With disappearing staff, fewer guests, and turning leaves, the fall season has descended upon the ranch. Each seasonal indicator served as a reminder of my impending departure. During my last week at the ranch we hosted world renown animal tracker, Jim Halfpenny, who taught guests about bears, wolves, and other aspects of ecology. His presentation included a daylong trip to Yellowstone where we spotted wolves from a distance and crawled in a vacant bear den. He had a handful of tales of close calls with the fuzzy critters that kept his audience captivated with each story.
Like any academic and objective scientist, he told an objective story when relating information about grizzly bear and wolves to the guests, listing facts and highlighting current research. But it was the crack in his voice and the tears that formed that showed his human side when discussing the future of the grizzly bear, and the environmental problems mounting an attack against the species. What’s more, human development seems to be putting the nail in the coffin. Will the species survive in the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem? Probably, but not in its current state is his suspicion.
I wrote about a grizzly bear that ate our pigs early in the summer. As of my departure, evidence of a wandering grizzly bear still appears around the ranch weekly, but the new pigs remain ignorantly happy, oblivious to the threat surrounding them. Bears are smart and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s waiting for them to fatten up before going in for the kill. At least that’s what I would do.
The sheep wagon held up nicely despite the leaky roof and drafty door. I already look forward to the day I have children and grandchildren and can begin the back-in-my-day lecture about how I spent a summer living in a sheep wagon in Wyoming when they start to complain about how bad they have it. They’ll roll their eyes but I’ll continue on anyway.
When it seemed like I had tried just about everything over the course of the summer, on my last week I even got to participate in a little bit of dish washing and housekeeping. Nick was also assigned to the duty and together we swept, fixed beds, and removed garbage cabin by cabin, reliving the summer and talking about our futures. It was Nick who became one of my best friends at the ranch and inspired many of my free time adventures.
Chuck remains on his feet and doing well. In addition to running the ranch like ususal, he is active in raising awareness for his cause and active in the Muscular Dystrophy Association. We parted company that evening after a couple of beers around the campfire, words of thanks, and a good, firm handshake goodbye.
Guests will remain at the ranch until Mid September. Afterwards the ranch will be closed up for the winter. In addition to the winterizing of the ranch, some major logging plans are underway to salvage much of the pine being killed by the pine beetle plaguing that part of the country.
I said my goodbyes and packed up my car under the light of the full moon on my last evening Labor Day Weekend. Disappointed to leave, but anxious to move on to my next adventure is how I would describe the feelings surrounding my departure.
What comes next? That’s a good question and one I have no good answer for. I know this. For the next year I am giving up the rural lifestyle and moving to the cities. I’ve traded in the sheep wagon for an 8’ by 10’ bedroom in a St. Paul apartment. The drastic transition comes with pros and cons. The details of a job have yet to be worked out, but as happened with the ranch job, I remain confident that something will fall into place. It always does.
People have asked if I will return to the ranch next summer. There exists the possibility, but at the moment too many variables cloud the decision to say one way or another. Either way, I’m sure I’ll find myself back in the Sunlight Basin before too long, for a visit at the very least.
Fourteen weeks ago I arrived at the ranch, knowing little about ranch life and the people I would later call my friends. My cowboy boots still looked brand new and a foot of snow decorated the ground in early June. In the time between now and then, I’ve learned how to divert a plumbing disaster, find a good fishing hole, navigate the mountains, rebuild a buck fence, hold a calf being branded, mountain bike down an actual mountain, and catch a loose horse headed for home. I’ve become a better welder, horseman, and mechanic, and those cowboy boots that were new at the beginning of the summer, there’s a few scuffs in them now.
Much of what sent me westward was the desire to discover more about the cowboy way of life and experience it firsthand. After fourteen weeks would I call myself a cowboy or a wrangler you may ask? No, is my firm answer. I believe that title should be reserved for the truly desrving, those that live it as a lifestyle and not those simply pretending during a summer job.
But it caught me off-guard two weeks ago when a four year old boy called me a cowboy as we sat on the patio drinking lemonade one afternoon. “Why do you say that?” I asked him. “Because you work here,” he responded. “But I don’t look like a cowboy,” I quickly pointed out, sure I would stump him with that one. He responded, “you don’t have to look like a cowboy to be one, you just have to act like one.” I couldn’t argue that point. He hit on one of the profound truths that some people my age and older often don’t realize. Indeed, you do not have to look like a cowboy to be one. It’s a person’s character, not appearance, that defines him or her.
Although I still wouldn’t consider myself a cowboy, the fact that I was mistaken for one leaves me hopeful that I picked up a few of the desirable traits and skills of a cowboy, ones that should serve me well the rest of my life.
Thanks to everyone who took the time to read these stories. It has been a privilege to be able to write this column each week and have it read by those that know me best, and many that don’t at all. I hope you learned a few things and had a few chuckles along the way. I know I sure did.
Happy trails.
