Spring time on any farm or ranch marks the beginning of new life. Out here our meager herd of 25 heiffers gave birth to 11 calves this season. In addition to the regular vaccinations, ear tagging, and castration, these critters get the ranch brand cinged into their left side. Branding cattle has always been a western tradition. Originally used to keep cattle identified on the open range, the brands are still used for similar purposes even in the age of barb wire fences. Our purpose for branding stems from federal regulations that require each animal grazed on National Forest land have a brand.
Our 277 acre ranch is not large enough to provide the year round fodder for our three dozen cattle and 80 horses. Therefore, for much of the summer the cattle and horses are turned out to the bordering National Forest land to graze. Meanwhile, our pastures are irrigated in an effort to get one cutting of hay by the end of the summer. Currently, due to the cooler spring, the Forest Service has delayed the start date of our lease until the grass has a better chance to become established.
With the branding irons hot, we moved the 11 calves into the wooden railed round pen. I expected a hot burning fire to heat the irons like the days of old, but propane is the modern fuel of choice. Our entire staff came out for the experience, housekeepers and all. Some simply watched, but many jumped in and took their turn at tackling a calf including the assistant cook. To the inexperienced cattleman, it seems a simple task. To catch a small calf should be no more difficult than chasing down a little kid one might reason. But it quickly becomes apparent the difficulty in catching something that would rather not be caught and has four kicking legs instead of two.
A couple of the wranglers set out for the first one. After a few misses, they finally settled on one of the smaller calves and got him into the debilitating hold. The irons were passed through the gate one at a time and after the vaccination was given thick smoke rolled off the calf as the iron made its mark. The smell reminded me of the smell emitted while watching my dad dehorn cattle when I was younger. The calf struggled but the wranglers’ hold on his rear legs and neck remained steadfast. When the second iron was pulled the calf scrambled back to his feet and instinctively rejoined the group.
After carefully studying a couple of more captures, I jumped off my perch on the top rail of the fence and decided to give it a try myself. I have no embarassing or heroic tales to tell of the capture, just a muddied pair of jeans that resulted from the three minute chase and hold.
When each calf had its turn under the iron we set them back out to pasture with their mothers. One of the wranglers got his ribs banged up pretty well bulldogging a couple of calves so I got to take his horse and help push them back to pasture. For the first time in my life I was riding a horse not strictly for leisure, but for an actual purpose. Keeping the herd constricted by the fence, we rode alongside shouting a few encouraging words as we pushed them half a mile. We closed the gate and turned our horses toward home and crossed the snowmelt swollen creek with supper on our minds.
Fly fishing is another popular activity in this region of the country. The rivers and creeks are still too high with snowmelt to yield good fishing but many of the guests this week are eager to try despite that fact. I am a relatively inexperienced fisherman, but in the past year have acquired much of the necessary gear and a little know-how.
Two nine-year-old boys were trying to learn the tricks necessary for a good cast. I gave them the few pointers that had been given to me my first time fishing but after a few more of my non convincing suggestions they nonchalantly gravitated toward the actual fly fishing guide, seeking his wisdom instead. I don’t blame them, it was only a few minutes longer before I worked my way closer to catch the suggestions he was giving the others and suddenly it turned into a lesson for me, as well. I am eager to get on the water, but with the promise of good fishing later in the summer I wait for better opportunities lest I get frustrated early on and prematurely break my rod over my knee.
My good intentions of getting into a jogging routine have finally come to fruit. After a couple weeks getting used to the elevation, I now being each day with a couple mile jog as the sun lights up the mountains. With the fast paced ranch life the time stands as a precious opportunity to clear my head and prepare for the day ahead. The early morning jog means less sleep, a sacrafice I’m not sure I will be able to maintain throughout the summer. Already I’m exhausted. Much of our day is devoted to guests leaving us limited time in the evenings for our own enjoyment and socializing. But don’t feel sorry for me. The droopy eyelids are worth it.
Happy Trails
These same boys quickly tired of the casting after an hour and set off to explore more exciting pastures. They ended up on the creek bank of the small stream that tickles through the ranch. For hours they explored the banks and the properties of moving water, potentially hydrological engineers in the making. Childhood memories of myself spending entire afternoons doing the same reminded me of the virtues of growing up in a rural area and how a little moving water and a good pair of rubber boots is enough to keep any young man entertained.
