I had the privilege of making the Red Rock Ride a few weeks back. It was the culmination of several serendipitous events over many years. All was set in motion in organic chemistry class at the University of Tennessee in around 1972. On a spring day, my lab partner introduced himself. He was one with a big smile and neatly cut auburn hair.
“Hi,” he said, “I’m Dickie Reese.”
“You wouldn’t be any kin to Dick Reese, would you?” I asked.
It was a dumb question now that I think about it.
“He was my father,” he said.
Having grown up in livestock circles and having worked livestock markets in my late teen years, I knew of Dick Reese. He and his brother were renown, if not famous, mule traders - I suppose the best-known mule men east of the Mississippi River. I also knew Dick Reese had been killed in a trucking accident some years before.
So, there in organic chemistry lab, a life-long friendship was forged. Which once again proves the old saying, “It’s not the grades you make, it’s the hands you shake.”
In the ensuing years I was introduced to Dickie’s brother and partner, Rufus. And I learned that Reese Brothers were suppliers of most of the famous Grand Canyon mules. Dickie, Rufus and I have had many conversations through the years
Of course, my love for mules goes back further than that day in chemistry lab. My maternal grandfather, Will Herod Brim, owned two mules, Kate and Liz (That’s “Liz”, with a long “I,” as in Liza Minnelli.) As a boy I spent many an hour in the feed barn shucking and shelling corn intoxicated by the pungent smell of the mule stable. It was an experience I have never gotten past.
So, after talking about it, dreaming about it, and looking forward to it, I found myself on the back of a mule headed into the Grand Canyon on September 10, 2000. My mule’s name was Wilford. Over the next ten years, I would ride into the Grand Canyon 18 times. I have ridden mules named Wilford, Mutton, Skid-mark, Budreau, Gizmo, Willow, Katie, Mister, Junky, Wyatt, Josie, Goldie, Lucy, Hoodoo, and Little Jed. Willow and Mutton were forgettable as they were both “plodders”. Skid-mark was unforgettable as he hopped down every step going into the canyon leaving skid marks on my backside. All my rides took me to Phantom Ranch by way of the South Rim of the Grand Canyon.
After a few years, Rufus suggested I take the Red Rock Ride. He told me of the Mangum family, some of whom I later met at a few Reese Bros. mule sales. Really nice folks. So, in 2015, I booked the Red Rock Ride. A few weeks before I was to go, my wife, Kathy, was diagnosed with stage 2 cervical cancer, and the trip was off.
Ten years later, and one year after Kathy’s passing, I booked the ride again. In a much needed get-a-way, once again, I found myself on the back of a mule. Her name was “Cardi B.” Named after a famous female rapper I had never heard of, she was a fine ride. On the last day of the ride into the Grand Canyon, I rode “Bert.”
Before I left for my trip, one of my friends, a horseman, said, “Jack, you are going to be sore like you can’t imagine!”
On the Red Rock Ride, we covered approximately 86 miles in six days. I saw Zion Canyon, Brice Canyon, Butch Cassidy Canyon, the North Rim of the Grand Canyon and two other canyons all from the back of a mule – all breath-taking.
I discovered the term “saddle sore” is based on an old, Native American Indian word which means “too old to ride a horse” (or in this case, a mule.) Just kidding.
It was the trip of a lifetime. If I live long enough, I will do it again.
Copyright 2025, by Jack McCall
