The Bitterroot round-up begins - in the snow

The grand finale of the Bitterroot season has begun. The cattle round-up, when guests and staff ride out to move the herd down from their summer grazing in the Shoshone National Forest to the Buffalo Pasture on the ranch, is the culmination of the season and brings people back year after year. Rather than taking guests on trail rides, when the intention is simply enjoyment, the round-up has a serious purpose, and as such can be enormously satisfying. It is always unpredictable and never the same two years running, and there is always plenty of scope for excitement - not to mention heart-in-mouth moments! I had a couple of those when my youngster Asmara, a very pretty grey Arab with black mane and tail, took exception to the idea of leaving the others, but this year, the chief excitement has been provided by the weather. Snow. Lots of it. 

The Absaroka Mountains in the distance on the first day's drive

On the first day, we had rain and a decent blizzard in the afternoon, which sadly put paid to the planned team sorting, and the mountains were snow-capped the following morning. We were expecting more snow that day, but, fortunately, it held off, except for a chilly flurry that only added to the atmosphere, and we had a successful first drive, gathering more than 150 head in two groups. 

First group of cows, Highland and Black Angus

Mel Fox leading the way

Home safely! The herd ambles past the main lodge and the corral 

to the Buffalo Pasture, where they will await their next move

However, that night, the weather closed in properly and we woke to a good six inches, with more falling. It didn't stop drifting down until the afternoon, so the round-up was in a winter wonderland, a Narnian world of white hillside, black cattle and trees all but hidden under their frosty coats. With it being so early in the year, the trees still have plenty of leaves to catch the snowflakes, and their branches are bowed down to the ground with the weight of their load. Every so often, when we were tacking up in the corral, a bushel of snow would slip off its branches, spooking the horses as one. The corral itself went from being beautiful first thing to a muddy quagmire after the horses has been through, not the most pleasant of stuff to trudge through!

The corral at 6.30am, transformed by the snow

The track up to my cabin as the darkness faded

The corral after tacking up - not quite so pretty

Nothing daunted, we all set off together up the forest road, trotting on where the surface allowed to warm up frozen extremities. Once in the forest, we split into three groups to search for cows, most of whom were already close to the fence in anticipation of (slightly) warmer grazing in the valley. It was magical, a silent white world, with an added frisson of fear that there might be bears about. One group had seen gigantic prints in the snow the previous day, and when Singida, my always spooky horse, started to twitch his ears behind him, I couldn't help but wonder if there was something there...

The ranch from the forest road, with the Absaroka Mountains

hidden in the gloom

On the ridge path in the Shoshone National Forest - or Narnia, as it is now known

We made it safely back down the hill, however, and joined together once more to herd the cows down the hill to the ranch. There are still many more to gather, but given the conditions, it's been a great start, if exhausting, hence the brief nature of this post. I can only wonder what the next few days will hold!

Cows at last!

Sorting them out before letting them down the hill - some cows that belonged elsewhere 

had joined the group and had to be cut out. Real-life team sorting!

Counting them through the gate

Down the hill to the ranch

The track down from my cabin to the main lodge as the sun came out,

typically well after we had finished the drive!

Wild weather and memorable guests

September is a gorgeous month in Wyoming, I was told. Clear skies, warm sunshine, the aspens turning gold. Well, it is true, most of the time, but this September, we have seen so much rain that the locals account it the wettest fall they can remember. At first, it was all rather fun, as it gave me the opportunity to wear the enormous yellow stock coat lent to me by Will Parish from San Francisco. It is far too big for me really, and touches the ground when I’m on foot, but it covers absolutely everything on horseback. I’m not sure the Arabs would appreciate it, but that day, I was riding Dandy, a sensible bay quarter horse who had been rather sluggish with guests and needed a wrangler to wake him up. In fact, he was lovely, responsive and keen to canter, and, most importantly, amenable to my wearing the yellow mac.

The huge cowboy stock coat!

Blissfully dry on Dandy

Being from England, rain and mud are familiar to me, but they are a bigger problem here due to the dryness of the ground and the bentonite, volcanic ash, in the soil. There is so little rain that when it does come, it won’t soak in and and the bentonite makes every path unbelievably slippery. It all makes it very difficult to find places to ride, and, in particular, ride fast, which can be tricky when we have guests who are keen to canter. That first day, we had to cancel riding in the afternoon, but the sun came out the following day in time for a decent session of team sorting, and Saturday dawned sunny and warm. It began in true cowboy style, moving cattle back up to the Shoshone National Forest, whence they had come after some idiotic hiker had left the gate open – despite it being festooned with ‘please shut the gate’ signs. Funnily enough, the hammock cows were in the group, and still sticking close to each other. It bodes well for the round-up that the herd is so keen to come down to the ranch already!

Moving cows on a glorious morning. 

The formerly hammock-bound pair are in the centre

 After a calm, successful cattle drive up to the forest, Chilly, Mel, Hadley, a guest and I waved the rest of the guests, plus Megan and Hannah, off on their picnic ride, and set off for a jumping session. I was riding Marcus, a rather ugly but very comfortable Appaloosa, on his first ever go at fences. A guest once said that all Appaloosas jumped and he has proved it true, improving in leaps and bounds (no pun intended), and becoming ever keener. The sun shone, and we returned to the ranch on top of the world. But then, after lunch, the heavens opened with barely a minute’s warning, rendering us extremely grateful for the guest who had wanted to jump and therefore freed us from the picnic ride! The others returned eventually with glowing cheeks and full of Blitz spirit – all credit to guests who can survive 15 minutes of hail and torrential rain that turned the path down the mountain into a river, plus thunder and lightning that saw even experienced horses spooking. Hot baths all round ensued, and stories of intrepid survival will no doubt be told for many years to come.

Marcus (right) with his friends Millie and Lakota, has proved to be a super jumping pony

The entrance to the corral on a stormy afternoon

All good fun, but we could have done without the rain continuing all that night and all of Sunday. The river by the ranch where we cool the horses’ legs after riding was a raging torrent and it was a struggle to find places to ride safely when the new group of guests arrived on the Monday. The sun did come out, thankfully, but, on Tuesday afternoon, the storms returned. Chilly, Megan and I were taking the guests to Old Lady’s cabin (where the Sheep Queen of Wyoming lived alone with her flocks in the 1930s), when the whole of the north-western sky beyond the ranch turned black as pitch and lightning flashed in a continual fireworks display. We decided discretion was the better part of valour and turned for home. It was a fantastic spectacle, although less fun when the edge of the storm caught us about a mile from the ranch. I was riding one of my favourites, Narok, a gorgeous young bay Arab who was definitely not keen on the thunder and leapt forward at the first deafening clap, but settled down as much as could be expected. Gale-force winds made all the horses spin to turn their tails into it, but we pushed on and reached home intact and, typically, in watery sunshine. The guests were game as anything – respect!

The river by the ranch - normally a clear, calm and inviting stream

The storm looms - imagine the sky split by lightning forks every few seconds

The photographs don't do it justice - it was far blacker than it looks here

Thankfully, the following few days saw perfect weather, crisp and cold, with crystal-clear air and blue, blue skies. Heavenly. Unfortunately, however, as I write this on the eve of the round-up with the sun beating down, clouds are building over the Wind River Mountains and the forecast is for near-freezing temperatures and snow. It could be an interesting week.

This is what September is supposed to be like!

Looking down from the switchbacks to the ranch and the 

snow-capped Absaroka Mountains beyond

Whatever happens, I am sure the guests will take it in their stride. We have all kinds of people coming to the Bitterroot, of every age and every standard of riding. Those who are just beginning can take lessons from Hadley, who is unfailingly encouraging and pays attention to each guest individually, and most of them end the week as decent riders. Those who can already ride relish the chance to get up some speed on rides such as Swanson's or Hoodoo, and move cattle through Buffalo Draw. Some of the more enthusiastic, including a pair who took part in the storm-wracked picnic ride, manage to get up first thing to help us get the horses in - much appreciated! They come for hundreds of different reasons and from all over the world, from Australia to France, where Bayard has spent many years and the Bitterroot has received a good deal of publicity. Many come just for a holiday, as a couple, a family or alone, and many come back year after year, a tribute to the allure of the ranch. But some come for more memorable reasons, such as the lady who came on the anniversary of her father's death to pay tribute to his life on horseback. A Frenchman came to fulfil a lifelong dream of riding in the Wild West, his holiday a 50th birthday present from his friends and family. A whole group of ladies from North Carolina came on a girls' trip, one of whom had had her trip paid for by her girlfriend for her birthday. Another in the group had just recovered from cancer, and overcame a long-held fear of horses to touch them, groom them, and even ride. Copenhagen, an unfailingly gentle quarter horse, gave her one of the most magical mornings of her life and her joy was palpable. A French couple came for their honeymoon, sparking a scramble among the cabin staff to make their bedroom suitably romantic. One lady had barely ridden since a terrible fall showjumping 20 years ago, and ended the week moved to tears, she was so thrilled to have overcome her fears and canter across the hills of Wyoming. 

Copenhagen (centre) is a true gentleman who gave one guest

one of the most memorable mornings of her life

The view from Pine Creek Bench to the Wind River Mountains

on a proper September day

The Foxes themselves have fascinating stories, as do the staff. The Bitterroot Ranch, tucked away in this beautiful corner of the least populated state in America, has a magic that seems to appeal across the ages and the continents, and, at the risk of sounding horribly corny, I am so glad to have become a member of the Bitterroot family. 

Riding below the Absaroka Mountains

The Wind River Mountains across the valley of the East Fork River

Fall is here - a frosty morning at the corral

The curious incident of the hammock and the Highland cows

It was a normal Monday afternoon when the call came. As it was a quiet week, with not too many guests, Hadley was taking the opportunity to take the just-broken four-year-olds on their first trail ride. I was riding Aztec, otherwise known as the School Bus, in front of them to provide a nice solid palomino backside for them to bounce off if necessary (in the event, they were beautifully behaved, apart from a slight hiccup off the track and down the hill by Berbera). Returning to the corral, a local chap arrived in a truck with the news that two Highland steers belonging to the Bitterroot were caught up in a hammock down by a neighbouring ranch. So what could we do but gather the troops and ride on over?

James and Clem into the fray

Richard, James, Joe and Clem fired up the four-wheelers (quad bikes to my English readers) and set off at high speed along the valley. I clung on behind Joe, reflecting that despite his excellent driving, it’s a jolly sight easier cantering along a narrow trail through the sage brush on a horse than on a bone-shattering mechanical device. Bouncing past the colts’ field and the bentonite mounds, we left Bitterroot land to the currently deserted ranch, where abandoned canoes lie forlornly by a lake and an ancient windmill creaks round and round.

The deserted ranch, where once upon a time 

someone must have reclined in a hammock

There were cows all over the place, but none seemed to have any kind of hammock attached to them. We split up and headed back towards the Bitterroot, when James gave a shout from amid the willows that lined a creek: ‘I’ve found them!’ Goodness knows how, but two Highland steers, one cream, one chestnut, had managed to entangle an old hammock tightly around their horns. Locked together, they looked like a pair of elderly dowagers in lace caps, but who sadly weren’t too keen on being in each other’s company. I couldn’t help but be reminded of the story of the two duchesses who, greeting each other with an icily polite kiss at a ball, found their tiaras locked together so tightly that only a discreet footman could release them. This was an equally amusing sight, especially when the pair suffered a difference of opinion about which side of a tree was best and got stuck with the trunk in the middle.

First glimpse of the hammock-bound pair

Not a tenable position for a couple of Highlands

Finally, the troops assembled, and Richard mounted up behind Joe, rope in hand. Thus the Great Highland Cow Chase ensued…

Now, how are we going to do this?

Ride 'em cowboy!

It would have been far too easy to have roped them immediately, and they led us a merry dance up one side of the valley, down and across the creek, through acres of sage brush and down again near to where we started. It would have been an awful lot more comfortable on horseback, but this was cowboy work modern-style, and once you’ve left your quad behind, it’s your own two feet or nothing.

First approach...

Richard tries to stop them from making a get-away...

but fails...

In hot pursuit

Breathless from running – at least, I was – we paused to let the steers calm down and have a quick roping lesson from the resident expert, Richard. The boys looked good, and we stealthily approached the pair, bunched up with their fellows by the creek. A few skirmishes later, and James got close enough to let fly with his rope, and scored a bull’s eye on the head of the chestnut one. They took off in outrage, but the boys hung on, and belayed the line around a tree. Richard roped a hind foot of each steer, whereupon with a final wrench the cream one pulled himself free and took off in triumph. The chestnut, pinned to the ground upside down, was far more entangled, but quick work with a knife soon saw it free of knots and mesh. With a little encouragement he was on his way too, apparently none the worse for the ordeal. 

Richard tries a throw

Quick roping lesson

Got 'em!

Lashing them to some convenient trees

Hind foot roped with a neat throw...and a quick exit made

Only one cow left, but still a lot of extricating to do!

A delicate cutting operation

Free at last!

Me and Joe on our trusty steed

With the sun setting, we raced homewards on a glorious evening to a fantastic roast turkey dinner – all in all, a perfect Bitterroot day.

Homeward bound

A couple of days later, I, Richard, Hadley, wrangler Megan and all the guests saddled up and rode over to the scene of the action to move the errant cows off our neighbours' land and back into the Shoshone National Forest, where they're supposed to be at this time of year. Leaving the Bitterroot, we spread out along the creek, finding, conveniently, that the cows were just where we had left them.

Moving the cows along the willows, past the scene of the earlier day's action

Past the ranch towards Shoshone National Forest

We pushed them steadily along the willows with the minimum of fuss, past the lake and back through two gates to the forest land. The guests acquitted themselves admirably, and my horse, Juba, a pretty grey Arab, was beautifully behaved. Being young, he hasn't quite settled to following guests and has a habit of chucking his head about when going downhill, but he was good as gold when off on his own and was very keen to get at the cows. A proper cow pony in the making!

Richard, looking more like a cowboy on a horse than he did on a quad, 

leads the herd safely through a gate

Juba's ears in customary alert pose

Amusingly, the two who had been caught in the hammock were still together, moseying along at the front of the herd. Either they hadn't realised they were free, or their enforced heart-to-heart had made them the best of friends. In any case, it was a very satisfying conclusion to a very unusual Bitterroot adventure!

Happy guests and happy cows!

Happy Foxes - Richard and Hadley on Pirko and Glimmer

Me on Juba - also happy!