Saddle Sore: Never making it to cow camp

The October light, between dawn and sunrise, stitched together with half-dressed golden aspens amid faithful evergreens, is visually compelling, but for another reason, it brings forth memories and emotions of past events in these mountains. I could be ten years old again, on my first early morning ride to gather cattle from the mountains. That feeling lasts for about 15 wonderful seconds, and then I’m back in reality.

My horses and I stride along, ride horse, pack horse, chain saw at the ready, covering long miles interrupted by majestic views and downed timber, blown over by the wind or succumbed to old age. It’s important to keep the trails reasonably cleared, so that mother cows aren’t forced to drag their life-giving udders over such impediments as they travel through the mountains.

Sometimes when one hears the chain saw from a short distance, a bull elk will give several guttural snorts and stomps, challenging me to come his way for a confrontation. I haven’t fallen for that trick, not yet. He must think I have a sick bugle and will be an easy competitor. Either that or a loud-mouth.

Here and there, we come across a few cows and their calves, still content in the high country due to the marvelous fall weather we are experiencing. And the remaining tall grass. Much of my summer has been spent up here, monitoring the cows, scattering salt around, to keep the cattle moving, enticing them from area to area with the smell and taste. It’s all done horseback, as motorized vehicles aren’t allowed, and somehow, it’s encouraging to know that sometimes the old ways are still the best and only way to get things done.  

Many years ago, I wasn’t 10, but probably 12, it was the middle of October and hired hand Ted Winters and I were dispatched from the Elkhorn ranch on Woody Creek to ride to cow camp, about three miles west of Kobey Park, scheduled to meet up with another Vagneur outfit and round up cows wherever we found them. We ran about 1,200 head up there in those days, keeping a live-in range rider busy at the cow camp, with help from down below on a regular basis to keep things orderly. It took some doing to get them all home.

It was cold and cloudy when we left the ranch, looking forward to about a 10-mile ride to where we’d meet the others. About half-hour into our ride, it began snowing, big, wet flakes, and I remember being somewhat pleased by that as it would be a good opportunity to put my chaps to work, keeping the snow off my legs. Rough-out leather, they soaked through in about 20 minutes.

Somewhere along the route, we stopped to rest our horses, and I took the opportunity to grab a cup of coffee out of the thermos my mother had sent along. Experienced with those cheap thermos bottles, when, with cold, stiff hands, I accidentally dropped the jug off my horse, I just expected the glass inside the thermos would break (as they were known to do), and I didn’t even get off my horse to retrieve it, so cold and miserable was I. (The postscript here is that I went back that way about thirteen years later and found that checkered-red thermos lying where it had fallen. The coffee inside had turned a disgusting greenish brown, but remarkably, the insulating glass had not broken. Oh, how I missed that cup of coffee then when I realized my earlier mistake.)

We kept on, cold and miserable, but yours truly, proud to be included in an operation of such magnitude, refused to complain. Upon reflection, it may be that Ted didn’t know how to get to the cow camp cabin (warmth), or we might have gone there. Along the way, we did ride Kobey Park somewhat and went along the northern edge of the top, toward Porphyry Mountain, looking down on Rocky Fork Creek and Deane’s Cabins, a small mining camp put together by Judge Josiah Deane back in the 1880s.

“Do we want a late lunch,” asked Ted, and grateful for a break, we took up under a large pine and built a fire, warming our souls and drying our clothes out a bit. By then, we figured it was too late to head for cow camp (wherever it was), so we mounted up and headed for home. We felt bad we didn’t meet up with the others but managed to get back to the ranch shortly before dark.  

Later, when I asked my dad how the other Vagneur crew made out, he said that with the snow, they had turned around and gone home — never made it to the cow camp. Ha! I felt vindicated and tough.