Well, we did it. Despite the snow, the ravages of wolves and
bears and the slippery ground, we completed the round-up – and I can see why
people come back to the Bitterroot Ranch year after year to take on the challenge. Sadly, because of
the weather, it wasn’t quite normal proceedings, as we didn’t ride as far or as
long to find cows as usual. In a normal, sunny, warm September, the latter days of the round-up would be spent ranging as far as the slopes of Castle Rock, but this time, the cows were only too happy to come off the hill,
and many were already by the gate saying ‘please can we come in?!’. Wyoming itself felt as if it had been caught on the hop, as some of the aspens were still green, never mind bare of leaves. Branches were beaten down by the weight of the snow, and broken limbs littered the ground. But the weather did make for one of the most memorable rides of my life, when
Richard, I and six intrepid guests rode up to what felt like the North Pole.
Sunrise touches the Wind River Mountains with pink and gold
Climbing out of the Bitterroot valley
Riding past some rather confused aspens, only recently clad in their autumn colours
Rasara takes in the view from the top
We climbed up and up some 2,000ft, then passed the viewing point ‘360’ to the high plateau that had looked so inviting when I had seen it on a hot August day. This time, an icy wind blew and the horses sank knee deep into the white blanket. But we pressed on, led unerringly by Richard on Pirkko, and eventually turned into the relatively warm embrace of the pine woods below. At that point, guests and Richard alike pressed extra clothing on me – I hadn’t said anything, being a tough British country girl (!), but I had been dreaming of my blissfully warm tweed shooting jacket, safely at home in London, and must have looked pretty blue.
Wyoming's North Pole
We saw two groups of elk, five beasts that leapt across the
track right in front of us and, later, seven or eight, including a magnificent
antlered male, skittering away through the trees. Bear, wolf and moose tracks
criss-crossed the snow and three hunters, bows and arrows in hand, promised to
send any cows our way in exchange for elk. Before the rifle season opens on
October 1, they venture out with traditional weapons, albeit in slightly more
high-tech form than those used by the archers of Agincourt. It is a more
difficult form of hunting, as they have to get within a much closer range than
with a gun, and there was something primitive about the snowbound woods and the
hard-bitten hunters trudging in pursuit of their fleet-footed quarry.
Sadly, or not sadly, we only saw bear tracks...
The dots on the slope in the middle of the picture are five magnificent elk
Descending through the trees to the far end of the
Alkali Basin, beyond the place where we untangled the hammock Highlands, we
found some 30 head of cattle and spread out to push them home. It was a
trouble-free drive, only marred by the fact that only one cow and her calf
belonged to the Bitterroot. The others belonged to neighbouring ranches, but we
drove them into our corral to be picked up by the owners the following day. All
in the spirit of the West!
Finally, we find some cows...
...and drive them home
The last day of the season saw an earlier
start than usual to drive all the collected cattle out of the Buffalo Pasture
and through the yard to the corral where they would await the trucks and
departure to the sales. Guests and wranglers alike were mounted by 7.30am (ish)
and we set off to the top of the steep-sided meadow, working our way along the
top to the far end to get behind the cattle. I was aboard my beloved Narok
again, who despite being spooky is excellent at cattle. His ears were pricked
like antennae the whole time, and despite not always being keen about being
asked to turn away from the others, behaved like a star. It all went remarkably
smoothly, the only casualty being wrangler Megan, whose mount Kitui foundered
in a bog, sending her off the side. As she hadn’t yet fallen off this year, and
it was a (very) soft landing, rueful grins rather than tears were the order of
the day!
Looking towards the ranch from the far end of the Buffalo Pasture
Sending the herd through the yard
Muddy Megan!
After last-minute skitters away from the main herd by a
couple of young steers, the gates were clanged shut and the guests returned to
the lodge for a large omelette, before mounting up again for one last climb
into the forest and 360, although a freezing gale meant that instead of pausing
for photographs, we continued straight down the far side and into the shelter
of the forest, slippery with melting snow. The Wind River Mountains in the
distance were glittering white, and I couldn’t help feeling a pang that this
was the last ride of the summer. I’m just glad it was aboard Narok, a fitting
culmination to a memorable week.
Talek expresses his delight at getting the last cows in
Loading the herd into the trucks for their final journey of the week
Up, up and away
Me and my beloved Narok!
Your encounter with the hunters reminds me of a recent FB post by my Wyoming nephew: 8" of snow, blowing 100 mph, 25 degrees...I am headed up the mountain to hunt. (He and I do not share the same opinion of leisure pursuits.)
ReplyDeleteThank you again for sharing your Wyoming adventure. The photos (almost) make me want to herd cattle in the snow.