Summer weather has arrived. The 80 degree days we’ve been having feel warm to the unadjusted body. The irrigation pivots on the neighbor’s property spray the fields with arcs of water around the clock. Dry potholes are the bumpy reminders of what were once driveway mud puddles. The ranch vehicles I washed now sport a coat of dust rather than mud, and the river runs high and overflows its banks in a few spots. The heat speeds the process of melting snow in the mountains. Despite the excess of water in the river, I fear that soon we will need to begin watering the lawn, the onset of a summer long battle with tangled garden hoses.
This is week two of guests staying at the ranch. A family reunion comprises most of our visitors. As tradition dictates, each year they visit the ranch they challenge the staff to a game of ultimate frisbee. As I learned driving a few of them from the airport to the ranch on Sunday, the staff typically wins the competitive battle. Their tone of voice led me to believe they were pleading for a bit of mercy this go round. Monday evening, wearing our matching staff t-shirts as our uniform, we hit the field. Most of our competitors were either from the East Coast or California and best of all not yet acclimated to 7,000 feet. In addition they had two middle aged guys playing, another handicap.
Both of those handicaps proved to be insufficient, however, as the family tacked up the points quicker than we could catch our breath. They had a 6’ 4” ogre who cherry picked in the end zone and grabbed the disc from the air with ease. Meanwhile, our middle aged cook regularly took a break to smoke a cigarette leaving us a man down. Two other staff were athletically challenged leaving three of us to do all of the running. The game ended no better than it started and we hung our heads in defeat, speechless at our failure.
Pig wrangling was not in my job description, but this week it was one of the small tasks I tried my hand at. Unlike cattle who will move away at the slightest motion in their direction, pigs are too dumb (or too smart) to react in such a simple manner. We might as well have been herding cats. Half an hour is what it took five of our staff to get our four philosophers back into their pigpen.
Not but a few days later the pigs were once again the center of our attention after a grizzly bear found the critters and made breakfast out of one unfortunate pig. The local Game and Fish department was contacted. The carcass was left half uneaten as daylight and ranch activity undoubtedly scared the bear back into the woods where one of our wranglers saw him during the morning wrangle.
Game and Fish set up a bear trap next to the entrance of the pigpen. A 7’ by 3’ steel box on wheels, baited with the remains of the dead pig, was set in hopes of catching the bear for relocation purposes when he returned for another easy snack. As expected he returned the next evening, but saw the three remaining pigs as a more appealing catch than the bait in the trap. The disappearance of all three pigs, along with the tracks indicate he drug them off into the woods for a snack.
Not wanting to underestimate the bear again, the Game and Fish officers returned with two more steel traps, and added two snare traps to their arsenal next to the pig the bear cached near the creek. They remained confident that he would return and the 5:00 A.M. knock on my wagon door Sunday morning brought news of the capture. I tossed on my work clothes and headed down to the scene.
At sunrise two conservation officers darted the five year old male grizzly, caught in a snare trap, with a sedative. Moments later we gathered around the slow breathing but otherwise still lump of brown and silver tipped fur to admire one of North America’s most amazing creatures, and pose for a few pictures in a once in a lifetime photo shoot. The claws were perhaps the most impressive feature on the bear but I learned it is usually the teeth that do most of the killing. Once staff and dudes alike had their fill of pictures, the conservation officers took measurements, drew blood, and attached a radio collar.
After over an hour of unconsciousness, the bear began to blink. Soon after we could detect a quiver in his lip every now and then. Not wanting to give him a chance to become too aware of his surroundings, four of us each took a leg and hoisted the 375 pound bear into the trailer. Some wildlife CSI background checking told the officers this bear had already been captured once, tagged, and relocated after an incident with beef cattle in another part of Wyoming. This being the bear’s second strike, he would be relocated to Yellowstone. It is only after the third strike that bear will usually be terminated.
Although disappointed in the loss of the four pigs (and what would have been a lot of pork in the freezer), the ranch managers understand it as a part of living in this area and show no anger, just disappointment. One a small scale, what happened at our ranch characterizes the struggle between predatory species in the west and ranchers. The allure of the exotic wildlife like wolves and bear bring tourist dollars to the state (in our case, guests to the ranch), while money is lost in the occasional livestock killed.
Few ranchers are friends with conservation officers in this neck of the woods as most view their occupations as mutually exclusive. At our ranch they are not just friends but cooperative allies. After a cup of coffee and a gracious use of their time educating our guests, they hit the road for the journey to Yellowstone while the staff rushed to post their pictures on Facebook.
An exciting end to another week.
Happy Trails
