An Education in Packing and Precision
Ed Haefliger called me in 2009, shortly after I started writing a column on trail riding and camping with horses. I was still finding my footing as a writer and, if I’m honest, I felt a mix of excitement and imposter syndrome—I didn’t even own a mule back then. Ed’s call was unexpected, and my guess is it was curiosity to see if this new upstart had any idea what he was talking about. I must have passed muster because not long after Ed invited me on a packing trip into the Dosewallips area of Olympic National Park to resupply a trail crew.
Ed isn’t just any packer. With the most volunteer hours in the history of the Park, Ed approaches his packing efforts with the precision and dedication of a full-time job. He’s been hauling supplies for trail crews for decades, delivering everything from trail tools to “thunder buckets” (his term for vault toilets). He’s a master of his craft, and that first trip would be an education unlike any I’d had before.
The day began at 3:30 a.m. in the damp, foggy darkness of a Puget Sound morning. I fumbled my way around the mules while Ed moved with practiced efficiency. We hit the road once the animals were loaded, driving over an hour to what could generously be called a trailhead. The trailhead lay miles beyond, but a washout made the road impassable, so we pulled over at a wide spot on the gravel road and our journey began.
When the trail crew arrived, we started loading the mules. I’d thought I knew the basics of packing—how to balance a load and keep a pack string moving. But I quickly realized I only knew surface-level theory, not the practiced precision that Ed demanded. He weighed every pannier to the ounce, adjusted the loads with the intuition of a seasoned master, and could spot an imbalance before a mule took its first step. My attempts at helping only proved how much I still had to learn.
Ed put me on Rosie for the trip, his steady, no-nonsense mare who could handle a greenhorn like me. My job was to ride at the back of the pack string, keeping an eye out for trouble and letting Ed know if anything went sideways.
The trail was a world of contrasts—emerald mosses and ferns blanketed the forest floor, towering trees stretching toward the sky, and the persistent roar of the Dosewallips River roared beside us. Hoofbeats clattered against the rocky trail, blending with the river’s rush to create the kind of wild, untamed music you only find in places like this. But as magical as the setting was, the work was anything but easy.
Ed has one hard-and-fast rule: fix problems the moment they show up. A loose lash rope, a shifting pack, a balky mule—everything is taken care of then and there, even if it means stopping to unload and repack. “It’ll be fine, we’re almost there” wasn’t in his vocabulary. He put safety first, with no exceptions. I didn’t fully appreciate it at the time, but that lesson stuck with me.
As the day stretched on, the ride settled into my bones. Hours in the saddle left me stiff and sore, and camp always seemed just over the next ridge—but was never quite there. We finally rolled in long after dark, dog-tired but far from done. Caring for the mules came first before we thought about ourselves. When the last task was finished, we grabbed a quick bite and collapsed into our sleeping bags that were stretched out beside a downed log. Morning would come fast, and with it, another long day.
Ed’s trips are anything but luxurious. There’s no lingering over coffee, no long breaks for a leisurely lunch. Meals are whatever you can stuff into your pocket and eat on the move. Days start and end in the dark, with every muscle in your body reminding you of the miles covered. But the work gets done safely, and Ed’s unwavering standards ensure it’s done right.
That trip into the Dosewallips was more than just an introduction to packing—it was a lesson in diligence, precision, and respect for the craft. Watching Ed work showed me what real commitment to a task looks like. He was a packer and a steward of the wilderness, ensuring the trails stayed open for those who would come after him.
As I rode out of the valley—tired, sore, and grateful—I thought back to that first phone call. What started as a conversation with a stranger had turned into an experience that shaped my understanding of packing and responsibility. Ed had taken me under his wing and taught me how to pack mules and think like an actual hand.
Years later, I still hear Ed’s voice in my head when I pack. I weigh loads more carefully, double-check balance points, and fix minor problems before they turn into big ones. That first trip set the tone for every lesson that followed—lessons I carry with me today.
See this article in the April 2025 Online Digital Edition:
April 2025
Robert Eversole, ”the trail meister,” owns www.TrailMeister.com, the largest database of horse riding and camping areas in the U.S. with free trail and trailhead information, trail maps, and much more to help horse enthusiasts experience the joys of trail riding. Robert is a registered riding instructor with PATH International, a mounted search and rescue team member, and a U.S. Marine who has served on the board of the Backcountry Horsemen of Washington (BCHW). He is enjoying his new career helping fellow trail riders stay found and safe on the trail. When not on the trail, The Trail Meister resides near Spokane, WA and teaches land navigation to a wide variety of outdoor groups across the nation. For North America’s largest horse trail and camping directory, trail tips, and more, visit www.TrailMeister.com.