Comatose Cow Crew

The large lean-to tarp flapped in the cool night air and the Coleman lantern cast a warm orb over the cook tent. I eyed my crew as we sat quietly eating supper off the camp stove and grill. They were catatonic as they chewed dinner, and looking slightly stupefied. It was near midnight, and I’ve seen that look before. Their mouths moved in absent minded muscle memory.

Eating was the last thing we were to do that day; the horses were turned loose, and 300 head of cattle were bedded down in the meadow next to camp. No-one had been hurt on the rocky trail from the Salmon River, and all in all, it was a gratifying day.

An unbroken canopy of stars hung above us, as the warm twilight of the hours-ago sunset still lingered to the west. Venus was brilliant, bouncing along the twilight horizon, and Jupiter sparkled overhead. It was the crew’s first overnight on the range in a remote camp. Their volcanic dirt caked faces looked exhausted but somehow satisfied. Just by the way they walked as they prepared their food told story of the length of the day. It was getting close to a 16 hour day after being astride their horses since early morning, moving the Alderspring herd up to greener grass, out of the Salmon River Canyon.

“Not every day will be like this,” I chatted. “Camp moves are always long days.” I recalled camp move days in the past where I had found the bottom of my young crew. It usually came out in extreme fatigue, where mind and body no longer work together for the greater good. Occasionally, emotions

flare. I’ve even seen the guys cry. They just get unraveled.

I looked at the faces in the lamp light, and tried to line them out on where they should go with the cattle tomorrow. I wouldn’t be there in the early morning, as I was about to head down the 15-mile track out of the mountains. It would be a slow ride for me by the weak headlight of my dirt bike, but there was work to do at the ranch early the next morning that the boss needed to get done.

I looked at their eyes as I talked to them. “…So after you get your horses watered, take these cattle up over that hill and contour out across the big bowl we’re in.” I pointed up into the black in the general directions they were to go from the cook tent.

Daughter Melanie spoke first. She was the crew boss. “I’m sorry.” Long pause. “Could you say that all again? Like all of it? I missed it.” She looked bleary eyed as she took another spoon of hot soup.

I turned to Jeremiah. He was sitting on a cooler. His eyes were drifting into an unfocused stare, and eyelids were losing operative elevation. He wasn’t with me either. Not a sound emanated from either of them. The only audible noise was from the burn of the lantern and crickets in the brush. An occasional nighthawk peened overhead.

“Look. Just take the cattle out of the night ground, and trail them near level around the bowl. Got it?” I smiled. They slowly nodded. Near bottom of human reached.

“Oh…and one more thing. If you’re sleeping in tents tonight, zip them up tight. If you don’t, rattlesnakes will find their way in.” They nodded in agreement. Got it, boss.

I usually sleep on the ground. Jeremiah was going to give the women the tents; he was to sleep in the dirt as well. Sleep still, and rollover slowly. Cautious is the watchword there. I started to walk up the hill to my dirt bike, and turned back to them as I ventured off into the darkness. “And shake your boots out before you put them on in the morning. Snakes like finding a home in a warm boot. Goodnight everyone. Great job today. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I left behind daughter Melanie, Jeremiah, Sky and Sarah. All were young college students. I was glad that they were young; I’ve tried some older crew members, and they often can’t stand up to the physical demands of the job. The only reason I can is because I own it, and people depend on me, although sometimes my body suggests that a desk job might be a smarter concept for a 56 year old.

But I will say that there is a love for the land and the animals on it that carries me. I see it taking root in these kids that ride for Alderspring. They are captivated by the unending sweep of the big country; of vertical relief and color, and the contrast of desert with snow capped peaks on the horizon. They see sagebrush turn black with rain and emit pungent and sweet fragrance that makes you inhale deeply and fill your nostrils and lungs with thick air that satisfies. And they begin to show interest in the things we share the land with; the huge diversity of wild plants on the ground; animals like elk and bighorn. The crew found two pronghorn (our version of antelope) fawns a couple of days ago, as an alarmed mama tried to lead us away (we kept the herd from them).

Things like that are the gifts, the bonus of life on the range. I know this experience they have here is like no other. Wild landscapes and hard work have a way of permanently etching story and feeling permanently into the slate of our being. And it is meaningful work, this business of raising unparalleled wellness. There are shortcuts like feedlots, heated (or cooled) tractor cabs, no monoculture to graze in checker board pasture paddocks. There’s no “better living through chemicals.” There’s only living with the cattle in their wild places.

Happy trails.

Glenn, Caryl, Cowboys, and Cowgirls at Alderspring Ranch