Saddle Sore: Where have all the cowgirls gone?

Where have all the cowgirls gone? 

Someone said a while back there were no real cowgirls left in the area. My reply was that one needed to get off the asphalt, go down a dusty road and take a look around. You probably won’t find them in town showing off a brand-new hat and spotless boots that might not survive a day working cattle. You’ll find them where they’ve always been: on horseback, in the corrals, fixing fence, checking water, moving cows and doing whatever else the day requires.

One I’ve worked with for years is Niki Burtard Day. Along with her husband, Brad, she manages the McCabe Ranch and its commercial Angus herd. If the cattle are content, chances are Niki can be found somewhere nearby putting time on a young colt, working through the long and patient process of turning a horse into a partner.

She raised two daughters on that ranch. They attended brandings and pregnancy checks not because it was educational, although it certainly was, but because there wasn’t always a babysitter available. Ranch life has a way of involving everyone.

Today, Emma is a professional engineer. Josie followed a different path and became a certified cowgirl herself, working ranches in Florida and Texas and lending a hand around here when things slow down in the South.

A memorable scene with Niki and her daughters: Coming down from the mountains checking cattle late in the day, I saw about 15 or 20 cows coming my way. Pulled my trailer over and waited, and before long, here came her daughters, Josie and Emma, trailing those cows up the road to a turnout on an upper pasture. About four or five miles from home. They were probably about 8 and 10 — and somewhere behind them came Niki, pulling a horse trailer to take her daughters home.

Not easily impressed, one spring as Niki and I were cleaning out a spring pasture, the cows were a little reluctant to go through the gate. They’d break my way, and as I went to block them off, my horse, Billy, wouldn’t go until he had a bucking fit first. I apologized to Niki, saying my horse was acting a little green, slowing me down. “Yeah, I noticed that,” she said, and up the trail we went.

One close to my heart is my daughter, Lauren Vagneur Burtard, who grew up between the Vagneur ranch in Woody Creek and the Fender spread on Sopris Creek. She and I spent innumerable days up at our cow camp, cutting deadfall off trails, getting up early and pushing cows up the trail toward Kobey Park. She helped the Braun Ranch crew. There were days where she led the horses while her hard-working dad either took down, or put back up, depending on the time of year, the lay-down fences that covered a part of our range. 

On the other side of the coin, she helped doctor cows on the Fender place, got an early education on roping when branding time came around and was good at making sure the calves got vaccinated and helped with weaning. Lauren had the Vagneur cow camp — she also had the Fender cow camp on West Sopris Creek. And now, their current cow camp on Thompson Creek.

Time for college arrived: She enrolled at Colorado State University, majoring in animal science. One summer, she worked at the McCabe Ranch in Capitol Creek, moving cows, fixing fence, branding and whatever else needed to be done. 

She married Ty Burtard, manager of the Chaparral Ranch in Woody Creek, a historical Vagneur family ranch, where they raise commercial Angus, with a few Charolais. Lauren keeps the barns running, the horses fed and, when necessary, drives a pretty mean hay machine.  

When branding time comes at Chaparral, Lauren did the same as Niki — putting her two kids in the back of a pickup truck, out of the way, and as they grew, they became a part of action, giving injections, moving calves between pens and doing whatever else they can now do. Charli, her 9-year-old daughter, forever a cowgirl in training, keeps track of the day in an official notebook, detailing steers, heifers, tag numbers and other pertinent information. She’s there horseback when we turn out in the spring or bring them home in the fall. And she shares chores at their Thompson Creek cabin with the rest of the family.

In a valley where farming and ranching have steadily declined as open land has disappeared, it is worth noting that both Niki and Lauren are fifth-generation valley cowgirls. They can throw a rope, doctor cattle, start colts, handle a difficult horse or back a 30-foot horse trailer into a space that barely seems possible. More importantly, they are passing those skills along to the next generation.

If you’re wondering where all the cowgirls have gone, you might try looking behind a bunch of cattle somewhere up a dusty road. Chances are you’ll find one there.

Tony Vagneur writes here on Saturdays and welcomes your comments at ajv@sopris.net.