 Horseback, I had just pushed through a long thicket of nearly impenetrable young Douglas-fir trees. They were twice the size of Christmas trees, but no less branched. I could hear the cattle I herded in front of me, but there were times I could see nothing except the soft branches that swept my face and body. Visibility ranged from 0 to 10 feet. Then, as abruptly as the thick young conifers started, I emerged out the other side into more mature trees with a more open understory. Eyes now uphill, I still had the toe of the grazing herd as the seething mass traversed the mountainside through the verdantly carpeted shaded floor of the conifer forest.
The yelling got my attention. I stopped my mare, Ruby, for a moment so I could listen. The voice was Linda’s, our cowhand intern from Georgia. I strained my eyes and ears toward the sound, through the thick forest across the swarm of cattle, heads down, grazing but still moving as they snapped dead branches and twigs through the dense Douglas-fir.
There. I caught movement. The brown and white patchwork hide betrayed her identity, as she flashed galloping through forest. It was the paint mare, Roxy, crashing through timber, leaping over down logs, and thankfully, rider-less. Linda followed 50 yards back, yelling at the mare, not keeping up. That horse was gone.
There was nothing I could do; I would never catch the mare in the thick timber. We had 250 head of cattle in this thick stuff, and it went on for miles. Someone had to stay with the cattle and keep them knit together on today’s journey. We were bound for the Sky Island Meadows, and had left Camp 6 four hours earlier.
In another hundred yards as I pushed the cattle upward to maintain the group, I spotted David, the crew boss on duty, also afoot. He was emerging from a deep swale laden with downfall that was the final resting place of diseased trees. Dwarf mistletoe, the bane of drier Douglas-fir forests like the one we were riding in, had left an impressive pile of mortality in the draw David was climbing out of.
Linda came up behind me on foot, snapping through more downfall, and watched me looking at David afoot on the other side of the swale. “They’re both gone. Sable, David’s gelding, spooked and they ran off together. Do you want us to after them?”
“What happened?” I swung my mare, Ruby, around so I could face Linda. Her normally unflappable demeanor was a little frustrated.
“Well, we both had gotten off to get through some really tough down timber, and they both spooked in the mess of logs to step over.” She looked at me matter-of-factly. “That’s it.
They’re gone. Do you want me to go find them?”
“No. They’ve gone all the way back to camp, I’m sure.” We had our reserve horses grazing around camp 6, and I was sure they would buddy up. “When we break into this high meadow, let’s send David after them. I think you and I can get the cattle settled there. We’ll be out of the forest, and they’ll quiet down and graze.”
I offered Linda my ride. She declined with a simple “No, I’m fine.” And we parted ways as we continued to keep the herd together, shepherding them across the steep mountainside.
In another hour, we broke into the Sky Island. Verdant green, and waving in the high mountain breeze at over 7000 feet, it was what we came for. The grass in lower elevations was curing out in the heat of high summer, but this was soft, lush and green. And the elk had not beat us here. They had been hanging out on the other side of the valley we rode from, but hadn’t been over here yet.
David headed off to get the horses, and would be gone for a few hours. Linda settled down on one side of the herd; I chose the other. The cattle had their heads down as if they had never seen thick green like this before. And when they ate their fill, they collapsed in bovine rhapsody. I didn’t know what else there could be for a cow. Free range, no fences, deep lush all in the cool breeze of high altitude summer.
Life was good. I slid off my mount, pulled her bridle, and loosened her saddle cinch and grabbed a bite to eat from saddlebags. I laid back in the grass, and put the end of her halter lead rope under my back so I could feel her move (you don’t want to be tied to a horse—people have been dragged by spooked horses). And, like the cattle spread out before me in this wilderness meadow, I grabbed a little siesta.
Sure, the days are sometimes incredibly long (we wouldn’t get done with supper that night until midnight), but the cattle are full, the grass is diverse and wild, and we are building flavor and wellness. The objectives are being met. And you always have to keep in mind the vision. Because if you don’t, you can wonder what the heck you are doing here.
Especially when you got to walk 6 miles to gather your lost horses.
Happy Trails
Glenn, Caryl, Girls and some great cowhands.
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