizzard
we could do nothing to move them. We
would settle down in our tent and wait for
the storm to break.
"The horses, the mules turn them
loose!" said Joe Chacon.
"But we'll never find them in the morn
ing," I replied.
"So be it," he said grimly. "We tie them
up, we find them dead by morning."
In the morning I stepped out of our tent
into fresh, white snow. The wind had
died, and the bright sun beat down. The
horses were nowhere in sight.
We stumbled off in search of them. The
snow was knee-deep. In some places we'd
go in clear to our bellies. Then I spotted
a patch of tan among all the white. Our
animals had found shelter behind a large
rock a mile from camp. It took two hours
to find the rest of the pack.
WE started herding the sheep down
ward, fighting for every step. Joe
and I, leading the mules, opened a trail
by trampling the snow with our boots.
"Stomp hard," he yelled at me. "The
sheep, they do not want to move." Then,
returning to the sheep, we would lead
them a few hundred feet down the newly
beaten trail. By the end of the day, we
had moved them less than a mile but at
least they were below timber line.
Before sunset I felt something wrong
with my eyes. I noticed that where one
pine tree stood, I saw two. I blinked my
eyes to clear them, and the landscape
danced. We turned to head back to our
tent, and I looked up toward the east and
saw a bright star. To my surprise it had a
long tail!
I turned to Joe Chacon: "What do you
see wrong with that star?"
He looked up and squinted hard: "A long
the White Wilderness
tail. That star has a long, white tail."
We had not yet realized it, but we were
both going snow-blind. Exposure to fog
and blizzard the first day, plus a second
day of sun reflected off bright white snow,
had eaten away at our vision.
Snow-blindness, I learned later, cannot
kill you by itself, but your eyes get so sen
sitive it becomes too painful to open them.
Your eyeballs blister; your eyelids swell.
Nausea, caused by the extreme pain, slowly
weakens you. A snow-blind man is like a
person bound hand and foot, thrown into
the middle of the ocean, and told to swim.
And we were alone in the wilderness !
After dinner, the stabbing pain began.
.Our eyes started to run water. Joe
wiped his with a white rag. I thought that
by crawling into my sleeping bag I could
sleep off the pain, but it didn't help.
The following morning, our sight was
gone. Too late, I tied a silk scarf around
my eyes. Joe Chacon made a handkerchief
into a mask for his entire face.
We warmed coffee but couldn't cook food
we couldn't see. Neither of us felt like eat
ing, anyway. Joe Chacon had known snow
blindness many years ago as a boy. He told
how the sickness creeps up on you. "We
must get to lower country," he said. "Here
we freeze to death."
We had freed our horses again during
the night. Would we find them?
We went out to look, but drifting snow
had covered their tracks. By forcing our
eyes open for an instant, we could obtain a
brief, blurry flash of the land before us.
But so poor was this instant of vision that
the horses might stand a few hundred feet
away and we wouldn't see them.
"Back! Let's go back in the tent before
we're lost," I whispered to Joe Chacon.
We retraced our steps in the snow.
Soon, we groped out into the snow once
more, but after going several hundred
yards we still had not located the horses.
"We go back for another rest," Joe Chacon
suggested. Then as we turned he said
slowly: "The horses!"
There, between us and the tent, stood
our salvation : my tan-colored horse and
his white one, almost invisible against
the snowy background. We had passed
within a few feet of them!
Had they wandered as far as the pre
vious day, we would have missed them.
Saddling the horses, we led them down
the previous day's trail. We had to feel
blindly for where the sheep had packed the
snow. Exhausted and sick, we slipped and
skidded down the ice-slick hills.
Then we were among the heavy spruce,
completely dependent on the senses of our
mounts. No packed trail remained for us to
feel our way along. We prayed that our
horses would remember the way down.
At times, Joe Chacon would climb
down off his horse, dropping to his hands
and knees in the snow. With his fingers he
would pry open his swollen eyelids in a
futile attempt to recognize a landmark, but
he could not see a thing. For all we knew,
we might be wandering farther off.
Stumbling along sightlessly, I had lost
all track of time. All I could feel was the
terrible pain in my eyes and the ever
greater nausea and fatigue.
HOW FAR to go before help now? One
mill? Five miles? Could we make it?
My head rolled from side to side. I re
member slipping from my saddle to the
ground below. It was muddy and wet, but I
could not feel it.
Then a hand was placed on my shoulder.
"You're safe now," a voice said softly.
Our horses had led us back to civiliza
tion. A dog trainer at Ashcroft, seeing us
groping blindly through the valley, had
come out to find us. He put medicine in our
eyes and called the sheriff. Soon we slept
soundly at the Aspen Hospital.
The sheep we left were saved, too. The
boss went after them with other herd
ers wearing sun goggles.
We can see again. Days of rest and hos
pital treatment have restored our vision to
normal. And we have returned to the
sheep and the high country we love.
Family Weekly, January 21, 1962
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EVERY WEEK
there's good reading in
FAMILY WEEKLY
WOMEN PAST 35
MAY LOOK OLD & TIRED
From Bladder "Weakness1
With Secondary Backache
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Arc you one of the hundreds of thou
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OTHER SYMPTOMS
Common Kldnev and Bladder Irrita
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OLD, TIRED, WORN OUT
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