Llamas
Capola on a hike on our property in mid-July.
Llamas have been a big part of my life for the last twenty-five years. They are incredible animals - gentle and smart, willing to learn and to do what is asked of them, loyal to the herd (and those humans they consider part of their herd) yet incredibly independent and not at all needy.
They are remarkably healthy for the most part, which is why when Capola, above, sat down one day last week and refused to get up, we knew something was wrong. Since he was still eating and drinking, I waited until the next day to call the vet in the hopes that he was just having a bad day (pretty much unheard of) and then when the vet arrived she couldn’t find any obvious issue. The following day we coaxed him into the trailer and took him to the clinic and a couple hours later he passed away. A necropsy by the doctor revealed that he was riddled with cancer. He had been hiking with us all summer without showing any signs of distress but he must have been ill for weeks before he decided he had enough. It was heartbreaking.
Capola was one of five llamas born on our place in 2007 and all four of the males in the group turned out to be excellent pack animals. At 14 years of age we expected to be hiking with him for another 5 years at least but like his father, he left us far too early.
The “Fab Four” at our remote campsite in the Beartooth Mountains a couple years ago.
We hike with llamas because my husband is extremely allergic to most animals with horses being at the top of the list. We read an article back in the early 1990’s that talked about llamas being non-allergenic and when a test visit to a llama farm proved that fact to be true, we knew we had found a way to continue backcountry camping well into our senior years.
We purchased our first llamas in 1997 and have been raising them and packing with them ever since.
Ken on a hike with Rusty, Olympus and Capola on our property last winter.
Fossils confirm that relatives of llamas were present on the North American continent around 40 - 45 million years ago even though we tend to think of them as South American animals in modern times.
One of the questions I get asked most often is how llamas handle snow and cold. Our animals have a number of protective buildings they can access anytime but the only time they get used is in strong winds, winter or summer. The rest of the time the animals much prefer to be out in the open where they can see. Their fur acts as a great insulator from both heat and cold. In fact in my experience, high heat is much harder on them than cold.
Dusty in meditation mode during a snow storm. The snow on her back is an indicator of the insulation quality of her fur.
Our llamas are great watch dogs. We know immediately if something is roaming within a half mile of the house by their posture and intense staring. They are aware, but comfortable with, deer, pronghorn, elk and even bobcat. But if a canine of any kind, a mountain lion or a bear comes within sight, the llamas will make their distress call which is unmistakable and unlike any other sound I have ever heard.
Capola keeping a close eye on the elk herd invading his pasture.
A cottontail waits patiently for Rusty to finish eating so he can move in and mooch any leftovers.
At one point we had almost thirty llamas we were raising, including lots of babies over the years. Recently that number had shrunk to 6 and we were bracing ourselves for the loss of Pancho, our oldest animal at just under 30 years of age. With Capola gone we are facing a future with just a few animals and a landscape that will soon look very different from the one we are used to.
One of my favorite images of Capola as he and a marmot check each other out at a remote backcountry campsite.
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