Let Your Llamas Do the Lugging : . . .Or, How We Stopped Carrying Our Packs and Learned to Love the Sierras

. . .Or, How We Stopped Carrying Our Packs

and Learned to Love the Sierras

In far Tibet

There lives a lama,

He got no Papa,

Got no Mama. . .

--Ogden Nash

The children knew we were going camping for summer vacation--real camping in tents, away from the supermarket and VCR--but they didn’t know we had a treat in store for how we’d do it.

On the five-hour drive from Los Angeles to the trail head in the Eastern Sierra, I suggested they memorize an Ogden Nash poem and hinted that it might have something to do with our camping trip. They thought their father was being a little eccentric, but 12-year-old Sam gave it a game try and got all 11 stanzas.

When we drove up to the trailer containing the five strange-looking animals, they still didn’t get it. “What are those?” asked Katie, 7, pointing at the exotic, long-necked, woolly beasts that seemed to have leaped straight from the pages of Dr. Seuss. “Are they camels?”

Then it clicked. “They’re llamas!” Sam said. “Remember? ‘In far Tibet. . .’ “(OK, the poem was about the other kind of llama, but it’s pronounced the same.)

And so began four days and three nights of camping in the Sierra with pack llamas last August. Like many parents who enjoy--or once enjoyed--the outdoors, my challenge was this: how to get three children, ages 7, 10 and 12, into the back country. My partner, Nora, and I had gone car camping, but never taken the kids into the wilderness.

We had several options, of course. Horses, boats or even two adults carrying 70 pound packs. (Not!) Llamas were the most intriguing.

We began our vacation by driving to Toms Place, a smattering of buildings about 20 miles south of Mammoth just off California 395. We spent the night in a rental cottage there, and the next morning met our guide at the Rock Creek trail head, about a 29-minute drive from Toms Place.

From Rock Creek, elevation about 9,500 feet, trails lead to dozens of lakes and mountains. We were headed for the Hilton Lakes area, a valley about 4 1/2 miles away on the other side of a nearly 11,000-foot pass. For our purposes, llamas were just the trick.

Llamas, which are, in fact, related to camels, have been domesticated as pack animals in the South American Andes for centuries. Their popularity is now growing in the United States, and hundreds of Californians raise them for pets, for their wool or for trekking.

An adult llama stands about four feet high at the shoulder and weighs 300 to 400 pounds. They have a soft, wool coat that is usually white with blotches of brown or black. Well-conditioned animals can carry as much as 200 pounds, but llamas used for camping in California typically carry up to 100 pounds.

Llamas have pads, not hooves. This makes them unusually sure-footed and leaves little damage to the trail. As one llama owner told me, “It’s like hiking with deer.”

Best of all, they are friendly, curious and gentle creatures, a cross in size and character between dogs and horses.

My children quickly bonded with them. Each animal had a distinct personality, and soon Nora and I were hiking not only with Sam, Ben and Katie, but with Shadow, Amigo, Larry, Lonnie and Regal.

Our guide was Art Hamlin, who raised llamas at his small Valley Center ranch in San Diego County. Hamlin and his assistant, 17-year-old Brandon Melanese, packed our gear--clothes and sleeping bags--with the food and camping equipment that they supplied. Naturally, we brought too much and had to leave some behind. I explained to the kids that they would not be changing clothes until they were really dirty. “Cool,” said 10-year-old Ben.

*

Each of us was assigned to a llama, but first our guides gave us the llama basics: Keep some distance between the animals, hold the rope with some slack and they’ll keep a steady walking pace with you, pet them only on their necks. And, oh, by the way, if the llama’s head rises up and you hear a guttural sound, duck.

It seems that, when irritated, llamas spit regurgitated food--though usually only at each other, not at people. Nevertheless, the prospect of getting a face-load of half-digested llama chow kept us on our toes.

(There was only one spitting incident on

our journey. On the way back, one of the other llamas got too close to Larry, who let one fly. It happened so quickly it was over before we realized it. We were all, fortunately, out of the line of fire.)

We started up the trail about 11 a.m., Hamlin walking in front of the caravan and Brandon walking behind. I got to lead Larry, who was a leader among llamas (and men) and, in general, a very refined and elegant animal. “I’m in charge here,” I would say firmly to Larry. Then Larry would shove me aside with his head and take the lead. “Just a minute, chief,” I’d tell him as I struggled to regain my illusory authority.

Ahead of me, I could hear Katie, chattering away with Regal, who sported a thick coat of fur and deserved his name. “I think he likes me,” she said, as she plucked what she thought might be particularly tasty morsels of grass for him. When Regal gently nibbled the grass from her hand, she giggled.

“Daaaad, he’s tickling me,” she called, delighted.

Sam had more pragmatic dealings with his llama, Amigo. At the first stream crossing, Amigo leaped across, surprising Sam, who dropped the rope. Amigo waited patiently on the bank, giving Sam a what’s-taking-you-so-long look. At the next stream, as instructed, Sam held the rope firmly and gave the orders to his llama. “Yo! Just walk. No jumping this time,” he said.

Amigo gazed dolefully at Sam, then delicately placed one foot after another in the stream. Amigo, Sam realized, hated to get his feet wet and clearly thought jumping was more fun.

At one of our first rest breaks, Hamlin gave the kids handfuls of grain to feed their llamas. Ben’s llama, Lonnie, gobbled down the food so enthusiastically that he left Ben’s hand coated with saliva.

“He slimed me,” Ben said. “Totally gross, Lonnie.”

*

Hiking with llamas has obvious advantages. They hauled the weight, so we carried only water bottles and light backpacks. This made it easier to enjoy the scenery, from the rough vistas of the Eastern Sierra to the wildflowers dotting the trail.

This side of the Sierra contains some of the most beautiful and rugged mountains in the western United States. Even in summer, however, the weather can be changeable, and sudden winds or storms can catch campers by surprise. We had warm days and cold nights during our trip.

We also found that llama-packing strung us out along the trail, making it more difficult to chat during the hike. And even with the llamas, the 4 1/2 miles was strenuous for the children. The trail was steep and rugged in parts, rising to nearly 11,000 feet.

The llamas walked slowly, and it took us about six hours to reach camp. During the trek, we stopped for lunch, unpacked the llamas and tied them loosely so they could rest. The children brought their llamas fresh picked greens from the meadow where we rested.

The llamas were unflappable and generally good-natured walking companions. When we passed horses, dogs or other hikers, they stood calmly to the side to let them pass. Later in the day, as they (and we) tired, the llamas slowed down, and sometimes decided to stop or sit. When a llama doesn’t want to move, it’s hard to make him budge.

The specially designed llama packs also made the animals about a foot wider on each side, and some of the llamas, less experienced at trekking, occasionally tried to fit through narrow spots between trees, catching the packs and knocking things off. The day was punctuated by pausing, adjusting packs, then moving on.

At the high point of the trail, just before descending to the Hilton Lakes, we came across snow that still hadn’t melted. We stopped while the children threw snowballs and sank to their knees in the slush.

Having llamas along can’t protect you from the travails of hiking with children. Katie left her pack and water bottle at the snow, which we only noticed half an hour later. We split up with one party going back for Katie’s things and the other proceeding to the campsite.

Late in the afternoon we dropped down to the Hilton Lakes, a series of gorgeous mountain lakes strung out in a long, pine-forested valley. As we neared them, we encountered the scourge that generated the most complaints from the kids during our camping trip: mosquitoes. They were everywhere during daylight hours, except when the wind blew hard. But we had been forewarned and kept ourselves slathered in repellent.

We chose a site just above Hilton Lake No. 3. With Hamlin and Brandon giving orders, we all helped set up camp. It was then that another advantage of llama packing became clear. We camped in relative luxury, having brought things--such as an extra, children-only tent--that we could never have carried on our own. Oh, and lots of frozen food, much heartier than the freeze-dried stuff campers often eat.

During our first night we celebrated Sam’s birthday with chili and real cupcakes. After dinner was cleared away, we sat by the campfire, roasting marshmallows and telling tales beneath bright stars, starting with goofy ghost stories.

As we began to get sleepy, we scanned the nighttime sky. I pointed out the Big Dipper, the Little Dipper and Orion. No matter how I tried to show Katie, she kept saying, “Where? I don’t see it. For reals, Dad, where is it?”

Then we all tumbled into our sleeping bags, cozy and exhausted. The second day of our trip was more like, well, camping. The llamas were loosely roped off in an area about 30 by 50 feet. Several times a day, the children fetched greens and petted the llama they each had come to regard as his or her own. Our guides made sure they had enough feed and water, and were safely tied.

We didn’t worry about constant supervision. There was no fear of, say, a child getting his foot squashed or kicked--worries you might have traveling with pack horses or mules.

Llamas make a series of comforting humming type of sounds and that became a regular part of the background noise. They also can make a very peculiar high-pitched shriek, one reason, we were told, that bears and coyotes tend not to attack llamas. (Llamas are known for their fearless curiosity, and have been trained to guard flocks of sheep and other livestock from predators.)

As it turns out, the highlight of the camping trip for me had nothing to with llamas at all. Hamlin was an aficionado of float tubing, a marvelous way of fishing in which you wear a chest-high wet suit and fins, sit down inside a round inflated tube, most of your body submerged beneath the surface. The wet suit keeps you warm, as long as you keep moving, and you drag your line in the water and wait for the fish to bite.

The llamas had carried in enough equipment for three of us to float at a time. Sam and Ben took turns with the adults. Katie wasn’t large enough, but all of us spent hours fishing from the banks of the lake, which was about half a mile across.

*

On the third day of camping a cold wind came up. It drove away the mosquitoes, but made it impossible to fish and we retreated to our tents for much of the day and read.

We had the area virtually to ourselves, seeing only a few other people from a distance. Like many wilderness Sierra lakes, this one had been stocked at one time with non-native fish, which now dominate the population. The lake is fished only by backpackers, so there were plenty, and even the small ones fought strongly.

Between us we caught dozens of trout, most of them released immediately back into the cold water. The bigger ones, up to about 16 inches long, ended up in a skillet.

The tubing experience was otherworldly. On the morning of our fourth day I got up at dawn and floated in the early light. Mosquitoes hatched on the surface of the lake around me. The lake’s surface was still as a mirror, broken only by the fish jumping and occasionally taking the fly I was dragging 20 yards away.

Kicking gently with my fins, I pushed along silently, feeling as close as a person can to being part of the lake. Because of the difficulty of hauling equipment, Hamlin said, very few people have tube-fished in the Sierra. (Tubing on the isolated lake was remarkable, and I’ll always be grateful to Hamlin for it. Two months after our trip, Hamlin died of a heart attack while trekking with llamas.)

I would have stayed all day, but a breakfast of pancakes and fresh trout beckoned, along with the arduous hike out.

On the way out, we felt like old llama hands. At the stream crossings, we knew to keep a firmer hand on the lead rope to discourage them from leaping over the water. Once again, when I tired, Larry the Llama was there to nudge me onward with his head.

At the end of the day, the llamas got lots of neck stroking and the kids decided that camping without the car was all right. But now they want to have pet llamas.

(BEGIN TEXT OF INFOBOX / INFOGRAPHIC)

GUIDEBOOK: Llama List

Getting there: To get to Toms Place, in the eastern Sierra: take I-15 north to U.S. 395., or take I-5 north to Highway 14 to U.S. 395.

Finding a llama: Expect to pay about $50-$75 per person for a day hike using llamas, and at least $100 per person per day for overnighters. Here are some people and organizations that can help organize your llama trip:

Ecollama, P.O. Box 8342, Missoula, MT 59807; telephone (406) 542-1625. Guided llama pack and hiking trips in Montana wilderness. Costs average $140 a day per adult, with discounts for children.

Leelin LLamatrek, P.O. Box 2363, Julian, CA 92036; tel. (800) 526-2725. Lee and Linda Stanley offer day hikes in the Julian area east of San Diego and longer trips in the Sierra and Southern California mountains. About $150 per person per day for the longer trips.

Llamas of Circle Home, 15301 Tuolumne Road, Sonora, CA 95370. Group and private trips. About $100 per person per day. Tel. (209) 532-5411; llama@sonnet.com is thee-mail address.

International Llama Assn., 2755 S. Locust St., Suite 114, Denver, CO 80222; tel. (303) 756-9004. Offers free “The LLama Catalogue,” which includes information on outfitters and llama trekking in the West.

Llama Assn. of Southern California, P.O. Box 931, Escondido, CA 92033; tel. (909) 360-0435. Has list of commercial packers.

North American Hiking and Packing Co., 47140 Montevista Drive, Big Bear City, CA 92314; tel. (909) 585-1226. One- to five-day treks in San Bernardino Mountains. Longer trips are $120 per person per day, $100 for kids.

Information is also available on the Internet. Try https://www.webcom.com/degraham for the Llama Web.

--M.S.