An English country girl in California: Farewell to America

Back in London at last! There were some moments when I thought I wouldn’t make it. The snow that had plagued the round-up arrived back on my last day, driving us into the warm kitchen to clean tack as the steady flakes fell outside. The following day, the drive from the ranch to Riverton airport was damp but smooth, so I was dumbfounded to hear the girl on the hire-car desk say gleefully ‘ooh, you’re not going anywhere’. Unfortunately, her pessimistic assertion that all the roads in Wyoming were closed was more or less true. It seemed a slightly over-the-top reaction in a state that is used to snow, albeit not this early in the year, but all roads east, south or west were barred.

Definitely the best job when the snow's falling outside

Last view of a snowy Bitterroot Ranch

We collapsed at a café table and ordered a medicinal hot chocolate. Our gloom was lessened when a lady stopped to say she was sorry about the weather, and dispersed entirely when the waitress informed us that the lady had actually paid for our drinks, unbeknownst to us – and that we were even entitled to a free refill! Suddenly, the café seemed a lot warmer.

The view en route to Riverton airport

In the end, I drove 24 miles to Lander, with visibility of only a few yards, to spend the night at a motel before tackling the South Pass. Thankfully, the promised sun emerged in the morning and I left early to climb into the southernmost slopes of the Wind River Mountains. I was glad I had taken advice not to leave too early, because the road was still compacted snow – braking or turning sharply was definitely not advised. But I made it, and arrived in sunny Salt Lake City in time for a warm stroll with friends in the park. Seeing skyscrapers and busy freeways again was slightly terrifying at first, but I gripped the wheel firmly, and finally made it onto the California Zephyr for the train journey to San Francisco.

Last glimpse of Lander - in the sunshine!

Glorious views from the South Pass

The road/ice rink. It got a lot worse than this, but at those points,

I was concentrating on driving...

An unusual October view: aspens in the snow

Back to normality: fall colours in Salt Lake City

As I write this back in grey London, with Bayard Fox’s gorgeous book Wind River Country on the table and my Wyoming numberplate, taken from an out-of-commission truck on the ranch, propped up on the windowsill, my thoughts turn to the most memorable moments at the Bitterroot Ranch. Galloping Rasara up Mel’s Rollercoaster, gazing out from Butch Cassidy’s lookout point, seeing how Nevada looked in my cowboy hat (brilliant), cuddling Penny Poodle in the kitchen, stuffing the horses into the truck at the end of the season as if we were closing a too-full suitcase and hearing the words ‘great block’ from Mel after a successful session of team sorting. My favourite moments of all, however, came when I was moving the horses in the evening, when the sun was going down and turning the Absaroka mountains gold.

The last rays of the sun on the Absarokas

Every day, we would open the gates of the corral for the whole herd to trot up the switchbacks to Upper or Lower Bench and enjoy a spell on grass before spending the night on Middle Bench with plenty of hay. After two hours, a wrangler would go up alone on a four-wheeler and call them through the gate, occasionally driving behind them to give a little extra encouragement. (When it was wet, I wore my giant yellow stock coat to move Breezy and her boys, often the last to go through. They went through a little quicker when I ran up behind them wearing that!)

Released! The horses charge out of the corral at the end of the day

Destiny in her customary position bringing up the rear

Trotting up the switchbacks to the Bench

It was quite something to watch so many horses together, galloping, bucking, plodding, trotting, according to their character. There would be the odd kick, the occasional grumpy face as friendship groups became intermingled, a spook at a strangely shaped blade of grass or, God forbid, a stick, some would meander gently through and others would race. Destiny, fluffy and odd-eared, would usually bring up the rear, bumbling along with a patient expression on her old white face.

The Appaloosa trio charge from Upper Bench to Middle Bench

Alicante and Pirkko (I think!) at a gentler pace

Hightailing it to Middle Bench

Aargh, a four-wheeler! Little King spooks at the quad

Red Hawk leads Spot and Breezy

Ruby, the boss of the herd, leads Chamois through from Lower Bench

Sushi shows off his Andalusian/mustang spirit

I would linger by the gate, watching the light change from blue to gold to pink, and calling hello to Juba, Narok, Dakota, Lulu, Sun-up, Red Hawk, Kisima, Navajo, Flashy, Biscuit, Laikipia, Lolgorian, Fergie, Paddiwack, Jack, Gannet, Scarlet, Aztec, Marula, Buster, Isabella, Ebay, Comanche, Lightning, Lakota, Spot, Millie, Injun, Baskatrina, Bishara, Marazon, Liza Jane, Snoopy, Dancer, Iringa, Absaroka, Bandana, Spec, Janefti and so many more. There were always groups of chestnut and grey Arabs that I couldn’t name, and I still get the likes of Colter and Cruiser mixed up, but it was rather wonderful to be able to look at such an assorted group and know which ones would look after a nervous guest (Dandy), which would take off over the horizon (Glimmer) and which would seize any opportunity to eat (Charlie). The Bitterroot is all about the horses, and there can’t be many places with such a varied and talented bunch.

Najiy and fellow Arabs grazing on Upper Bench

Glorious skies over the Absarokas

My two months as a Bitterroot wrangler were jolly hard work, but full of moments that made it worthwhile – when a guest thanked us for the best week of their life, when I impressed Bayard with a decent cast (a difficult thing to do!), when Omandi accepted Hadley on his back for the first time, when we loaded up the last of the cows, when Hopi paid a visit to the barn and when Marcus took to jumping as if he had been born to it. People work hard and play hard at the Bitterroot (I couldn’t quite keep up with Hannah and Brenna sometimes…), and it is an all-consuming lifestyle that is utterly in tune with the breathtaking landscape that stretches for thousands of miles in all directions. I can’t wait to go back (as a guest this time, hopefully), and drink in the incomparable views that were made to be seen from the back of a horse. Here’s to the Bitteroot!