Riders head to the Medicine Wheel, considered sacred by the Cheyenne and Sioux Nation.

My love affair with horses began when I was 6 years old. A best friend lived on a farm. When I rode his pony, Honey, for the first time, I was hooked. While my parents never discouraged this, they recognized the pitfall of buying and boarding a horse for their young son, whose interests could change at a moment’s notice. By age 13, I learned that people would actually pay me to groom horses, muck stalls, and let me ride for free! This was the first of barn jobs that sustained my interest.

Being from the East, where cows are milked, not roped, a book by Glenn Balch spawned my interest in roping and working cattle from horseback. An education, marriage, two children, and a police career put horses on hold. Then the film City Slickers rekindled my interest. It wouldn’t be until years later, at age 48, that I’d actually live the dream.

Not a Dude Ranch!

When I progressed from the yearning to the learning, I surfed Google, expecting to wade through endless dude ranches. I was surprised to find at the top of the first page, "Gordon’s Guide to Adventure and Active Travel." Listed were 24 different outfits located throughout the West. The goal was to find something authentic; a budding cowpoke I was, not a "city slicker."

Clicking on several sites, I soon found Wyoming High Country. Reading the first few paragraphs, the phrases, "originating in 1916," "124,000 acres," and "2,000 head," caught my attention. Other features, such as tents, solar showers, and a guest limit of 10, held my attention. What hooked me, though, were two sentences: "The ranch needs people to brand, vaccinate, wrestle calves, hold herd, and rope. Not only does the ranch welcome your help with these jobs, they appreciate your help." Definitely what I was looking for!

Within 24 hours of requesting information, I received a reply from Lila Kenward, director of guest services. I thought of her as the cruise director. During the ensuing months, we became well-acquainted. Lila promptly sent a suggested equipment list that included chaps, saddlebags, raingear, and spurs. Dudes don’t wear spurs and ride in the rain, do they?

Anyone who’s used frequent-flier miles, especially to Billings, Montana, knows that Lila and I needed to converse frequently regarding arrival and departure dates. Throughout it all, Lila was patient and accommodating. I had every reason to believe that what I was sold, Wyoming High Country would deliver.

As the months passed, when I spoke of my planned adventure, everyone concluded I was either going nuts...or to a dude ranch. Each time I heard the "d" word, I’d correct them, barely concealing my irritation. It’s not a dude ranch! I’m going there to work cattle!

The Real Thing

On the anticipated day, when I first touched down in Billings, I could’ve sworn I was in Maine, not Montana. More passengers were wearing Dockers and fishing vests and carrying rod cases than people like me wearing boots and jeans and carrying a bedroll. Oh well, some people dream of streams teeming with trout; others dream of cows and calves grazing for as far as the eye can see.

As promised, I met Lila at high noon. We picked up three other guests; a father and two sons. We met a mother and daughter at the airport and then, off to Wyoming where we’d join the remaining two guests. Eight in all; this must be the real thing.

We assembled at the home of foreman John Mcleary. He looked and sounded exactly as I’d imagined, his face worn from the sun and wind, his mustache dark and full. His handshake and eye contact were that of a serious man who doesn’t take himself too seriously.

We also met wranglers Ed, who looked to be in his 50s, and Connie (Conrad), whom we learned is 71 years young. Before loading our gear and beginning our journey, Lila had us sign waivers of liability. Cattle work is hazardous.

Unlike a dude ranch, where you pull off the highway and drop your bags in a cabin, our stay would be under canvas at an elevation of 8,000 feet. As we started the drive from Lovell up the Big Horn Mountains, we were told it would take almost three hours. Although it was the last week of June, the primary road was still snowed shut.

The journey took us past vistas, canyons, and caves. We all put on brave faces as we traveled the narrow roads with sharp drop-offs, and Ed looked at us more than the road. We were scared to death! I began to think that perhaps the waiver was more relevant to the drive to camp than the cattle work.

Fellow guests Lisa and her daughter, Pam, talked about what they anticipated and why they’d chosen Wyoming High Country. Had I not known better, I would’ve sworn that we’d talked prior to making our decisions. No dude ranches for them either; they wanted to experience the real thing.

Our accommodations were exactly as promised: wall tents with no floor, folding cots our only luxury. The kitchen was also under canvas. Inside, the cook tent was large enough for food prep and clean-up areas, along with two picnic tables. A third picnic table was positioned just outside. A campfire was placed between the cook tent and the guest tents. Large chunks of aspen served as seats. Virtually all of the social activity occurred either at the picnic tables or around the campfire. We enjoyed the presence of the horses as they grazed within the camp. Below the rim in the side of our mountain was an ice cave.

Water was supplied in a five-gallon jug. Running water came from a continuously flowing spring, and it was quite cold! The shower was a solar pack hung from the limb of a pine tree. The shower stall was a blue tarp hung from the same tree, held in position by fence posts. Basic, but it worked.

We met the remainder of the wranglers at camp. They varied in age from early teens through age 40, including 19-year-old Jennifer, who’d give me some of the most important advice of the trip; more about that later.

Each wrangler was very competent in riding and cattle work. Each was quite gracious when helping. I could tell that they, too, were here for the same reason — to live a life that few get to enjoy today, and then for only a few blessed weeks each year. Only at mealtime were we treated as guests. The wranglers assured that all eight of us were served before they took their place in line.

As I turned in that first night and thought of the days ahead, I had every reason to anticipate what I’d read, not what my friends assumed. No way is this a dude ranch.

Gathering Cows

When morning finally arrived, following breakfast, I followed wrangler Chris to the corral. I asked him if he needed help. Although I figured he didn’t, he said, "sure." Catching a horse in a small corral filled with 25 head is no job for a greenhorn. Chris used a rope to catch his horse. I’d always used grain or carrots. Shortly thereafter, John arrived and set to matching each guest with a mount.

My horse was a true gentleman. A Quarter Horse-Percheron cross called Joker, he became my new best friend. During the week, each wrangler at some point took the opportunity to tell me I’d been given, "the best ride on the spread." Horses out West work long and hard, and it showed, for every guest was pleased with his or her mount. Once all were saddled, we headed toward the grazing land.

Riding from camp, we began to experience the big sky, the sheer size of the mountains, and the realism each of us sought. We spooked the first of many mule deer while climbing the ridge, stopping halfway, allowing the horses to blow. Reaching the top, John directed us as we spread out for our first task: locating and gathering pairs of cow and calf. We were working cattle on horseback!

Once a sufficient number had been gathered, John guided us as we pushed the cows toward the holding pen. When pushing cows, at first you work them slowly, taking advantage of the herd instinct. You hope all will stay with the herd, thus minimizing the need to catch strays. That’s what real cowboys do. As you near the pen, you push harder, taking advantage of this same herd instinct. You want the cattle inside, not milling about the entrance.

Once penned, the cows were separated and pushed outside, while the calves remained. Cows make a lot of noise, particularly when 50 mommas are separated from their babies for the first time. Now the real work began.

My most memorable dude-like moment occurred when I saw how the calves were roped. Rather than head each and then flank him as I’d anticipated, the wranglers caught each calf with a loop around the rear feet. Called "heeling," a calf is more easily controlled. Watching the wranglers for a while, John asked me if I was ready.

"That’s why I’m here," I replied.

Branding Time

Wrestling calves is a two-person job. And yes, technique is important. As the heeled calf is pulled from the pen, one wrangler grabs the tail, the other takes the rope. Pulling upward on the rope and downward on the tail simultaneously, the goal is to flip the calf onto its side. Then the wrestler on the tail controls the head and front legs, and the wrestler on the rope is responsible for the rear legs.

Handling the rear of a calf requires multitasking. Until it’s fully controlled, constant tension on the rope is a must. Once you’re able to sit on the ground, with the calf laying on its left side (Wyoming High Country brands the right flank), you hold the right leg fully extended with your arms. At this point the loop is removed,

allowing the roper to return to the pen for another calf.

The left leg is restrained by placing your right foot just above the hock, pushing forward. Lastly (here’s where Jennifer’s advice helped and things were definitely undude-like), you cover the calf’s rear end with your left foot to guard against being sprayed with that green stuff. No dude ever heard of green stuff, much less had to worry about getting any on him.

While the calf is held on its side, the brand is applied, an ear is marked, the calf is vaccinated, and the bull calves are castrated. All of this takes about a minute.

After branding that first day, I accompanied John and wranglers Travis, Jonathan, and Guthrie on a trip to bring three more horses to the camp. Remember that snowed-in road? We traveled it on horseback for four hours. As we rode, we experienced fast-moving clouds, sagebrush-covered fields, and endless mountain peaks as we rode.

Despite the hours in the saddle, the breathtaking views made every ache worth it. By days end, I was tired and saddle

weary, but totally exhilarated from the

experience.

Learning the Ropes

During the evenings, we spent time around the campfire, practicing our roping on a plastic steer head. The wranglers were patient and helpful. Being left-handed, I presented a special challenge. A lefty coils the rope opposite from a right-hander. I was taught the importance of making an ample loop, using the wrist in the swing, and aiming for the horn on the side of your throwing arm. Also, don’t forget to take up the slack!

The following days were same as the first. We’d gather pairs on horseback until accumulating a pen full, separate calf from cow, then brand. On day three, I got my chance to rope. As expected, Joker was perfect. I’m proud to say I made five catches. Everyone was patient as I mastered handling the rope and Joker at the same time.

When I made my first catch, John photographed me as I pulled the calf from the pen. Everyone offered high fives. After all these years, I’d finally tried my skill, one of many high points of this ultimate adventure.

Every guest was given the opportunity to perform every duty. During the four days, we branded 400 head. That’s work, not recreation. We also experienced the realities of ranching when quick moving storms passed through the mountains, soaking us to the bone.

Aside from working and branding, we rode some of the most glorious mountainsides imaginable. We saw black bears, mule deer, marmot, coyote, birds of prey, and sage hen.

On the last day, John led us to the Medicine Wheel. This sight, considered sacred by the Cheyenne and Sioux Nation is similar to Stonehenge. From grassy field bordered by snow still, to rock-covered summit, through groves of aspen, we experienced rides of a lifetime.

On getaway day, while the other guests were driven, I took advantage of the opportunity to join the wranglers and drive the saddle band off the mountain. Immediately I learned that herding horses is more challenging than cattle.

We led the herd into Collinwood Canyon, then followed them from mountaintop to desert floor. Along the way, we encountered low-hanging trees, creek beds so narrow we led our mounts on foot, dense fog, and intense heat. We eventually entered the Bighorn Basin. An encounter with a rattlesnake, the first of my life, topped this last day.

Lasting Memory

Flying home, as I reflected I tried to recapture all of it: the morning chill, horses munching grass outside of my tent, mountain views, mule deer, days without a shower, the smell of the branding iron, and, oh yeah, tails, rumps, and shoulders caked with "green stuff."

But what stays with me most are memories of the fine people. Lila, who coordinated everything with fine-tuned precision, wrestling calves with 71-year-old Connie, who took me under his wing. And of course, John, the consummate ram rod. He ran the drive, kept us safe, used his knowledge of the mountains to show us the views, and tended to each of us with the highest level of courtesy.

And lastly, the wranglers who shared the pride in what they do. Each one, in his or her own way, allowed me to enter this world, the world of a true cowboy.

And of course, Joker, what a ride!