Hiking With Llamas

Llama Hikes GeTa LLoTa Laughs Just LLearn to LLove the Sweet-butStubborn Critters

text by Jackie Dishner

photographs by David H. Smith

When I decided last year to visit Fossil Creek Llama Ranch in Strawberry, I thought the trip would provide a great diversion from a difficult year. Guests at the ranch relax by a campfire under a starlit sky, share sweet dreams with loved ones in a teepee (or a yurt, if you go in the winter), play farmhand by helping to milk a goat and then make cheese or fudge from the proceeds.

And, oh yes, hike with the llamas.

After meeting a brown-eyed llama named Walter, however, the latter part of the deal didn't sound so great, and my 20-year-old son, Rob, didn't think the llamas liked him at all.

In fact, the first llama we came in contact with, Llakota, nestled right up to my face for a kiss. I didn't exactly respond favorably because that's a mighty big tongue to have lashing that close to my lips. Rob, on the other hand, couldn't even get close enough for a hug. Rob, a 6-foot 2-inch male, who in the human world is considered a handsome guy, had to forcibly coax the 300-pound, long-eyelashed, long-necked female to stand by him for the souvenir picture. And when Llakota's ears dropped-a sign the animal wasn't pleased - Rob, of course, took it personally.

Still, that didn't stop him from brushing burrs off the animals' backs, walking them into the trailer, harnessing the packsaddles and generally helping our guide, Joyce Bittner, who owns the ranch with her husband, John. Rob seemed to enjoy guiding the big woolly companions along the trail when it was his turn. At a spot where a large log invaded the path, my son was thrilled that the llamas simply jumped right over, one after the other, as if performing a circus act.

The big bulky animals were much more agile than I, who would have been intimidated by their size if not for the short lecture we received on llama behavior. Before we hit the trail, Bittner described how the animals have a sweet disposition, as long as you don't touch them in the face or on the rump. They might spit at you then. because that would irritate them. But since spitting's a behavior they prefer to inflict on other llamas, we learned we were probably safe - as long as we moved away from the line of fire. We were warned to watch the ears because you never know when a spitting match might ensue.

As our group of 14 hikers and three llamas moved out toward a meadow in near single-file formation on the three-hour trek through the Mogollon Rim's West Clear Creek Wilderness area, I breathed in the cool, fresh air. I heard loose ponderosa pine needles and oak leaves crackle under my boots. Periodically, I caught glimpses of tiny lavender blooms peeking out between damp grass and ferns. Walter, my hiking partner, also a 300-pounder, trailed behind the lead I held loosely in my left hand.

Though it was early fall, the weather felt unusually warm, and some of the hikers wore shorts (not me, however, because I feared poison ivy) as we headed toward an unnamed path surrounded by limestone cliffs and towering aspens.

Just as we advanced 20 feet past the remnants of an old concrete bridge near the trailhead, Walter, who decided it was time to exert his dominance, abruptly stopped. The look on his face said, "I'm done, and you can't make me go any farther." But, I thought, he can't stop yet; we're just getting started, and he's carrying what we really came out here for our gourmet lunch!

I was told to tug on the lead and Walter would follow, but Walter stayed put. I tugged some more; he resisted. Save for his banana-shaped ears and woolly body, I couldn't help but compare this "llama with an attitude" to my cute-but-strong-willed 20-year-old son, who was standing next to me.

A somewhat hesitant but harsher tug forced Walter to press on, but he stopped again a few hundred feet farther when a second llama, Michael Jordan, paused. Michael made his way over to the right-hand side of the trail and dropped a dung heap. Not to be outdone, Walter followed suit and was joined by Bolivar, the third llama with us on the trek.

Walter continued this stop-and-go pattern throughout the course of our leisurely hike, usually so he could grab mouthful after mouthful of grass, leaves or tree branches along the way. The other two copied him (apparently, llamas don't mind carrying your stuff when the job benefits include a buffet meal along the way).

As natural guard animals, llamas observe their surroundings carefully. And as social butterflies, they play copycat as a means of showing off what they've learned by observation-a curious characteristic that I enjoyed watching on this journey... until the humming began on the return trip.

At first it sounded like a soft cry. Hum... hum... hum. Barely audible, but with each step. Hummm. Each crackle of fallen leaves. Hummmm. The sound grew louder and lasted longer. Hummmmm... hummmmm. As monkey see, monkey do, the sound set off a chorus of whining among the three animals that worried us all, except Bittner.

"They're just tired," she assured us. "Hum-ming is their way of letting you know they're worried or agitated or just plain tired."

It made us want to embrace the poor souls, give them kisses on their sweet, furry faces, let them know everything's all right, just as you would do with a child. But llamas, remember, don't like to be touched.

So, we just listened to the birds chirping in the trees, water flowing through the creek and the llamas humming their anxious cries like children asking the familiar travel question, "Are we there yet?"

Being around these big babies brought out the kid in us, too. Before long, we were behaving similarly, poking fun, mimicking the humming sounds. Then we abruptly stopped when someone asked, "What if we're irritating them?"

Oops. None of us intended to end this day of leisure by dodging llama spit while boulder-hopping over a wet creek. Luckily, the animals ignored our childish antics, and we all went home with dry faces. We also left with something else-a desire to return. Al AUTHOR'S NOTE: For more information, call (928) 476-5178 or see the ranch's Web site at www.fossilcreekllamas.com.