View from the Top ...

Once upon a time in Hawaii, the Mule Skinner and the missus took a mule train from the top of a cliff down to the seaside, below. The skinners at the trail-head assigned riders to their mules, based on personality matches between mule and rider. Of course they knew nothing about me but knew their mules well. The skinner asked me, if I could handle a spirited beast. Being from Texas, I said sure'nuff, even though I was a shakin' in my boots. The skinner grinned and said, "Good, this one likes to run off into the jungle. You gotta take charge!" The mule's name was Lokelani.

Well, we mounted our steeds and headed for the cliff edge. Twenty-seven switch-backs and 1800 feet of jungle covered cliff was between us and the seashore at the bottom. What a view! We settled into a plodding pace and began our descent. Now, the mules know the trail very well. They make this trip every day. They know every turn, every slippery rock, and every place a tourist might want to take a picture. They know when a tourist lets go of the reins that a picture is about to be taken. As we approached a truly great view, I dropped the reins onto the saddle horn, pulled out a camera, and attempted to focus on the village below us. Lokelani knew what to do. He made a 180 degree turn in the direction of the switchback, leaned to the outside of the turn, and sighed a deep giggle. I scrambled to stay in the saddle. Because of the girth of my mule, I could only see tree tops below me -- no earth at all. I regained my composure but continued to feel the laughter between my legs for the rest of the ride to the beach.

We spent a couple of hours in the village at the bottom of the cliff. I was eagerly anticipating the return trip up the cliff face. My legs and seat were still burning from the wide displacement of my beast of burden. The ascent was completely different than the trip down. Saddles were changed. Extra harness was added so that the saddles would not slide off the back of the mules. The trail was steep. So steep, that many of the mules strained with effort to make the climb. The mule in front of me strained so hard that the animal seemed to be jet-propelled. The engine noises were clear and loud.

Remembering what the skinner had told me about my mule, I chuckled to myself, knowing that I had conquered Lokelani -- he knew who was in charge. The thought didn't get past my frontal lobe, when a clearing in the jungle appeared. I marveled at the coconut palms and fern covered hillside. Lokelani marveled, too. With ears laid back we galloped off the trail and headed straight for the ever darkening foliage. We left the line of trail riders behind us. We jumped a fallen tree and dived under low hanging branches. Off in the distance I heard a mule skinner yell, "Bring him back, bring him back." To this day I do not know whether the wrangler was talking to me or to the mule.