tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343222290472339002024-03-12T23:54:34.941-07:00The Bear Creek LedgerBear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234322229047233900.post-29354862123537588532018-12-31T09:27:00.001-08:002018-12-31T09:29:45.762-08:00Me and the Secretary<br />
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Me and the Secretary<o:p></o:p></div>
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There had been more than a week of really cold days this
past November, below zero days up here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m referring to the Marias Pass area, back to Bear Creek and east to
the reservation. The country had finally become wintered up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’d had some snow followed by some low
temperatures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still had horses at our
place however, and so when I was asked by a friend to lead a ride into some of
the best country I know, special country I’ve ridden in for pushing forty
years, I nodded a go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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The country I’m speaking of is the Badger- Two Medicine,
east of the continental divide and south to Birch Creek, directly adjacent to
Glacier National Park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many of you know
the area, some very well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the least,
you’ve read about it, in this publication and many others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Badger- Two Medicine hasn’t been without
controversy over the course of the past half century and that profile has
heated up significantly over the past decade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Oil and gas exploration, motorized vehicle use, grazing of livestock,
national monument status, and Native American treaty rights have all had their
time in the public’s environmental bullseye.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Amazingly enough however, oil and gas leases have been, slowly but
surely, and not without hard public advocacy, eliminated, one after
another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Motorized use in the Badger
became prohibited following very contentious debate by both sides of the
issue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You won’t see a snow machine or a
four wheeler anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Monument status in
the Badger has been raised to discussion level in Washington D.C, and the Blackfeet
Tribe has begun to exert its influence in decision making forums relative to
the area.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This past September, a judge reinstated the oil and gas
lease of Solonex, LLC in the Badger- Two Medicine, and after twenty one years,
Big Oil was back in play.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Game on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From my perspective, however, Solonex only
added more fuel to the fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of
additional concern to me over this past year has been the specter of monument
designation, at first blush an environmental boon to the area but in my
opinion, a move that would put the Badger in the public consciousness and on
display to the ever burgeoning increase in tourism and visitation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More drama.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Well alright, so what about the ride we were about to
do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Me, my good friend, and the
Secretary of Interior, Ryan Zinke were up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The three of us on a private ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No security, no press, nobody.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Ryan wanted to see the country in question and I was good with
that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They rode mules and I rode a
horse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re saddled up and off we go,
onward and upward into the heart of some of the dearest, most sacred and
precious country I know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a
beautiful day, cold and crisp, the snow was as white as a polar bear’s ass, and
the sun was out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t know what to
make of Ryan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s big and tall, a
decent looking fellow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I may have been
expecting what we’ve all read, a grandstander, shoots from the hip, a big
mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing could have been further
from the truth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve read what you’ve read.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ve heard as well what you have, on the news and on the stump.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I agree, it’s not very flattering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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As we rode ahead into the high country, the
day absolutely spectacular, that sun keeping us warm, and the sky as blue as
Butch Cassidy’s eyes, I was with a man who was kind, courteous, and generous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hell, we shared his Maker’s Mark whiskey over
small talk while letting the country speak for itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Secretary was curious, I could see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He asked questions and listened respectfully
as I responded, and added my thoughts on about everything he could see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we could see from the Sweetgrass Hills to
Divide Mountain and down towards Heart Butte.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I want to tell you that my mission that day was to focus on
one thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that was the Badger-Two
Medicine, nothing more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t want to
go anywhere else, not to the ANWR, not to the Yellowstone, not to the Bears
Ears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stayed with the country I
know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I repeat again, for the most
part, I let the country do the talking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Ryan listened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could see it and
I know it to be true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He loved our ride,
he loved the country we’d ridden him through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And when it was all said and done he looked me in the eye and told me he
wouldn’t tear up the heart and soul of the country he’d just ridden
through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He could give Solonex drilling
rights somewhere else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I believed him.<o:p></o:p></div>
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He’s gone now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Done
at the Department of Interior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s been
a disappointment to many.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just read a
scathing article about his reign in this publication this morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know what to say at this point but
let me get the following off my chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Ryan Zinke is a Montana boy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
showed me a real good side on a very special day in the backcountry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On that day, he put Montana first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And consequently, he put you first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Bear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234322229047233900.post-73386942698208861102018-12-14T10:06:00.001-08:002018-12-14T10:17:34.407-08:00All Signs are Trending Warm!<br />
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Oh yeah, all signs trending warm! I like that. It's getting closer and closer to Christmas Day and as of today, the temperature is in the mid 30's. Supposed to be in the 40's tomorrow and who knows, I might be sun bathing, with an edition of <i style="font-weight: bold;">Sports Illustrated </i>in my hands, by the weekend. Not likely.<br />
Nevertheless, we're behind schedule in the cold and snow departments, and as I look back to a year ago, we had a good two feet of snow on the flat by this date and had multiple below zero days and nights as well. That was a trend I wasn't very fond of and as many of us experienced over the course of one of the toughest winters on record in the northern plains and Rockies, we've been pinching ourselves in the butt every day the temp moves above freezing.<br />
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I've thoroughly enjoyed the cool crisp, and sunny days we've had since Thanksgiving. The country is quiet, bereft of humanity, preparing for whatever winter has in store for it. The country is waiting. There is a light layer of snow on the ground where the sun doesn't shine and on a walk the tracks of many animals tell a story. Tracks don't hide. Snowshoe hares, red squirrels, coyotes, white tail deer, an elk, a moose, no grizzly, and yes, wolves. There's been some talk of a white wolf leading a small pack of four to five members through our little valley. The wolves come and go. I think they do a whole lot of travelling, always on the hunt for food. I know those snowshoe hares pretty well. One might see lots of tracks but it's rare to see one. They make lots of tracks at night and you'd think judging by the mass of tracks in the evergreen thickets you'd be stepping on them. But even back in those days when I used to hunt them, I never killed more than three a day and that was while putting in some serious effort on snowshoes. In this country, hares are good feed for lynx and coyotes. I haven't seen a lynx in a while but they are here.<br />
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You might be thinking I'd run into a grizzly. God knows there's plenty in the area. But it's winter in these parts and I haven't seen any sign in more than a month. They're denned up and I'm happy for that. There's an easier feeling one has moving through the woods this time of year. I can't make that claim come April and on through the warm season until after November. I'm not carrying bear spray and not having to be hyper alert. Those bears are sleeping the good sleep.<br />
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This past summer was a rather slow one on the bear scale. We did have a pair of grizzlies in the back pasture for a week or so in May. One was big and one was small. They were digging for glacier lily roots and never caused a ruckus. I lobbed a few cracker shells at the bigger of the two one morning. Sent him packing. But he was back after a while and I let him be. Those two bears didn't cause any problems and they both left before too long a visit, most likely to find better feed.<br />
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On about mid August we began to see grizzlies, with some regularity, on our rides into the big country to the east of us, only miles from where the mountains meet the prairie. Two separate families of griz, mama's with their young cubs. We got a real good look at the sow with three cubs, feeding on service berries. Those bears were very close to the area we'd planned on riding through. We took a "different fork in the road, one less traveled." No sense in upsetting their program, nor ours! That wasn't out last meeting with grizzlies. The following week we bumped into another family of a sow and two cubs. Same general vicinity but clearly distinct from the first bunch. Those berries sure seemed to be losing their ripeness. They were rather dry but must have been packing a punch. No huckleberries in that area. There's always a mystery in the animal kingdom. Those bears were filling their needs somehow and someway but only they know their way.<br />
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Back to tracks. We had a short blow in mid September. Got a few inches of wet snow. A day or so after the storm the weather had turned warm again and it made for stretches of mud on the trail. Talk about tracks. And oh boy, were there grizzlies in the area. Over the trail course of at least four miles there were tracks of three more bears, the last being of a very large boar grizzly. He'd been traveling the way we were headed although probably the day before. I kept glancing down and off to my right as we rode and began to notice another big track, one I didn't immediately recognize. I stopped and took a hard look down and I was seeing the large front print of a wolf. Their tracks never fail to amaze me, particularly those that are most likely from a large, adult male. My jaw about dropped. A single track of one big wolf. There's a story there for sure but I'll never know it.<br />
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Speaking of wildlife, wild country, and the like, I did another trip into the back of beyond in mid November. I accompanied the current Secretary of Interior, Ryan Zinke, horseback, into a remote area that is currently in some environmental jeopardy. My mission was to show the secretary a small piece of some of the best country I've ever known. I've been riding and fishing it for more than thirty years. And you just read a bit about it in the above paragraphs.<br />
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If you're familiar with the career of Secretary Zinke you also know he's a lightning rod in the enviro-political world these days and has earned the reputation for being "kind" to the oil and gas industry. I kept my mind open to the day as it unfolded. The air was cold but crisp, the sun was out, and the wind had died down to a dull roar. Once again, I found myself on horseback in the Badger- Two Medicine country, a lucky man to be there regardless of the political world we now live with. We rode on and then upward, heading into the heart of the matter, a good covering of snow, the world bright as a polar bear's ass. I was looking for tracks, typical me, but also enjoying the ride, and believe it or not, the company. There wasn't much in the way of tracks up high. Winter had found the tops of the ridge tops we rode over. The deer, elk, and moose were gone, having moved to a less harsh environment down on the river bottoms and winter range. We were alone in a winter wonderland, just the three of us and this beautiful world.<br />
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I wanted to add that last sentence as a reminder to myself and you, the reader, that during the course of that wonderful day, we didn't do a whole lot of serious talking. We didn't have to. The country we were in did most of the talking. Oh yeah, we had a five to ten minute session once we'd hit the river trail. We talked about saving the Badger- Two Medicine from oil and gas development and giving the area unnecessary added attention in the form of "Monument" designation. It was an easy discussion and in no small part was I not thinking about the critters and the tracks of those critters that make the world a better place!<br />
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"Oh, it's a long time, from May to December."<br />
<br />Bear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234322229047233900.post-10015202153520183982017-12-21T12:52:00.003-08:002018-03-14T10:12:59.897-07:00Monumental Monuments <br />
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<span style="background-color: #9fc5e8; color: white;"> </span><b><span style="color: white;"><span style="background-color: #9fc5e8;">Mon</span><span style="background-color: white;">ument Designation of the Badger-Two Medicine Country</span></span></b><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"> <b>Monument Designation of the Badger- Two Medicine</b></span><br />
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I think back to days gone by, specifically those early, formative years guiding raft and fishing trips on the Snake River through <b>Grand Teton National Park </b>in Wyoming. What great country that is, and was, for me. Needing to know a bit of the area's history I learned that <b>Grand Teton National Park </b>had been initially, almost a half century before I arrived on the scene, a National Monument, declared so by the president in 1929 by way of the <b>Antiquities Act of 1906</b>. That act allowed the president to set aside "land to be protected as important historic, cultural, and ecological sites without the approval of congress." There's some fine print added to the original Antiquities Act and some of that has been the subject of modern day interpretation and discussion. Nevertheless, to this day, the president of the United States is allowed to set aside land or water that he deems is needing of protection. In recent history, George Bush, Bill Clinton, and Barack Obama all added numerous monument status to lands and water that were deemed in need of increased protection as National Monuments. Specifically, in 2016, during his last year in the White House, Barack Obama set aside the Bears Ears country in Utah, more than 1.3 million acres of land as a national monument. Then the fun started.</span><br />
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During President Trumps first year in office he directed the Secretary of Interior, Ryan Zinke, to review some of the existing monuments with an eye toward reducing the sizes of many of which he felt were not being used in a manner consistent with the original intent of the <b>Antiquities Act</b> of 1906. The <b>1.3 million acre Bear Ears National Monument along with the 1.6 million acre Grand Staircase- Escalante National Monument</b> have taken center stage following the review and may very well be in the process for severe reduction in size in the year ahead. The Bears Ears is projected to go from the 1.3 million acres down to 120,000. That's quite a change! A drastic reduction in acreage is also planned for the Grand Staircase- Escalante as well. Needless to say, in many quarters, and most certainly among every environmental organization known to man, there has been a loud outcry of opposition to the administrations actions. "America's conservation legacy defines us and is the envy of the world. Today is a dark day for that legacy. "Teddy Roosevelt is shaking his fists. Undermining one of our bedrock conservation laws and selling out to industry flies in the face of T.R., who president Trump said he wanted to emulate." Oh boy!</span><br />
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And here's where it gets interesting. Ironically, or coincidentally, I'm not sure which, while at the same time taking aim at the two monuments in question, Secretary Zinke proposes that the <b>Badger Two Medicine</b> country of northern Montana become a National Monument, to the tune of 130,000 acres of country that begins six miles from where I'm writing this blog as we speak! <b>Bear Creek Ranch</b> lies just six miles to the west of the northeast border of the, at this time, informally proposed <b>Badger- Two Medicine National Monument.</b> More than a few of you reading this blog, many of you guests of ours, or close friends at Bear Creek Ranch over the years, have ridden on more than one occasion into the heart of the <b>Badger- Two Medicine</b>, with us. You know the country of the Badger- Two Med as well as many others. You've been there. You also know it's some pretty special country, raw, rugged, spectacular, and drop dead beautiful. And you never saw another soul on a ride you did with us. That country is still quiet, very lightly visited, and even more importantly, well taken care of by those of us that do visit. And that's the beginning of the rub, the conflict, the internal turmoil that lies right below the surface of potential monument designation. At first blush, "protecting" the <b>Badger- Two Medicine Country</b> seems like a no- brainer. After all, this nation's conservation legacy lays in no small part on the efficacy of the original Antiquities Act and the intent of that act is to protect our public lands. I get that. BUT. Does the Badger-Two Medicine country need the additional level of protection that National Monument status would provide it, if any?</span><br />
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What is so important to recognize at this point in time is that the <b>Badger-Two Medicine country</b> is protected at many levels because it is in the Lewis and Clark National Forest. The <b>Badger Two Med</b> has been given increased protection over the years from oil and gas exploration and the use of motorized vehicles. Both of those added levels of regulation were won after lengthy battles on the public and legal stage. The<b> Badger Two-Med country</b> works very well under the "<b>multiple use</b>" directive of the Forest Service. Folks hike, fish, hunt, and ride freely, without federal restriction. There is also a limited amount of livestock grazing also permitted. In my opinion, and I have been a long time and ardent user of the country in question, the existing levels of protection in the area work real well for about everyone. The glaring exception to that last statement is the role the B<b>lackfeet Tribe</b> plays in the present and future of the area. I'll add to that thought in the following paragraphs.</span><br />
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At this point I'll cut right to the heart of the matter. The<b> Badger-Two Medicine</b> is everything it is, beautiful, majestic, raw, and rugged because it is not a monument. It has not nor should be added to National Monument status because it will have a bulls eye painted on it both in this country and around the world. A bulls eye of visitation that it doesn't need. The <b>Badger-Two Med</b> is what it is because it has been left alone, unlike our National Parks and Monuments, and monument status will change that irreversibly. If the <b>Blackfeet Tribe</b> desires more use or management authority in the country then I say bring it to the table. </span><br />
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Pushing back on National Monument creation anywhere is hard for me to do. My natural instinct is go all in on monuments and provide the kind of protection all our remaining wild places need and deserve. But I am also seeing a change in the character of many of our wild lands as they continue to get more and more visitation and use. This past summer the visitation in <b>Glacier National Park</b> went well beyond the 3 million mark, almost double the use I normally noted not many years ago. Trails are crowded as are park facilities. And the irony to those thoughts is that <b>Glacier National Park </b>is fully visible and directly across Highway 2 from the north boundary of the <b>Badger Two-Medicine</b>. We look north into the park as we ride just to the south of it and we rarely see a soul on our side of the tracks. And those souls rarely see us! </span><br />
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I cringe at the thought of National Monument protection in the <b>Badger-Two Med. </b> That country is good just the way it is today. I don't want that to change nor do I suspect that current users of the area would embrace that change either. What I fear is that the enticement of the false narrative of added protection in Monument status will blind many folks to the reality that National Monuments bring, and that is potentially immense additional visitation and use. </span><br />
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As I've heard on many occasions in my life when looking at a difficult decision that doesn't need to be made, the wise man sayeth; <b>"if it ain't broke, don't fix it."</b> The <b>Badger-Two Medicine Country </b>ain't broke. It is good the way it is. It doesn't need fixing, certainly not to the extent that Monument status would bring.</span><br />
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<b><i> There's a whole lot of stuff in this world I know very little about. But I do know a whole lot about the Badger-Two Medicine Country. I know that monument designation of that country will change it forever, and not for the better. Bill Beck, Winter 2017</i></b></span><br />
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<br />Bear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234322229047233900.post-15126759533067948492017-11-20T13:45:00.000-08:002019-02-28T17:51:56.062-08:00An Oxymoron? Managing Grizzlies. <br />
<i><b> </b></i><i><b>Managing Grizzlies</b></i><br />
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The very contentious issue of debate regarding the "listing" of the grizzly bear is again coming into focus in the American West. On Wednesday, November 29th, in Missoula, many of this regions grizzly bear bureaucrats will be gathering, once again, to discuss the status of ursus horribilis, most specifically, in the Northern Continental Divide Ecosystem (or NCDE). The biggest piece of that day long discussion will be to debate the merits of delisting the grizzly in Northern Montana and if in fact that is going to occur how will the grizzly be managed moving forward.<br />
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They'll all be there. You know who I'm talking about! From Wilderness Watch to the Sahara Club, and all of 'em in between, every environ- meddling outfit within five hundred miles. They'll all be there in force, in all their glory, sanctifying the the status of the grizzly, and theirs as well. And of course, grizzly bear managers from the Fed, the state and the tribes will be driving the agenda for the day. I'm looking forward to attending, as a member of the general public and I do hope the public makes it's presence felt. I can already feel the hair on the back of my neck getting stiff! <br />
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I've lived in grizzly bear country for quite some time, going back to the the early 80's and on up through the present. I am writing this piece, having just come back from feeding in our barn, not expecting to see a bear there but keeping my eyes open regardless. I think it's a bit late in November to find a hungry grizzly poking around near our feed bins but who knows, it's only been a couple weeks since the last grizzly's presence exited the property. I've been run out of there on more than one occasion over the years. There's a foot and a half of snow out there and a whole lot more in the high country so chances are any bear in the area is denned up.<br />
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Most of my life over the past forty years has been spent at our ranch, directly adjacent to the southern edge of Glacier National Park, just to the north of the Bob Marshall Wilderness complex, and just west of the Blackfeet Indian Reservation. There's lots of bears in the area, to say the least. Always has been. Yes, we've noted some fluctuation in population over the years. The decade of the 90's was really something, grizzlies everywhere. One summer we had three different sows with twin cubs on and off the property. We lost a colt to a sow with a cub one Spring night and the following evening had eight different grizzlies doing a dance around the culvert trap, set up to capture the sow that had killed the colt. A buddy of mine and myself counted 55 grizzlies between May and June 1st within ten miles of the ranch one year. It seemed like there were bears everywhere. These past ten years we appear to have lost the big, dense population of bears that we once had but I don't think they'v gone too far! The population of those bears appears to have moved, or migrated if you will, in an easterly direction, over to the prairie country and the Rocky Mountain Front, back to their historic habitat, before the advent of the white man. We saw eight of the big bears there this past summer over the course of two days within a few miles of each other. And I doubt if we saw them all. There was bear sign everywhere.<br />
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I'm wondering if there will be some sharp folks attending the upcoming meeting in Missoula? Will there be some real outdoor brain power present at that gathering of bear professionals? Will they all have their laptops at their disposal, ready to augment their argument with satellite imagery data uploaded from a solar powered live feed 200 miles distant on Grant Ridge? How many of them will have spent years in the out of doors, in bear country, among bears, accumulating the experience, the knowledge, and the wisdom to know that the whole deal, the whole debate, the grist of the entire issue, is not as complex or as difficult to solve as they would have you believe? There will be several hundred attendees in Missoula on the 29th and several hundred opinions on how to proceed with the debate, "to list or not to list."<br />
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There's always going to be bears in this country, in the NCDE. It's just a matter of how many we can live with, or perhaps how many can live with<i><b> us.</b></i> Of little doubt to me however, is that the number we finally settle on has got to be finite. In other words, there can't be an unlimited degree of population growth among the big bears. There has been growth for decades and the results of that have been an increasing amount of man/bear conflict and a feeling among many folks that the biological and social carrying capacity of the NCDE has been reached. And yes, I do recognize that thought is not likely to be received well among the crowd I expect to be attending!<br />
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If I were in a position to make an executive decision regarding the future management of the grizzly bear here's what would happen; The grizzly bear would once again become the domain of the state of Montana;. the presence of the Federal Fish and Wildlife Service would be relegated back to the east side of the Mississippi River, never to be present in this state again, ever; the population of the grizzly would be capped at its' present number; legal hunting of the grizzly would be initiated and become a viable management tool in man/bear conflict; For starters, 50 grizzlies, two third males, and one third females, would be legally harvested each year: in the NCDE grizzlies will not be present east of Highway 89 from the Canadian border south to Interstate 90.<br />
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I've had a richer life having lived with grizzlies and in grizzly country for as long as I have. I also understand that the grizzly is an animal that needs lots of room to live, a whole lot more than you and I need. I'd rather see the grizzly in his world than ours. We don't do well together and one of us always loses when there's conflict. The bear dies or we get hurt and die as well. Neither of us wins. Leave the bear alone in northwest Montana, west of Highway 89. We'll all be happy.<br />
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<br />Bear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234322229047233900.post-61497365570262553762016-12-08T17:45:00.000-08:002016-12-08T17:49:32.261-08:00That griz and me <b style="background-color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></b><br />
<b><i> <span style="font-size: large;">That Bear and Me </span></i></b><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">I've always loved those later fall days at the ranch. The days are getting shorter, and I know what's to come. There will be snow, lots of it, cold temperatures, and by December, most likely temps well below zero. It wasn't but just a few years ago, I think in December of 2013, and maybe that was December 7th, the thermometer outside our kitchen window showed -41below. Well, that was then, and on this early October Saturday afternoon, it is plumb flat gorgeous. It must be in the low 70's, the sun is out, and even though the sun is considerably lower in the sky than it is in July, that round ball of yellow fire is still warming our part of the country. I feel good and it's time to do some work. In this case, begin to winterize the cabins, turn the water off to them, the barn, the automatic waterers, and then pump the water out of each one individually. I start the process at the cabin closest to the barn, the Lewis and Clark cottage, probably twenty five to thirty yards from the barn. And at this point in time I'm not thinking about bears, in case you're wondering. We haven't seen a bear on the property the entire year. It ain't like the old days back in the eighties and nineties, bears, grizzlies everywhere, I kid you not. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"> </span> <span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span> <i>Sow griz with three cubs (two out of sight)</i><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">So there I am, moving in and out of the Lewis and Clark cabin, turning valves off, pumping air into the system, blowing water out, stepping back out to get tools. And then halfway through that process, I happen to look inside the entrance to the barn and there's our large grain bin, laying on its side, hard against the rear gate directly adjacent to the corral. It isn't supposed to be there. I know right away it's a bear, been there many times. I wander back to the barn entrance and swing the gate open. There's a bit more mess close by. The 55 gallon steel garbage can has been turned over, there's paper garbage and empty grain bags on the dirt floor but not much more of a mess. No worries mate. Hell, I wasn't even thinking worry, much less thinking bear. I've seen nothing to sound off any alarm bells and my God, it's the middle of a very sunny day. I move through the barn, picking up what's been scattered. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">About halfway into the large barn, there's a corner past the tack room and a large open space off to the right. I reach that corner and naturally, look to the right, and there he is, looking at me. Holy shit, we're about twenty feet apart. It's a grizzly, and he's half standing, hard up against the wall, and undoubtedly, waiting and wondering what in the hell he's got coming at him. I see him and he's seeing me. I make the bear, he's making me, and I swear it may have only been two seconds, and although I'd like to tell you that a whole lot went through my mind real quickly, that wasn't the case. I do remember recognizing it was a grizzly, immediately, and I do recall seeing long, white claws on what must have been a front foot raised above his body and I believe up against the wall. Beyond those thoughts however, there weren't any. And after what must have been just two seconds, perhaps three, but it wasn't any more than that, that son of a bitch made a move, a lunge toward me, hard and fast.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">I didn't think, didn't have enough time to think, but perhaps whatever thought process I did have at exactly that moment of truth, passed that message to my body and I moved, and I mean with lightning speed. I spun on my left leg and ran, sprinted, harder than I have since my college days, towards light, the barn gate, and out. Believe it or not, and I can actually remember the fleeting thought I had during that flight. "Man, I feel good, I feel fast, I feel light on my feet." I had more than a little fear and adrenaline running through my veins and that must have helped. No pulled hamstrings, no bad knee, and no physical handicap holding me up. I made it out of the barn.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">Daylight, temporary freedom. My sprint gets me fifteen, twenty yards beyond the barn gate and I am beginning to use some cognition (a fancy word for thought, my counseling education education!). I've got to look around and see where that bear is 'cause if he's on my ass I'm gonna' have to change my plan. I haven't thought beyond that but I do slow down and crane my neck around and look back. He's not on my butt, thank God, and so I look harder in the direction of the back barn gate and the corral, and there he is. He's hit a lope as well, a grand four hundred pound grayish colored griz, probably a male, and he's hauling the mail, wanting no part of me, and I, no part of him.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">Remember, I opened this writing feeling pretty good about the day, the time of year, and the beauty of this particularly fine fall day. Well, I'm here to tell you that I'm feeling even better, as I continue on up toward the lodge, safety, and my beautiful wife. Life feels real good at the moment. Hell, I just dodged another bullet. Oh yeah, I have more than a good idea how that afternoon event could have ended. That image I have of those long, white claws, classic grizzly features, are still with me. I know that had that bear been a sow with cubs, or perhaps a grizzly with less shy behavior, or simply a bear that had been even more suddenly confronted, I might have felt those long claws across my back. I don't think much beyond that scenario. Ain't worth it. And besides, I did dodge another bullet. That's three of them this season. Been cow kicked in the head by a good horse, knocked me down, a first after having shod a couple thousand head of horses in my life. Got bucked off hard, my head finding the only large rock in an area of soft grass and dirt, and then of course, the bear. And I'm still hear to tell you about it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i style="background-color: white;">Vaya con Dios! </i></span><br />
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Bear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234322229047233900.post-18269306722200056052016-01-25T15:55:00.000-08:002016-01-25T17:39:39.335-08:00"It's been quite the party."<br />
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Wow, in my last writing I wrote about the young lady I had developed a professional relationship with in a therapeutic setting. I still think about her from time to time and hope she is overcoming some of the social barriers that have inhibited her from being all she wants to be. Just recently, I've received news of good friends, some temporarily sick, a few terminally ill. That ain't good. I mean, these are folks that I've known a long time, through the good times and the not good times. Good friends stand the test of time, they don't come and go, even when the chips are down. I talked to a good ole cowboy bud of mine just a while ago. Me and Harry don't see each other much, maybe once or twice a year. But when we do, it's a good thing. I think my world wouldn't be as full if Harry weren't around. And for the record, he will be. His go round in the hospital is about over and in any case, he's a stubborn son of a bitch and on the mend. But I must be thinking about mortality a bit more than normal cause here I am writing about it.<br />
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So here I go again, writing about relationships, ones I've known, ones I've lost, and maybe those that are yet to come. I just got off the message system with an old high school mate, hadn't communicated with him for more than forty some years. I remember Doug pretty well. We played football together and I recall him being pretty damned smart. I think he went to one of them Ivy League colleges and became a physicist. He was asking for my comments on the Malheur Wildlife Refuge comedy and we exchanged a few thoughts on the matter. I gave him my take on the deal and he referred me to a couple pieces that he thought were worth reading. Now, here I am corresponding with one intelligent fellow and he's asking me stuff? I told him he'd always had me "out brained" by a large margin. And you know what? He told me he'd always enjoyed my writing, my style, and my normally thoughtful prose. Holy shit! I kid you not, I was speechless, and flattered. And most of all, he made my day. And so, here I am, inspired, writing, on a Saturday afternoon. I think, which is what I'm getting at here is, is that it doesn't take a whole lot to get us going. We need just a little help, just a little nudge, just a little encouragement, just a little kindness directed our way, to make our day. I doubt if I'm speaking solely for myself. We're all pretty similar when you get right down to it.<br />
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It's been thirty five years now since we opened the doors at Bear Creek Ranch. Talk about a journey. My life has been a journey, particularly when it comes to that little ranch and the way it's intersected with me at every curve, corner, and traffic light along the way. Marriages, children, life, and death, good times, not so good times, but through it all, the one constant, the relationships that I've known and the ones that I haven't but are still to come. We don't raise cattle at our place, we have raised more than a few horses, but really, what we've raised the most, are relationships with our guests, those that were, those that are, and those that are yet to come. I've thought on occasion that it would be nice to raise cattle. Hell, cattle don't talk back, don't take up your time when you've got something else on your mind, a project to complete, an errand to run. But you know what, I think I've come out on the right end on that one. I've had a fascination with people, and as I call it, the human condition, for as long as I can remember, And I still do!<br />
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It's been an interesting Saturday morning. I just got an e-mail from a fellow that worked at the ranch thirty years ago. Now where the hell did that come from, after all these years. I'd thought of Mike from time to time, not with total fondness and not without some as well. I suspect if we'd been the best of friends we'd have never lost track of each other. But there it is. I'll be seeing Mike this summer. He'll be a paying guest, which is one good thing, and we'll undoubtedly share some life, me and him. And that will pretty interesting. Did he ever marry the girl he loved so much back in 1988? Did he know of the girl I loved in 1988 and married in 1989? Does he have children? Does he know I have children? Oh boy, and there's more of course.<br />
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I've got to fill you in on another fellow, Frankie, who's been a guest at our ranch for three decades. He's been on hunts, pack trips, cattle drives, and ranch vacations with us. This past summer, he was here at the ranch twice, once with his wife and grandson, and later on in the fall, with his wife and another neat couple. Frankie worked for a big outfit in the Midwest for years and not months after retiring after forty years of hard work, was diagnosed with a rather serious form of cancer. He was sick during his vacation here in July and appeared stronger in the fall. This winter hasn't been kind to him and I find myself thinking about the fickle and often unfair nature of life.<br />
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Changing gears, there's the real good stuff out there as well. We've had three marriages at the ranch the past couple years and they've all been good stuff. I mean really good people getting married on just the perfect day, and a helluva good party afterword. I have a strong feeling that those marriages are all gonna' work. Hell, one of 'em was mine so there you go. I think the ranch, at times, has an almost mystic feel to it. Those weddings had it. "Into the Mystic."<br />
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There's so much more but before I wrap this up I want to tell you about Pat. Hell, most of you know him. Pat worked at the place more than thirty years ago, fresh out of high school somewhere on the East Coast. I'm not sure Pat had even graduated, not that it mattered. He was young then, just beginning, and stayed with us for a couple years. But there was something about Pat, even then. He had a quiet kind of ambition. And when he told me he was going to be building a Mexican Restaurant in his sister's older log home in East Glacier, I thought well, he's in for a rude awakening. Now remember, that's going back more than a few years. What the hell did I know? What the hell did Pat know? Well, he knew a helluva' bunch more than me! It wasn't long before he and his wife Renee had that old log building tore down and built up. And you know the rest of this story. Serrano's Mexican Restaurant is one of the most successful business's west of the Mississippi River. Those strawberry daiquiris and blended margaritas go down like none other. Pat toasted me with his personal stash of fine Tequila on my 60th birthday. As Augustus McRae, Texas Ranger, said, "it's been quite the party." And it all started at Bear Creek Ranch.<br />
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<br />Bear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234322229047233900.post-3722590738235191752016-01-08T14:45:00.000-08:002016-01-08T14:50:24.805-08:00Me and Cliven Bundy<br />
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I was with a student this past fall, in a practicum setting, in an office, at the University of Montana. She was a foreign student, a long way from home in Asia, with a rudimentary knowledge of the English language, very soft spoken, and beyond quiet, both in her spoken word and physical presence. I spent an hour each week for two months in a therapeutic setting as we attempted to make sense of her loneliness and isolation in a foreign country and culture. On more than one occasion I saw tears slowly drip down her cheeks, the result of too little communication with the world around her, and an inability to develop new relationships in a strange new world. I happened to be eating lunch one day in the University Center, having grabbed a chair off by itself, or so I thought, and after having a few words with a colleague, turned my head and not three feet from me, alone as well, was the young lady I just described in the words above. I'd been sitting there for at least ten minutes and I hadn't seen her specifically nor had I been aware of anyone even in the vicinity. All that time, and that close proximity, and I hadn't said Hi, nor had she.<br />
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After a mildly awkward "Hi, how are you?" I went about my business, continued reading, and wondered how I would make my exit without engaging in conversation, an action that is not recommended in the world of therapeutic counseling. The rule of thumb is that counselors don't acknowledge clients in the "outside" world, but do so if addressed first. And regardless, we keep it short and sweet. After ten minutes or so I made my farewell, quietly, and without what would be for me in other circumstances, a hearty and heartfelt farewell. I just left.<br />
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I just got up and left that poor, lonely, and socially isolated girl, in her chair, with no one else around, and I hadn't said a word to her upon leaving. I was stuck, just plain stuck, caught between a rock and hard place, stuck between the ethics of the therapeutic environment I have pledged an oath to and my own personal creed of human relationship and kindness. But I blew it. I walked out without one word and I left.<br />
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There was a next session and I made it a point, right at the get go, to explain my lack of courtesy to her, and to give to her my sincerest apology. I should have acknowledged her as I left the lunch room, even if with just a few words. My actions that previous week should have been exactly what I've always felt a kinship to, and that is acknowledging, developing and maintaining relationships with the people around me. I haven't always been successful but the effort is important, even if it's awkward, out of place, and in the end, doesn't work. The plain fact of the matter is that the odds are in one's favor with even less than one's best effort.<br />
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I've been in the guest ranch business for more than forty years and for the greatest part of that time at Bear Creek Ranch in northern Montana. One could make the case for the importance of developing close relationships in the very specific guest business I'm in. That makes alot of sense. The plain fact of the matter is however, that the development and maintenance of personal relationships is a critical component of almost any association, business, team, or gathering of human beings anywhere. The nature of the interpersonal relationships of people in any form can be the defining quality that separates failure from success and from misery to happiness. I've seen it in the flesh on too many occasions as I'm sure you have as well, and I suspect, if the truth were known, we've all been party to the bad end of relationships that with some thought and effort could have been avoided.<br />
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That being said, a huge part of the success that I've had at Bear Creek Ranch has been through the growth and maintenance of the relationships that I have been able to nurture over the course of three and a half decades. I couldn't have made it all these years without many very key friendships that have stood the test of time. Some come and sadly, some go, but the ones that remain are like battle hardened old war horses. I am and always will be eternally grateful for those that are.<br />
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Ya' know, it's pretty hard to operate in this world, under any circumstances, without some sort of a network of family or friends. I've seen that better than ever the past few years and I've begun to see the scars that begin to emerge of the psyche of the human soul when one does attempt to navigate the world of the social animal alone, solo. It rarely works. I'm grateful for even the modest success I've had and rueful that I've left a few in the dust. I guess if one is beyond the middle zone on the graph of human sociability then you're rolling ahead of the curve.<br />
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So here's to all of you, family and friends, here's to all of us. Let our days ahead be full of joy and spirit, dignity and faith, and to everyone, the best New Year ever!<br />
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Oh yeah, Cliven Bundy fits in somewhere. I just don't know where!<br />
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<br />Bear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234322229047233900.post-38854527037643518752015-12-13T15:26:00.002-08:002015-12-13T15:30:29.888-08:00No Place Like Home... Reflections<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hair, Hippies, and Here</div>
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I remember doing the radio show in the nineties. The Hi Line Sportsman it was called. I did an anti-environmental commentary for five to ten minutes a couple times a week. Back in those days I was a pissed off permittee of the Unites States Forest Cervix, and pissed off and pissed on I was. Truth be known, I did most of the pissing and in fairness to the whole deal I was, how should I put this, given a whole lot of latitude. But that was then and this is now although I do recall taking lots of shots at the University of Montana or as I not very fondly referred to it as "the school of nuts and raisins." Between the professional apparatus at the U pumping out up and coming bureaucrats into the system and my inability to survive as a servant of that mentally vacuous machine I lost the war. I still get pissed off thinking about that but time does have a way of softening past blows and things change. </div>
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Like, here I am, in Missoula, Montana, a bunch of years later (doing graduate work) and it ain't as bad as I thought it might be. Granted, I'm not ensconced in the bowels of the school of natural resources every day listening to the drivel of the environmental aristocracy lecturing to their worshiping, brainwashed pupils. Thank God. Truth be known, I do have relapses of PTSD as I work my through the smattering of mare hippies waiting for their sushi and latte in the UC cafeteria. I can smell 'em a mile away. That said, I've mellowed, I can live with 'em, at a distance! I shudder to think they'll be part of that corporate natural resource intelligentsia, that part of which is still so foreign, and yes, repulsive to me. But, I've mellowed, changed. Nevertheless, the following are some thoughts on the whole matter and more.</div>
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I'm still a huge fan of "Range" magazine, the bible of the American West. There isn't a day that goes by when an issue of some critical nature, whether it be wolves, climate change, private property rights, endangered species, etc. and although I may listen to any number of opinions myself, and even have a few, I ultimately lean back on the words of wisdom of "Range." "Range is an award winning quarterly devoted to the issues that threaten the American West, its people, lifestyles, lands, and wildlife. Range is a leading forum for opposing viewpoints in the search for solutions that will halt the depletion of a national resource- the American cowboy." Range is where I go to when I'm confused, angry, or even bitter. I can't look to books, lectures, and the pontification<br />
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of professional intellectuals for wisdom. I look to the working men and women on the ground on the front lines. The search for true wisdom comes from the men or women who've battled in the trenches of real life on farms and ranches from coast to coast. Their stories are written on the pages of "Range" magazine every other month. I urge you to google them up and see for yourself.</div>
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The wolf issue in the American West has died down quite a bit. I can recall the subject first getting broached with me at a meeting some Forest Service officials in the backcountry in the late 1980's. I think they thought I was of a new breed of cat, forward thinking, and probably amenable to the new world order of wolf reintroduction and recovery in the American West. That evening may have been the beginning of my undoing as a new, fresh faced permittee of the corporation. I'd only seen a few wolves up to that point in my entire life and it wasn't the wolf itself that initially ran shivers down my spine, it was the attendant flood of bureaucracy that I knew would follow. The wolf issue has always been as much about the role of an alien societal presence and role of government in our lives as it has been about just the presence of the wolf itself. That conflict still rages, even when it isn't making headlines. That's further reason why you should always go to bed with the "bible" of the American West on your nightstand. </div>
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And back to the county and town of Missoula, Montana. Prior to my first school year in town I did have some apprehension about the liberal bias and makeup of the community, and certainly the university. My nervousness hasn't been justified by the experience I've had in "Zootown." With only some to be expected exceptions, living in and going to school in Missoula has been a pleasure. I've found the town to be a hardworking, middle class enclave surrounding a university that hasn't lived up to the wacky reputation I gave it. I'm all for good discussion and intelligent discourse on almost any issue and a university atmosphere is the perfect place for that. I've met quite a few students and professionals from every discipline the college has to offer and have yet to have a heated, unreasonable discussion with anyone. Missoula is growing at a reasonable rate, real estate prices seem to be in the norm, and trophy homes and gated communities haven't yet found fertile ground for germination. Yeah, there's always a rub. That lack of uber-wealth in Missoula and the surrounding area is a good thing. Take a look at Gallatin County and the town of Bozeman and you're staring at a phenomenon that is as much a threat to the quality of life in the American West as the advent of wolf generation was twenty years ago.</div>
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It wasn't too many years ago and a ranch was worth what a ranch was worth. That is, it was worth the price of the buildings, the number of cows, and the amount of land. Oh to be sure, there were other items of value like water rights, hay meadows, road access, and the like. That's changed. Have you taken a look at the value of working ranches now, in 2015? Well, once they're sold, the majority of them won't be working ranches anymore. The working ranch and the families that have operated them for more than two centuries are slowly but surely disappearing, the casualties of the erosion of the family farm and ranch to the mega wealth of American society. I know that's a tough one to get your head wrapped around. Success has always been wrapped up in the American dream, work hard and get rich. I see that but I don't get it. The plain fact of the matter is that large farms and ranches are being bought up, fenced off, and taken out of production, In many cases, the owners become absentee landlords, hire a caretaker, and visit when the weather is good, the trout fishing is at it's peak, and the skiing is at its best. Now how in the hell does that square up with the very wisdom we were looking at when I started this rant? It doesn't. And all I can hope is that you get yourself a copy of Range magazine right now. Then get a subscription, and get a real job.</div>
Bear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234322229047233900.post-12828371988451363642015-01-28T18:05:00.000-08:002015-01-28T18:17:14.829-08:00Keystone Pipeline Beer<br />
North to Polar Bears, South to Old Mexico<br />
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It's about time. A gallon of gas in Montana can be had for a buck 98 now. That's a helluva deal. Diana just got home from her annual winter trip to Aruba and filled up the Mercedes for less than a hundred bucks. That's about half of what we were paying for a tank of gas just this past summer. The price of gas is making everyone feel pretty good. More money to buy beer. When you think about it, a six pack of cheap beer, say Keystone for example, is about twice as expensive as a gallon of gas. That's cool. I always know there was a correlation between beer and gasoline. Makes perfect sense doesn't it? I doubt you're following my train of thought on the subject and you're probably wondering what the hell I'm talking about. Well, I'm not too sure myself but I'll give it a better go. Ready?<br />
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Alright, so we're getting gasoline at the pump at prices we haven't seen since the last century. And we are feeling pretty good about that. We've got a few extra bucks lying around and the economy is picking up even more steam as we slowly but surely emerge from the recent economic slump. The price of oil has a lot of influence on the overall economic health of not only our economy and well being but as well on the international economic picture. Let's face it, on those levels, oil is the world's drug of choice. We get high when there's lots of it and go into withdrawal when it's scarce. For the time being, however, let's just assume that we're on a good roll that may last a while. Life is good at the pump. Keep on pumping.<br />
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I know what happens when gas is cheap. Guess. We consume a hell of a lot more of it than we do when it's above three dollars a gallon. I've gone months without filling up my truck and forking over a hundred and fifty bucks at $3.89 s gallon. That's a chunk of change I don't always have handy. Now, hell, I won't think twice about filling up and heading down the highway for business or pleasure. I've got people and places I want to go see now that I can afford to. (And by the way, I was just pulling your drawers about Diana going to Aruba on holiday. She went to East Glacier to get the mail).<br />
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The problem with that nifty scenario is that when gas is cheap and life is good we do act like a society of junkies. And you know what Neil Young said about that don't 'ya? "Every junkie's like a setting sun, (Needle and the Damage Done, 1970)." I may be acting a bit melodramatic at this point but I can't help but be thinking about Keystone Beer and Keystone Oil. Shouldn't the oil cost more than the beer? If we're tallkin' Michelob Ultra, or better yet, Moose Drool, our local favorite, I'd be drinking oil. There's the rub. We'll be consuming oil like it's a premier beer unless and until the price of oil goes back up to where it should be.<br />
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I know, you're ready to kick my ass. Why in the hell do I want to see the price of oil to get high and stay high? Well, it's because many years ago I did one of the greatest hunts of my lifetime in the far northeast corner of Alberta, hard up against the Northwest Territories border and not far from Saskatchewan. That trip to the bush of Alberta was one of the highlights of my life. We hunted out of a small cabin on a remote lake, only reachable by float plane. And we were in the bush, as they say. There wasn't much in the way of civilization in front of us, in back, or to the side of us for hundreds of miles. I think Great Slave Lake was somewhere between us and the Arctic Circle. And when I sauntered off for a morning hunt I was pretty darned careful about checking my back track, not wanting to to be spending the winter holed up in a polar bear den. I hunted some of the most beautiful, primitive country I'd ever been in up to that point in my life. And to top that off, I killed a big bull moose that to this day hangs on the wall of our ranch house in Montana. The kicker to that story is that where I hunted that weekend in Alberta more than twenty years ago is where the oil for the Keystone Oil Pipeline is coming from. I'ts coming from the Alberta Tar Sands.<br />
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I've thought on many occasions what that country might look like now and I don't want to imagine too hard. I'd imagine it doesn't look too much like it did back then. I've heard stories. I've not heard good stories about the exploration and extraction of the tar sands from that once pristine region up north. It breaks my heart. So how in the hell can I think good things about the most likely forthcoming construction of a pipeline from there to the Gulf Coast of Texas, carrying the oily residue of a scorched earth policy of strip mining the very country I walked on when I was young? I can't do it.<br />
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From this point on in this writing I have a bad feeling that the more I write the more I'll be getting in over my head. The subject matter gets pretty complex from here on out so I'll keep it simple and have it said. Hey, I know we need oil, for our cars, trucks, industry, military, the whole enchilada. I know that. I also know, and so do you, that we need lots of big tracts of unspoiled country with lots of fresh air and water. We don't just want it, we need it (Jagger, Richards, 1975). We're beginning to experience a "going, going, gone kind of mentality that should be suited to a more primitive culture than what I'd like to believe we could be. I only have to think ahead a decade or two and don't like what I fear we might all see on this abused planet of ours. I don't want to pay three or four dollars a gallon for gas any more than you do. I also don't want to see that precious country that I hunted when I was young treated like a whore in old Mexico a century ago.<br />
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Jobs. Oh yeah, that's the conundrum. They say there's thousands of jobs waiting for you, both in northern Alberta, and along the path the Keystone pipeline will traverse. Maybe and maybe not. I've heard both sides of that coin and for the record, low gas prices have already, right now and as we speak, slowed things down in the oil patch. So hold onto to that thought for a bit and in the meantime, if jobs or the lack thereof, are the thorn in the side of the most ardent supporters of Keystone XL Pipeline, why not get a little forward thinking and encourage an onslaught of research and development in massive wind and solar technology. Instead of "drill baby drill, (S. Palin)" we go to "build baby build, (W. Beck, 2021))." They both employ lots of labor and the money is good. Neither scenario is perfect and not without it's own respective good and poor points. But I'll bet you a case of Moose Drool beer that the environmental impact on this good earth of ours will be substantially improved if we can graduate to a more pragmatic way to move forward.<br />
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I think the whole deal is a whole lot less complex than any of us want to recognize. I know, in my case, it doesn't take a whole lot of imagining of the landscape in the tar sands country then, when it was primitive, and in it's prime, and now, chewed up, and spit out, to know which way I want to see us go. So I've to to take it back to Neil, "I've seen the needle and damage done, a little part of it in everyone, but every junkie's like the setting sun, (N.Young, Needle and the Damage Done, 1970)."<br />
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Here's to Keystone Beer, Here's to Keystone Oil, For what it's worth,<br />
" Let's drink to the Salt of the Earth, (Jagger, Richards, 1977)"Bear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234322229047233900.post-39873236581468842432015-01-11T18:31:00.000-08:002015-01-11T18:31:54.436-08:00The Big Muscanetcong River<b>"The average American child can recognize 1,000 corporate logos but can't identify 10 plants or animals native to his or her own region."</b> Quite frankly, I can't figure out who is responsible for that quote. It may have been my facebook friend Oscar Williams 1V. It have been any man on the street. It darned sure could have been anybody, period. I've been struggling with the entire concept of the world of technology slowly but surely (and not very slowly) taking over the lives of our children, and our own lives, to be sure. More so than ever, it's become more and more obvious that the attachment our younger generation has with technology has begun to wash away the sense and sensibility that it once had. I didn't have to stare bug eyed at the quote beginning this writing to know that the world of cell phones, i-phones, i-pads, laptops, desktops, kindles, etc. has replaced the natural world of spiders, snakes, tadpoles, salamanders, fish, deer, rhinos, and elephants. The world that is inside a classroom, an office, an internet cafe, a library, and even your living room, is not the living, breathing world under the blue sky and sun that started it all but appears to be fading into the past like a sunset on a bad day.<br />
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My life has changed significantly this past year. I've begun a two year odyssey of learning at a university in Montana. It's been forty years since I graduated from college but it seems like four hundred, particularly in the world of internet technology. I've been operating from behind the eight ball for several months trying to catch up with the new way of doing business. I did buy a computer in 1987 and got half savvy with it but clearly, didn't take my computer education very far. Hell, I was busy fishing, hunting, roping, riding good horses, and thoroughly enjoying everything I could under the sun, literally. Now I'm paying for it. I watch my classmates barely listen to a lecture while typing their notes on computer generated power points on their Apple laptops with their facebook or hotmail app available with a quick click. Following a class, those i-phones are out before they are out of their chairs, their fingers working so smoothly on those ridiculously small keys. They make it look easy. If I used a laptop in class it would be a disaster. My fingers would fumble through those keys. I'd be missing keys and opening new programs, shutting down and starting up, cursing through my clenched jaws, and defeating the whole purpose of being in class.<br />
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But I'd rather be me than them. To be sure, I'm surrounded by a whole bunch of good people. Smart, savvy students who kick my ass every day in class and on exams and papers. I'm struggling with my lack of electronic savvy. I spent two worrisome weeks not long ago wondering how I could record an interview without a tape recorder for a major mid-term project. The solution was ridiculously easy. Use a cell phone. I did. But I had no clue, until I asked a fellow student and lamely admitted my total ignorance of the whole process.<br />
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My whole point regarding the schism between my own lack of IT knowledge and the vast breadth of ability the vast majority of the learned populace does have is the length and depth they have had to go to acquire that knowledge they have, and at what cost. The learning our world is doing is in fromt of a set of keys, electronically connected to the cyber world and it's particular and peculiar keyboard. I see it every hour of every day on campus. I d<br />
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o see a Montana Sky, big tall trees, squirrels in them, deer hiding behind them. I see the sun, when it's out, and the stars, when they are. And I can feel the wind blow in my face on long walks, and I can hear the river flowing under the bridges I cross. But I also see students staring intently into their cellphones, unaware of me passing by, heads down. Many of them have earphones plugged in. They are almost totally lost in cyber space. Hell, they don't see me, certainly don't hear me, and wouldn't know their ass from a hole in the ground if they were gonna' get their ass kicked by a gut shot grizzly bear that came from around the corner. They are fucking oblivious.<br />
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I was relaying a story to classmates about a particular grizzly bear that I followed one evening in hunting camp many years ago at a distance of just a few yards, as I attempted to blast a full lungful of bear spray at the renegade griz. Most of those listening had expressions of non belief on their faces. I simply wasn't making any sense to most of them. The story wasn't registering. I suspect, however, that if they'd heard the same event on Animal Planet or seen it on Yahoo News it might have rung a few more brain cells. <br />
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I know we're a highly educated nation. I know my grandson is getting a good education at a top notch public school. He already runs the keyboard on his electronic toys more nimbly than I can only dream of doing. I'm sixty three and he's four. But I want Elias to know a white oak tree when he sees one. I want him to know a gray squirrel when he's on a walk. Or better yet, the difference between a non venomous black snake and a cottonmouth moccasin.. How about the difference between a white tailed deer and an elk he may very well see this coming summer on his visit to our ranch on the edge of Glacier National Park.<br />
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He won't know how to bait a hook, cast it into Bear Creek, and understand where the trout might be lying on that particular piece of fresh water. Is that a brookie or a cutthroat he just caught? "What do I do now Grandpa? Can we eat it?" I'll help him catch that fish and I'll show him how to clean it and get it ready for the frying pan. But I'll only do that once. Then he's on his own. I'll also try to get Elias to keep his eyes open, not just to be aware of what's around him but also to keep his eyes open to the sun and the sky, to the creek and to the pasture, to the horses and to the herd of elk, to the still air and the gentle summer breezes. He can't that get that stuff back East. He won't get it in a classroom. It won't happen in front of a computer screen, except in virtual reality and that doesn't really count does it? Elias does have a real advantage however, and I am aware of that. His Mom and Dad are pretty keen to the outdoors and they'll bring him a long way in that part of his life But many kids won't have that chance. They'll get smart in school. They may become good lawyers, builders, or teachers. But they won't know the difference between an oak and a maple, or a black from a grizzly bear. Or the beauty of a black night in Montana lit up by the northern lights.<br />
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I caught my first trout when I was 12 years old on a creek in New Jersey. That was one of the highlights of my life up to that point. I was on my own, had found the stretch of creek I wanted to fish, baited my own hook, and caught my first brookie. I screamed with Joy. That creek was cold and clear and far enough away from the madding crowd that the whole beautiful experience is one I remember to this day. God I hope it isn't too late.Bear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234322229047233900.post-43155422127883188362013-03-10T19:54:00.001-07:002013-03-11T11:01:18.163-07:00No Direction Home<iframe frameborder="0" height="0" src="http://stats.townnews.com/mtstandard.com/?title=Major%20Yellowstone%20elk%20herd%20continues%20steep%20decline&referrer=&domain=mtstandard.com&uri=/news/state-and-regional/major-yellowstone-elk-herd-continues-steep-decline/article_546b83f3-fde0-564a-ad4b-91b287389faa.html%3Fprint%3Dtrue%26cid%3Dprint" style="height: 0px; position: absolute; width: 0px;" width="0"></iframe><br />
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<h1>
Major Yellowstone elk herd continues steep decline</h1>
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<span class="pubdate">March 08, 2013 10:13 am</span> • <span class="byline">Associated Press</span></div>
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BILLINGS — A major elk herd that migrates between Yellowstone National Park and Montana continues to decline in size, with scientists reporting it now has fewer than 4,000 animals.<br />
Scientists from the park and the Montana Department of Fish Wildlife and Parks said the Northern Yellowstone elk herd is down 6 percent this winter, to 3,915 animals.<br />
The herd peaked at about 20,000 animals in 1992. That was just a few years before gray wolves were reintroduced to the Yellowstone area from Canada after being absent from the region for decades.<br />
Also taking a toll on the herd have been hunters, other predators including mountain lions and bears, and harsh winters.<br />
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Part 1<br />
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Ahhhh. Finally, as they say, "the cold hard facts." There's no ambiguity, no distortion, no justification, just the cold hard facts baby. And don't they just slap you in the face like a glass of cold water on an even colder day. And I underscore the previous paragraphs' numbers as in a ball game where there is no room to wiggle. The numbers are what they are. I repeat, those numbers don't lie. They are 20,000 to 3900 from 1992 to 2013. As in the numbers of elk that have decreased in the Northern Yellowstone Elk Herd the past twenty years. Suck on that one for a while.<br />
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And in the meantime ask yourself that cold hard question; "how did it get this far?" And as Don Corleone replied to his own rhetorical question of the same five words regarding the war his family was in with the other families he answered philosophically but sadly "I don't know."<br />
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Unlike the Don's answer however, we do know how we got this far as that pertains to the crushing loss of one of this nations' greatest national resources, the Northern Yellowstone Elk Herd. And before I proceed with my personal thoughts and opinions on the matter I also want to share with you, the reader, that I do recognize the wolf reintroduction and recovery issue is an emotional, volatile, and very divisive one that not many of us will agree upon, to say the very least. Frankly, that statement may be considered one of the great understatements of the century! That being said, I feel that I must set my record straight on the matter and win, lose, or draw, stand up and be counted. I have to. I owe it to myself and anyone who is interested in listening.<br />
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It's been years since I've thought as hard and I hope sincerely, about an issue as I have about the one at hand. And for the record, as a bit of backdrop for you and to get the following out of the way I have no professional axe to grind. I don't hunt or outfit hunters anymore. Those days are gone. I don't know why they're gone but they are. I don't even kill fish. Believe it or not, I have no desire to kill a wolf. None. If someone else wants of hunt or trap wolves, for whatever reason, have at it. Be my guest. Yes, we do run livestcock at our place here, horses for the most part, and yes again, there is that possibility that we could run into problems with wolves in the future. But so far, so good. Let's leave it at that.<br />
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I'd like to come at the matter from several perspectives that in my opinion, have not been given enough attention and credence these past years. Perhaps first and foremost, the Northern Yellowstone Elk Herd is (was) a national resource, one of the continents true national treasures. To the national public and certainly the montana populace, the herd has given this country some of its' greatest natural experience and exposure as in the many decades long exposure in the park itself signified by hundreds of thousands of pictures of elk in the park disseminated in so many venues and becoming burned into the collective memories of so many Americans. And on a lesser but just as critical level to the overwhelming majority of Montana citizens those elk represent a state national treasure because they are just that. Yes, the joy that Montanans have exhibited because of the herd both as a source of pride due to its' size but also because of that presence the same joy and smile on the faces of Montana hunters in the fall. Say what you will about hunting in Montana but say it out of the hearing of Montanans and quite frankly mind your own business. Yes, hunting is a sacred rite of passage in the fall of each year. And by God, I hope it remains so in the years ahead. <br />
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Hunting is a Montana tradition participated in and enjoyed by Montanans. Elk hunting in the Northern Yellowstone country north of the park has been part of the states' DNA for most of the states' history. Following the North American model of modern game management the elk herd in and north of the park had grown for years in spite of the yearly hunting season. The late season hunts that were designed to manage those elk migrating out of the park into southern Montana not only were a successful management tool but also brought much needed revenue into the state coffers and local business but more importantly, great joy to the Montana hunting public. Those late season hunts are no more and <noscript>g src="http://b.scorecardresearch.com/p?c1=2&c2=10345586&cv=2.0&cj=1" /></noscript><!-- ComScore:End --><!-- Quantcast -->
quite clearly, the void that has been left in its place is a sad reminder of things so good that turned so bad.
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I suspect that you've heard the argument I've just made in defence of elk, hunting, and tradition. Those thoughts need to be elucidated but they are only the thin crust of the greater discussion. There is so much more beneath the surface, beneath the crust of the debate that bores into the heart of the matter, deep into the soul of Montana and the most sacred western way of life. The heart of that matter is that Montana, in this case, stands on its' own two feet and in its' own identity. We can apply that axiom to any of the fifty states that pertains to their own specific and particular unique qualities that make them what they all are, separate and distinct entities. The unique qualities that make Montana what it is should not be abridged or "tread upon" by outside forces that can in fact slowly but surely erode the qualities that have made the state and its' citizenry so attractive throughout its' history.<br />
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Well, that last paragraph may sound a bit fancy so I'll try to get to the "heart of the matter" in a less sophisticated manner if I may. It's this; Montana is what it is because it is what it is! How's that? Montana, and the West, for that matter, separate themselves as a state, a region, and a way of life. As we're supposed to. Montana became the "last best place" because of what we've been and what we are. Not because of our affinity or similarity to New Jersey, New York, or North Dakota. And thank God for that! Montana is special and unique, for right or wrong, because we are what we are.<br />
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As those last two paragraphs pertain to the modern inclusion of wolves into the web of animal and human life in Montana one must always keep in mind that the people of Montana may not always adhere to and do what you think is ethically, morally, or politically correct. Why? Well, to cut to the chase the answser is the following; you don't live here. The wolf issue is not necesarily one that can be clearly debated as to its' right or wrong merits. It only matters that Montanans recognize what they feel is right or wrong as it applies to themselves. That is as it should be.<br />
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The future of the Northern Yellowstone Elk Herd lies "in the balance" so to speak. The last word hasn't been spoken quite yet. There's still time to save a national and state resource but time is getting short. As Bob Dylan also said in addition to the title of this piece, "it ain't dark but it's gettin' there."<br />
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Bear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234322229047233900.post-58867074322382882392013-02-21T15:16:00.000-08:002013-02-21T16:14:15.235-08:00Horsemanship; An Unfinished Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I spend more time than I'd like behind a desk, a computer and all the trappings of modern office work in front of me. Winter's are the worst of all for long periods of confinement. I'm at my desk right now and at the moment looking out the window to my left and the snow level past the half way point of the window height. It's mid February and I've been dreaming of an early Spring. After two feet of snow the night before last I'm not so sure! We get blasted with winter weather up here at the ranch, which lies deep in the heart of the northern Rockies. But ironically, within a half hours' drive east and out of the weather capturing mountains that surround us I can find bare ground and a shining sun, even during the coldest days of the winter. I'll be heading that way tomorrow. I've got several horses to put shoes on for a good friend and a herd of my own to check. So I look forward to doing what I do best.<br />
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During the course of a winter at Bear Creek Ranch I do receive an enormous number of phone calls from folks interested in one of our many in- season events. Normally, those inquiries are directed at one of our horse oriented special events that we put on about every other week during a very busy summer. In many cases, as has been proven so many times over the years, that first call may very well lead to a booking, then a vacation and a friendship that may last a lifetime. We do some pretty unique and adventurous trail rides, cattle drives on the Blackfeet Reservation, and even lessons and clinics in our round pen and sand arena at our ranch. I've been at this business for a long time and if anything our existance here has always been a work in progress both from a business standpoint but also from a human service prespective. Let me explain; <br />
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One of the really fun and rewarding special events we offer is a week called "Pure Horsemanship." It's a week of intense and immense immersion into the world of horses. We train, we teach, we ride, we eat well, and we visit like we're long lost cousins. And we all have one helluva good time doing so. Our common interest during the course of that week is the horse. That's the thread that binds us and helps begin the relationship that will in many cases last a lifetime. Over the course of many years of teaching and demonstrating horsemanship skills to the public I've never encountered any blatant disrespect or disregard for my equine knowledge or teaching skills. I think one of the reasons I've managed to stay above the "fray", for lack of a better word, is because I'm pretty modest about the knowledge level I do have. Horsemanship is one of those disciplines that never ceases to remind you that the more you learn the more you realize you don't know. And furthermore, as I've said so many times, at about the time you begin to think you're pretty handy is about the time you end up on your back side! So I try to remain humble and instill that same level of modesty in any guest that enters our little universe at the ranch. That philosophy has worked pretty well over the years.<br />
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I did get a phone call a week ago from a lady interested in our week of "Pure Horsemanship." She explained to me she was interested in doing alot of outside riding and not as keen on the teaching and training we do during our morning sessions. After all, she was well beyond basic horsemanship and had been riding her entire adult life, or so she said. I didn't say a whole lot back to her nor did I find myself with an opening to respond so I let it be. I did very politely invite her to call back but rather doubt I will hear from her. Well, that very short conversation stuck with me for days and quite frankly, troubled me. I couldn't quite put my finger on exactly what troubled me but I think I do know now.<br />
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You see, the world of horses and the people who love them for nothing more than what they are sometimes allow things to get a little more complex than what they need to be. In the equine world of today we've witnessed the introduction and immersion of television, video, hi profile personalities, and enormous marketing and advertising of those modern day entities into what should be a very simple, direct, and honest discipline. Before I comment any further about that specific subject matter I want to emphasize that learning how to ride and then getting in the saddle and riding is the only way to learn how to ride. You've got to give yourself, and give OF yourself the "want to" in the process of developing the mental and physical tools to get you started. And when I say "start" I mean that. I'm almost getting too complex at this moment and what I am wanting to tell you is that if you want to learn everything you can in the equine world the best way is to just plumb flat do it. With or without help.<br />
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I want to repeat once again that the world of horses is a big one and given time will take you in any number of different directions. You may start out trail riding in groups, then you'll begin to ride by yourself as your confidence builds. I rode trails for years and years, by myself, in groups, leading groups on hunts and summer pack trips. Developing that comfort level and confidence while<br />
pounding out the miles in every type of terrain over days, months, and years isn't a bad way to get going. In my case I can't help but feel that having that type of background both to harden up mentally and physicall didn't hurt a bit over the long haul. When I started to rope, team pen, and even train my own and outside horses the time I'd put in and the experiences I'd had along the way, both good and bad, really cemented a foundation that I wouldn't have ever had otherwise.<br />
Everyone takes a different path in their own equine education. Many riders will make that turn to more sophisticated disciplines in the horse world much quicker than I did. Some folks will turn to rodeo, some to polo, others to eventing, polo, racing, and the list goes on. But once again, the common thread that runs through every decent horse loving human being is their love for the horse itself and perhaps almost as critically, a respect for each others' humility in each particular field. Those two elements are keys to the kingdom as it were and one without the other defines the title of this piece, "horsemanship; an unfinished life."<br />
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As I look ahead to the coming season we do have a week scheduled that we do call "Pure Horsemanship." I'd imagine we'll bring together a group of perhaps a dozen guests. During the course of the "Pure Horsemanship" week we'll ride, ride, and ride some more. But we'll also spend time in the round pen and the arena both training young horses and then riding some of them in our large sand arena. And we'll all do our fair share of visiting, and most certainly, once again, the biggest single topic will be exactly why we're all together, and that is to learn not just more about each other but about the horses we're riding. I look forward to each week of Pure Hosemanship like a kid in a candy store. We'll cover a whole lot of territory both on the ground and during our visits with each other and in small groups. And one thing we'll emphasize right from day one will be the nature of the business and that is the humility and help we'll all show each other all day and every day. In the horse world, as I've always said, no one is made to feel superior, inferior, or posterior! We'll all make mistakes, look goofy from time to time, and even wish no one was watching, when in fact they were! But that's how you get better and grow not just as a horseman, but as a human being.<br />
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I can recall doing a half day riding clinic in our arena not too many years back with about a dozen guests from all over the country. About an hour into our morning event I began to recognize that the horse I was riding was acting a bit cold backed. Well, I didn't pay enough attention to that condition at that time and while completely surrounded by novice riders while talking about correct riding posture and stirrup lengths I found myself airborn and quite quickly on my back looking up. Was I embarrassed? Hell yeah! Talk about humility slapping you right in the face. But you know what? I brushed myself off, got off my rear end and mounted right back up. A good lesson for me and a better lesson for my guests in the "what not to do category."<br />
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So back to the lady with the attitude; I don't imagine she'd do real well here. She'd be a pain in my rear end I think and even worse, she'd quite possibly be the rotten apple that no one would want to be around. The flip side of that coin is she ain't gonna' be here and we'll all be the better off for it!<br />
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Bear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234322229047233900.post-84041925322211118762013-01-31T15:52:00.001-08:002013-01-31T15:55:05.779-08:00Evolution on HorsebackI think it was the fall of 1990 when it happened. And maybe it had something to do with age. I'd been a pretty hard hunter up to that point in time. And prior to that time in my life I'd always been more than eager to get off my horse and hit the brush on two feet in pursuit of elk. Many of the big bulls in the area of the Bob Marshall Wilderness, where I did the majority of our big game hunts for clients from all over the world, spent most of their days in the brush and timber along the creek beds and adjacent to avalanche chutes. In other words, you had to get on foot and dog the heavy stuff with a cow call and bugle in hand sometimes on your hands and knees. That kind of country doesn't suit being on the back of a horse. It just doesn't work and futhermore you can hurt a horse taking a high step over timber with protruding stobs capable of opening up your mounts' belly and besides you just don't get too far in the thick stuff. You'll come to a stop sooner than later. It's just better to tie off your horse in an opening and use the legs you were given to go find elk.<br />
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There's an expansive amount of real good country directly adjacent to a mountain I used to hunt and for one reason or another Bench Mountain always seemed quite a bit drier and more open than so much of the country to the west. I'd use one of two trails to access Bench and more so than not I'd ride up and over the top of it and hunt so many of the sparsely timbered ridges and basins that were rarely ever seen, much less hunted during the course of a year. And the neat thing about hunting the high country is you can ride a horse about anywhere and at the same time see half the world from where ever you are and even better yet, still find an occasional bull. Plus, the buck hunting up high is phenomenal. And the sun shines! <br />
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Being horseback up in the high country and riding big country mile after mile is one of this world's greatest feelings, probably the second best. I loved just riding, cruising the alpine country at or even above timberline. My hunting success suffered some although with some hard work I could usually find a bull or so for a client and if worse came to worse we could find mule deer in the rimrock or pocket timber. Nevertheless, I began to recognize that my days of scratching and clawing my way through thick timber and alder thickets were over. Enough of that. <br />
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I got to the point within a very short time when I began to bring three horses into camp for an eight day hunt, just for myself. A man has got to be riding a good horse all the time and if you've got access to three ponies well then all the better. We rode 17 miles just to get to camp and each day after that was about that tough combined with the up and down nature of the riding in rugged country. So I'd normally put two days on a horse and then switch off to a fresh mount. That worked pretty good. <br />
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The other thing that began to occur in the early 90's was I'd developed a real passion for roping. I got the roping bug pretty bad. Now believe me when I tell you that when that particular bug hits you there's some serious ramifications that occur, like buying rope horses for example. A good friend once told me that I'd never seen a horse I didn't want. And there was some truth to that statement. So as you can probably imagine that is exactly what I did. Buy rope horses that is. And rope horses aren't cheap, even the bad ones! I got in a little bit over my head but then again, I surely enjoy riding the good ones. Still do! The rest of the outfit were riding the big boned grade stock we used in the backcountry and I rode fancy rope horses.<br />
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I even remember the epiphany of sorts I had riding the Bench Mountain trail one fine Autmn Day. Myself and a fine gentleman from Pennsylvania had filled his tags for elk and deer and with the pressure off we were just cruising the country, sun out, sky blue, nothing but rugged peaks and far away ridges in sight, and above all, riding good horses. Old Doc didn't know what he was riding but he was happy. And I was riding "Pos", or as his papers said, Positivio Bar something or another. In any case, a registered quarter horse and one fine looking animal. Pos could rope on both ends, barrel race, and rode like a champ in the backcountry. I think at that particular moment that day I recognized that the biggest pleasures I'd begun to have were simply riding a good horse in good country. The hunting itself had become less of a priority and as I think back on it the riding had become my greatest joy. <br />
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During the course of our lives most of us take a different curve in the road every so often. I did. I was blessed for a long period of time with two separate hunting concessions in one of the most spectacular wilderness areas in the lower 48, that being the Bob Marshall Wilderness. Those days were precious and my memories are long. But as I've alluded, after twenty years my passion for that life in the mountains waned. Operating a big game outfitting business in the wilderness is a tough go and a young man's game. The flip side of that coin is we've replaced the hunts with real good riding in easier but no less spectacular country. Our ranch is completely surrounded by mountains and we still do our occasional slow ride in the tough country just to the south but we also trailer our horses to the foothills and the rolling praire to the east of us. Our Riding the Four Winds adventure allows us to ride in four different locations from the mountains to the foothills to the high plains of northern Montana and then even finish off the week moving cattle for two days. How can you beat that?<br />
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Probably one of our greatest thrills is moving our operation to the Rumney Ranch on the Milk River up near the Canadian border. We join up with Beau and Suzy and their outfit and help them move a couple thousand head of cattle over the course of the week. Nothing but fun. We visit, eat together, and get the job done. And talk about riding good horses. Between our horses and theirs we're riding some real good stuff. And moving cattle in some of the greatest country you'll ever see. At this point in my life it doesn't get any better. <br />
<br />
As I write this piece in my office I'm looking out at several feet of snow and I can't help but think of the horses we'll be working with this Spring once the snow has melted and the temperature has risen substantially. We've got a round pen adjacent to the corrals and a sandy riding arena not one hundred yards from where I'm sitting now. The common thread to everything you've read and everything we'll be part of as we move forward are the horses we're riding and now and the horses we've ridden in the past. They're a big part of our history and will be a big part of our future. Thank God for horses!<br />
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<br />Bear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.com0United States37.996162679728116 -63.98437512.474128179728115 -105.292969 63.518197179728119 -22.675781tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234322229047233900.post-80477382608463866302013-01-09T10:17:00.001-08:002019-01-03T11:16:36.488-08:00 Takin' the Herd East
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Takin' the Herd East <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<o:p> </o:p>I never claimed to make all good decisions, to think things through before I
did them, and in the case that you're about to read you'll probably agree. But
hell, it was fun, an adventure I'll never forget, and after all these years,
I'm about to write it.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
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<br />
A typical year back then consisted of opening up the ranch in April, bear
hunting in May, beginning our pack trip operation in the Bob Marshall
Wilderness in June, running dudes all summer, big game hunting in the Bob all
fall, and then finally, moving our horse herd out of the mountains and east
onto winter range early in November, before serious winter. Just prior to the
new millenium we were running close to sixty head of horses and mules of all
shapes and sizes. In addition to the older dude stock we had some broodmares,
colts, and always some fancier, pricier, registered stuff, rope horses, and the
like. All in all, getting all that livestock to winter range was normally an
effort of one form or the other. We either ran the herd ten miles or so to a
winter pasture not far from East Glacier or we'd rent a semi and haul them in
one or two loads. But as our herd got bigger we needed more grass for the gang
so I was usually changing pastures every other year. This particular year I'd
gotten a good offer from one of my ropin' buddies, Little Ed Connelly, to
winter our critters on his place. Well, his place was way up on the Milk River
on the eastern edge of the Blackfeet Reservation hard up against the Canadian
border, quite a distance from our place, maybe forty miles or so the way a crow
flies. Great country up there and real good grass. The grass up in that neck of
the woods is powerful stuff. You can turn your horses out in it and they're
damned sure going to do good. The winters are tough enough but if the grass is
good the horses will do good. So we made a deal to winter with Little Ed and
that was that.<br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
But like I said, I don't always make great decisions and in this particular
case one could argue that running those horses out of the mountains onto icy or
snow packed roads and then off into the badlands of the res wasn't exactly good
thinking. At the time it seemed like a good thing to do, a hell of a plan,
another adventure in the key of life. Back then, I was dumb and full of juice.
Plus, my partner at the time was Dean Wagner, or Chief, as I called him. Dean
was one hell of a good friend, a big, tough, Indian, a fellow I'd done alot of
cowboying with and learned a hell of a lot from. Dean was also one good hand
and knew his way across the reserve with his eyes closed so when I suggested we
run the horses the whole way he never blinked an eye. I think Dean also got a
kick out of my infatuation with the Indian way of life, his way of life. Maybe
no one had ever treated him like the special person I thought he was, I'm
thinking. We added Jerry (Sharkie) McNeeley and Cletus Running Wolf to the crew
and on the last day of October, ran that herd out of the cattle association
corrals and headed east. Oh what a day! <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
We had just made a turn with the herd east onto Highway 2 and had our first
wreck. The grass borrow pits are wide on the two lane road but we had to cross
the asphalt and ice to get good footing and Cletus and his horse didn't make
it. They did a twenty foot slide together until Cletus got out of his stirrups
and managed to get back on his feet, gather his horse, and get back in the
saddle with no injuries to horse or rider. But it was close and we had dodged
our first bullet of the trip. Cletus rode with us the remainder of the day but
that was it for him. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Running horses can be a bit western. Horses run. When they're fresh, they
hit a lope right away and it takes awhile before they settle and even then they
are usually at a hard trot. Most of the bunch we were moving had run the
particular route we were on at the moment, which helped, but we had to be on
the lookout for open gates, wire, and of course traffic. We had a straight shot
into East Glacier and after several miles we began to feel a ryhthm. The horses
had begun to string out in an order only they understood, but it was working.
Dean, Cletus, Jerry, and myself also settled into a rhythm with one of us
leading, one rider flanking, and two on or near the back of the herd. As we
moved into and through East Glacier and towards the Two Medicine Bridge we also
began to pick up an easy breeze at our backs and the first rays of sunshine
that had been missing during those first miles in the mountains. We were out of
the mountains and headed east and feeling good.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
The old Two Medicine Bridge doesn't exist anymore but it was a doozy and I
still miss it. The old bridge crossed the Two Medicine River just east of town.
There was a narrow two lane crossing and a thousand feet of space below the
road and down to the river. When horses hit the roadway span they hesitate,
cause they can feel the damn bridge shake underneath them. That's a helluva
feeling but you've got to keep moving. What the hell else are you going to do,
go back? No. After a moment's hesitation on we go. The horses feel it. I feel
it. But on we go. The old bridge has been replaced by a fancy new one I'm sad
to say. I guess there will be a few less car wrecks on the new outfit but that
doesn't make the world any better I'm thinking.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
It's time to switch horses. The mounts we're riding need a break. We're
riding light and riding well but we've got the horseflesh so we look for a
fence corner to gather them and make the change. Dean ropes a mare, I catch my
old mount Dodger on foot, and Jerry and Cletus do likewise and off we go headed
to our first nights stop at Little Ed's, two hours off. And what a pleasure
that is. We hit the all gravel Durham Road and a little more than an hour after
that we pull into the Connelly Ranch, halfway to Milk River. Ed's put out a
fresh round bale of good hay and our horses quickly make themselves at home.
It's been a good day.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Oh baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next day arrives, as
they all do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No matter who you are, how
good a shape you’re in, when you’ve poured it on the day before, you feel it
the day after.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All three of us felt the
previous day’s hard ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’d just
recently finished a long fall in the backcountry, every day a long day in the
saddle hunting elk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But that was
primarily keeping it at a walk, not pounding that saddle for miles at a trot
and a lope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, no profit in
whining.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After saddling three fresh
horses, and minus Cletus, we hit it.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Dean led the herd out of the corral.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sharkie flanked the bunch to keep them from backtracking and I pulled up
the rear, riding Pos, or Positive, one really nice registered horse, but full
of juice this morning and not wanting any part of holding up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I finally eased him off<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>it wasn’t three seconds and we were
cartwheeling together, doing a 360 just out of the gate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We both came up together, thank God, and Pos
did so on four feet, and amazingly enough, seeing ourselves through Sharkies’
astounded eyes, we kicked up again and headed east cross country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We hadn’t dodged a gopher hole but we’d
dodged another bullet.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I think it must have been just after noon and we pulled up at Howard Conways’
place and ran the bunch into his corrals at the Duck Lake Highway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our last stop, however, was short.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could feel the weather changing, the sky
was getting grayer, and the temperature had already dropped considerably since
we’d started.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hell, it’s that time of
year, Halloween day in northern Montana, good enough for sun or three feet of
snow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Roll the dice.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
We’re off again, running north for several miles and then through a large
gate that opens up into the back of beyond, big, wide open country, miles and
miles of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Old Dean doesn’t flinch for
a second.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s expressionless and I’m
thinking he knows what he’s doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Me, I
know we’re into it now and there’s no turning back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ve got a big bunch of horses with us and
nowhere<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to turn ‘em out if we have
to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s that common thought we’re
all there for, “let’s ride and finish the job” and none of the three of us are
thinking anything but.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On we go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It’s gotten to be pretty late in the afternoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can tell ‘cause there isn’t as much light
as there was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s a gray tint to
the sky, the mountains, barely visible to the wet of us, and even the mildly
rolling hills we’re riding into.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus,
I’m not sure where we are in relation to Little Ed’s pasture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s on Dean at this point and he’s riding
his yellow horse and not talking, not flinching, expressionless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But that’s the Chief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know Dean pretty well and I think he’s just
doing what he has to do and when the time comes he’ll let me know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nevertheless, that gray sky is beginning to
spit frozen rain and the wind has picked up some.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s at our back which is a minor blessing but
good all the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And furthermore, our
horses are at a real even trot and by all appearances, not in any difficulties.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
We reach the plateau of a long steady climb and lo and behold off in the
distance I can just make out a city of lights way off to the southwest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Got to be Browning and if that’s so then
we’re headed northeast and with any luck should see the Milk River Ridge and
beyond that Canada real soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dean gives
me the look of acknowledgement so I know something is up and it isn’t minutes
and I can see, out several miles, only a scattered few, but nevertheless,
lights to the north as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re
barn and house lights from the three ranches spread east to west above the Milk
River in Canada.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By God, we’re
close.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so we are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the fading light I can make out a loading
chute, corrals, and a stock tank.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There’s an open gate directly ahead of us and Dean is leading the herd
right through it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ve made it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It’s plumb flat dark as the ace of spades as we leave the herd on two
thousand acres of shin deep grass and a half acre pond full of spring
water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ve done our job for those
horses and now it’s us on our last leg east to Del Bonita Hwy. where Lora is
due to meet us right where it intersects with Bud Hansen’s ranch driveway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re late but what else is new?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were to meet my wife at 4 PM and it’s
already 8.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And like I said, it’s so dark
we can’t see our feet in front of us and we’re leading our horses on foot,
slowly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Calling was out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hell, I think I’d heard of cell phones but
there was nobody in our neck of the woods who knew about ‘em much less had one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sure as hell didn’t own one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lora was waiting patiently I’m sure but she
also had two kids at home so we needed to make a move before too long.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
But we couldn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do much moving that
is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not until we got some light from the
moon, the stars, from anywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
walked our horses for more than two hours and cut more than two fence lines
with my Handyman pliers and finally we began to get a faint bit of light from
the rising moon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And just barely enough
light to get us mounted again and able to ride enough visibility in front of us
to keep us out of trouble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We dropped
off<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a rise at some point in time
following at least an hour of hard riding and finally recognized the firm footing
under us as the Del Bonita Highway, hard gravel and running straight north and
south.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And two hundred yards in front of
us are Lora and our Toyota 4 Runner, lights on, and slowly moving south and out
of reach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sharkie gave it a shot and
spurred his horse forward but the bad combination of a tired horse and a gas
engine left us in the dust.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were
screwed, blued, and tatooed, again.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Well, let’s just say that this story does end on a good note.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The three of us continued to ride south for
another hour or so and then stopped at an old homestead at 3 in the morning and
after waking up the initially grouchy owner of the place we got ourselves
dinner and coffee thanks to one sweet wife, made the phone calls necessary and
were on our way home just after daylight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Lora had waited from before 4 the previous afternoon until well after
midnight, alone and worried but she did nothing but give me a big hug and kiss
when she arrived to get us and thus one more adventure in the key of life ended
well, thanks to Sharkie, Dean, and one wonderful wife.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Bear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234322229047233900.post-60317929013080257812012-12-06T15:00:00.000-08:002012-12-06T15:00:28.763-08:00Wicked Good Rides of 2012 <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkF3yhHX0s0zXzHbEBnms_FRRRBrpY8cfh_COjAzthLJMQO5couHHqC_6-Nu3n0aFAev3aOCYu6-9JbRtBff6X2jI_tvH6D7pTsEBkkLoMMCstC5iAtCbocpPdjT9t-4oTQcxfNMyOyPk/s1600/IMG_9131.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkF3yhHX0s0zXzHbEBnms_FRRRBrpY8cfh_COjAzthLJMQO5couHHqC_6-Nu3n0aFAev3aOCYu6-9JbRtBff6X2jI_tvH6D7pTsEBkkLoMMCstC5iAtCbocpPdjT9t-4oTQcxfNMyOyPk/s320/IMG_9131.JPG" width="320" /></a> On the rope!</div>
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Oh yeah, we did some wicked good rides this past season and I'm going to tell you why and how and throw in some of the the really good stuff that makes a great ride. You might think you've got a good idea what makes a super ride but I assure you you don't! I guess if you start the ride and get home with everyone that started and no broken bones you're on the way but there's a whole more to a great ride than meets the eye. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQu_1LGynWOPQcclgOhve96rjrRLlzIvtQEII7hxFAx0TT6BH5uMyvKDLTkAB4h_glp4UuLwd9a4aMPmju3NocX2b2DSZuOZEHH5TFpXslchOS_NRGqOycvhXZNBR7twlCnUK547fLXyU/s1600/Crew+on+Spring+Cattle+Drive.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQu_1LGynWOPQcclgOhve96rjrRLlzIvtQEII7hxFAx0TT6BH5uMyvKDLTkAB4h_glp4UuLwd9a4aMPmju3NocX2b2DSZuOZEHH5TFpXslchOS_NRGqOycvhXZNBR7twlCnUK547fLXyU/s320/Crew+on+Spring+Cattle+Drive.JPG" width="320" /></a>Rides come in every imagineable form you can and can't envision. I've had some good rides right in the round pen as an example. Getting that first ride under your belt on an eight year old green mare can be a great ride. I had a mare named Josey Wales back at our place this past summer and I can think of one training session that got western on the far side of the pen and didn't stop until she she stopped, putting the fear of God into me initially, but then leaving me with a rush of achievement and adrenaline, having survived one more back breaking bullet from a horse I should have spent more time with on the ground. That was a short ride but you got to do them once in a while. Those kind of rides keep you honest, you learn from them and become a better hand. You don't get to that point in your career by riding only the good ones. But you're got to be careful cause the wrong kind of wreck can do you some damage. I've spent more than a couple weeks in hospitals as a result of bad rides. That's no fun. By the same token, if you can figure out how to make a young, green horse better, you'll make yourself better as well. Be that as it may, although that ride lasted maybe twenty seconds, it was a good one, and obviously, I haven't forgotten about it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8OhsuR0lGco_E11KuH974uKrzDBjh9Gt5dMehJ7UvDUlZMMJZovAXD1bf9j6WsOHFMF5XF-kla7SW9Brxx2e3WX-cxiwf9gShpQOgLZQMZ8gm_UDbR-IfbRiEX8Hxs22M1ZE-LeRRWX8/s1600/fallride11bear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8OhsuR0lGco_E11KuH974uKrzDBjh9Gt5dMehJ7UvDUlZMMJZovAXD1bf9j6WsOHFMF5XF-kla7SW9Brxx2e3WX-cxiwf9gShpQOgLZQMZ8gm_UDbR-IfbRiEX8Hxs22M1ZE-LeRRWX8/s1600/fallride11bear.jpg" /></a>Well, there's more. I haven't ever done a ride, with or without company, and in real good country, that I haven't always had my eyes wide open, looking, like a hawk, for critters. Over the years, I couldn't count the number of grizzlies I've seen from the back of a horse. Probably well more than a few hundred. A bunch for sure. And in all shapes and sizes, some way off and some too damned close for comfort. In all that time I've only had one poor encounter with ursus horriblis from the back of a horse and to this day I still can't figure out why and I assure that we didn't stick around to ponder the experience. My late wife Lora and I were horseback on Autumn Creek on our first ride since we'd gotten married, several weeks prior in early June. Autumn Creek (Crik) is a spectacular gem of country just a few mile to the east of us. It unfolds from the top of Marias Pass westward to just above the ranch in Glacier National Park. And in case you didn't follow that, Autumn Creek is about in our backyard. I've ridden, skied, and hiked that drainage countless times and even did a TV show there with ESPN sports called Photo Safari years ago. The ride down Autumn Creek is always a good one cause it's easy on the eyes and yes, full of big game, ie; elk, deer, sheep, goats, moose, and even some of the rarer stuff like griz, wolves, lynx, and wolverine, et al. And as cool as that country is, plus being in the park, I rarely see people in it. Hell, I think they're scared of the bears. I've seen four adult griz in a day on the six mile ride. And that doesn't count the bears you don't see! Well, to make a long story shorter, after riding a few miles in a primarily lodgepole pine forest, that drainage opens up and looks a whole lot like similar type country in Alaska. You can see a few miles in three directions and the "seeing" is good. Hell, it's as good as you can get.<br />
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I don't remember what or how much we saw on the ride in question, atleast up to the point, about four to five miles down the trail and there, four hundred yards across the creek and up against a stand of quaking aspen is a sow and an older cub grizzly. And they're looking directly ahead, in our direction. At that distance I doubt if the two of them knew what we were but they sure as hell knew we were something. Cause, here they come and I kid you not. I'm watching this scene play itself out and I'm thinking, four hundred, three hundred, two hundred, and "honey, let's get the hell out of here." And so we did. In a hurry. We hit a lope, crossed the creek, then an opening, and turned our horses and faced up. I don't know about you but I like to face my aggressors and bring it on for better or worse. We'd put some distance between us and the bears I think so let's see what's what. To this day, I have no idea what started that rumble nor did we ever see hide or hair of that pair of bears again, and we made no effort to find out. But they were pissed off at whatever they thought we were and I suspect anxious to see us leave! And so another "bullet" dodged and the excitement, experience, and memory of another great ride etched into that less than nimble brain of mine.<br />
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I think it's too tough to call what the best ride I was on this past season. There were some real good days moving cattle on the Rumney Ranch with Beau Michael, his wife Suzy, Dutch, and the boys up close to the Canadian border. I always love riding with the Johnson boys, Tuck and Collan, on their place just east of town. And then spending some time with Mouse Hall down on the Two Medicine Breaks and River never dissappoints. If you're riding in good country, on a good horse, and in even better country, you can't lose. But, I'll tell you this..................<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhanVI8yu9sG8PJTyc_wKARWjH6mnksxK0wL8uBS6cLOKSG7Jf_IVNtdDIIe2pKQmre7Acpyu3ycFx2vM_sU6Q-zAhiVJcuxcQUWOU55hrfyoVadMOsAvpkM3OW1TtAV8UkQbE6sIxUybs/s1600/IMG_2043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhanVI8yu9sG8PJTyc_wKARWjH6mnksxK0wL8uBS6cLOKSG7Jf_IVNtdDIIe2pKQmre7Acpyu3ycFx2vM_sU6Q-zAhiVJcuxcQUWOU55hrfyoVadMOsAvpkM3OW1TtAV8UkQbE6sIxUybs/s320/IMG_2043.JPG" width="320" /></a>Diana (my new girlfriend!) and I spent a day with Bill and Chris Perkins in the Buffalo Lakes country of the Two Medicine and that was as good a day as you could have. They turned out to be really fine folks. They rode well enough but were even better compadres. We just got along well. Plus, the day was perfect, the horses were well behaved, and yes, we had one conflict free encounter with a big boar grizzly. I think the combination of all three elements just added up to one of those riding days where life is just smooth. Not only were we covering the country real well but when I did manage to see that big bear two hundred yards ahead I could tell pretty quickly he was a massive headed male with no axe to grind. I could tell he had some idea we were there but he didn't seem bothered in any case and continued eating berries by the mouthful while occasionally glancing up in our direction. I'll bet he was pushing 800 pounds, a massive brute. Chris and Bill were getting a good look at their first grizzly and what a look we had. For atleast ten minutes the four of us horseback watched that big sumbitch go about his way. He did finally catch our scent real good and hit a canter in the opposite direction. And that's the perfect end to that type of encounter with a potentially dangerous animal like a griz. We didn't want anything but a good look at him and all he wanted was lots of space between him and us. It all worked out and we got some good pics as well. You can't beat that.<br />
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Well, I'll sure relay to you in the future some less than satisfying rides I've been on but for starters what you've just read is a good way to begin. As I've always said, "the only good ride is the one that gets you home safely." Getting bucked off or chased by a bear is OK if you make it out in one piece but the older you get the less likely it is that getting in a jackpot is gonna put a smile on your face. Been there, done that. Stay tuned!<br />
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There's that big griz!<br />
Bear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234322229047233900.post-55139602010673174672012-11-30T16:07:00.000-08:002012-11-30T16:08:29.839-08:00No Expectations<br />
Well ain't that a handy title for a gig about starting horses under saddle. But I think starting horses and finally getting them comfortable under saddle is a mixed bag. There is a degree of uncertainty about the final product that no amount of knowledge and experience can overcome. As Forest Gump's mom said about life and a box of chocolates, you're never quite sure what in the hell you're going to get. And that same wisdom holds true for horses. Never has that been more true than with the three months I spent with "Pink" the five year old filly I started this past summer. <br />
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And for the record, I think she's five and from what I've gathered she is a registered horse, has a good pedigree, and even got some size on her. But who knows. The fellow that sent her here is a bit of puzzle himself. He may have given me the real scoop on the filly but who knows. He'd called me to inquire about having her started and trained and after a bit of discussion we agreed on two months at $500 per. Little did I know! I thought from the little he told me about her, she'd been with her mom for the entire five years and had just been weaned the previous spring and had never been touched by human hands until I loaded her from her pen into my horse trailer the old fashioned way. I backed into the gate and used a crop to jump her into the front end of the trailer which I'd loaded up with hay. I got her home OK, carefully fit a pink halter on her while working over the top of her from a rail in the round pen and then turned her out into a smaller pen with water and feed. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKv-3Q-y90gPLLcjZTYXvzGudj-2Kgs5LRlTNhGksPR8WGGM4Y_aUjBG7jSDo00Kh-6jAAaS9GFLnATUWJEZ1uWhRGDZWHVFarMQHnPgHEv5vnoE5hRy6OIzYDvLsuB_xprBJIrXhalHs/s1600/IMG_9140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKv-3Q-y90gPLLcjZTYXvzGudj-2Kgs5LRlTNhGksPR8WGGM4Y_aUjBG7jSDo00Kh-6jAAaS9GFLnATUWJEZ1uWhRGDZWHVFarMQHnPgHEv5vnoE5hRy6OIzYDvLsuB_xprBJIrXhalHs/s320/IMG_9140.JPG" width="320" /></a>Now back to the fellow who owned the horse; usually you can get a decent handle of understanding about the horse in question from the owner. Using even that small bit of background I can normally start a horse with that information in mind and slowly progress to a level that I understand and from where I can continue on. But Pink didn't follow anything close to the pattern that had been described to me by the owner. I don't think Pink had ever been out of the pasture she'd been born in and there is a good chance she'd been with mom for five years. She was terrified of the new surroundings, of me, and anyone else she began to come in contact with over the following days. I kept her in a smaller pen directly adjacent to the big corral and the bulk of our herd for company and companionship. And when I turned the big bunch out to pasture that first night Pink busted through the two by six rails of her pen in a frantic effort to stay with her kind. I put a couple of our older, gentler horses in with her and that did seem to calm her down. At that point, however, I was really beginning to recognize I had a real project on my plate. An owner who didn't have a clue what his mare was all about and a trainer who very possibly had bought himself a job he didn't really want. And no expectations!<br />
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A week or so go by and I haven't heard from the owner nor have I gotten the standard deposit fee for training. But true to my word to the owner I've begun to spend some time around the horse. I've had my hands all over her, taken her halter off and put it back on a number of times and I'm beginning to recognize some acceptance of the mare to the human touch and my presence. And she is putting on some weight. That says something about her as well. Time to get her to the round pen and let the show begin!<br />
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I normally start a horse in the round pen and today is no different. Pink isn't even halter broke but I manage to lead her that short distance to the round pen where I take that halter and lead rope off and slowly begin to move or longe her around the inside circumference of the rails. It doesn't take a whole lot of prodding to get her moving and with the help of a crop with a cracker at the end of it I'm sure to get her attention and keep it. But I don't push her hard. She's full of adrenaline and fear and looking hard for a way out. When she tries to duck between two rails I pop that crop and move her past that distraction. But I'm a little slow on the uptake and on the sixth or seventh trip around she jumps the six foot pen and takes out the top rail doing so. You've got to see it to believe it. I've never had a horse jump over the round pen, not this one. Over the gate, yes, but not over the top rails.<br />
Well, she jumps out twice, and then over the gate once. We've got a wreck on our hands. Ya' thnk?<br />
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I attach a longe line to her halter and move her out some more with the added control and as she runs by her by- now- normal escape route I can jerk her back on track and keep her in the pen. We're making progress. She's beginning to fix that inside eye on me and less on escape routes and I'm even getting her to a slower, less frantic speed while switching directions. But she bears watching. I'm not putting any more pressure on her today and so I slow her down by slowing my body language down. After a few minutes, I lead her in slowly and face her up to me while rubbing the front half of her body. She's shy and suspicious but with patience and deliberation and with a good workout under her belt she's more accepting of the direction I'm beginning to take her.<br />
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After several weeks of round pen work, and as you can see in the photos below, Pink begins to make some real progress in her training. The shot of her going over the gate on her second training day is her last real stunt. I'm pushing her through her round pen distractions and helping her develop good habits and an easier disposition. When she strays into distraction I can bring her back into focus with a verbal cue or the crack of the crop. She's begun to get very attentive with both eyes now and in most cases I can get her to hook on and face up. I'm amazed at the relatively quick turn-around she's made.<br />
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The five year old mare bears with me through the next sixty days with several one to two hour sessions per week. Pink doesn't jump the round pen rail again. I can catch her almost at will and I've begun to saddle and bridle her regularly while sacking her out or desensitizing her to motion, noise, ropes, and tarps. And by the way, she's put on some good weight and is beginning to look like the quarter horse she is. Plus, she's mine. You know, possession is nine tenths of the law! The owner never has contacted me, nor has he sent a check for board or training. I'm going to keep the horse, put our brand on her, and that's that!<br />
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I've been procrastinating to some extent for a while. It's getting close to that time to get on her back and under saddle. Let's see what kind of horse we really have. Contrary to some of my earlier thoughts, I am beginning to feel pretty good about Pink. Yes, she was a mess early on in her training but she's come a long way on the ground, as they say, and if my instinct is now anywhere close to solid I am thinking she's become a helluva prospect. But I always exercise lots of caution anymore when I do that first ride. You never know for sure how a horse is going to act that first time. They can blow up, flip over, who knows. Getting hurt is the last thing I want to have happen at this stage in my life so time, patience, and caution are the keys. And so is the proper training and ground work. From the very start of a horse's training regimen, you can learn an enormous amount about a horses' normal behavior from what it shows you on the ground. Pink has steadily displayed not only a calm demeanor under rigorous training but I've seen a learning curve that only continues to improve. Judging from those observations I'm thinking she'll acept me being in the saddle with her calmly. We've worked together well. She's gotten to know me, developed a respect and trust for my training methods, and yes, I for her increasingly improved responses to those methods. It hasn't all come real easily but it has come. We've prepared each other well for that first mounting. We've gone well beyond what I've able to write in this piece. There's that subliminal relationship that we've built over a period of time that covers so much more than the mechanical and physical skills of sacking out, saddling, and bridling. We're there!<br />
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And as you might imagine that first swinging up of my right leg over the saddle and into my stirrup is flawless. Pink's eyes are clearly wide open and focused on me to the rear and on her back. I give her time, don't make a sudden move, and within minutes I can see her begin to realx and settle. As she goes, I go. We've made it. There's more to come and I'll be keeping you posted on the life of Pink. She's become a marvelous addition to our herd. Stay tuned!<br />
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Photos courtesy of our good friend from Defiance, Ohio, Mike Fronk.<br />
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<br />Bear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234322229047233900.post-84647592839463455332012-03-21T12:40:00.000-07:002012-03-21T12:40:31.686-07:00Into the Mystic (part 2) Horses I've Rode<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixqllS0heG7uAvlbfP79KoU-PFuylowVhgYXWWpsSXxtyB5YSd9gPjyUzyF3bILqy-XPZpXWzWd8O4sFhb4_YWYCKKBdneVYStw9K-10eksLQP-aoxMzn930EH1jhkwAD1KXXgqqjhGtE/s1600/4saddledhorses.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixqllS0heG7uAvlbfP79KoU-PFuylowVhgYXWWpsSXxtyB5YSd9gPjyUzyF3bILqy-XPZpXWzWd8O4sFhb4_YWYCKKBdneVYStw9K-10eksLQP-aoxMzn930EH1jhkwAD1KXXgqqjhGtE/s320/4saddledhorses.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> <br />
There's some damned fine horses out there. And there's been a bunch of good ones over the years. I've been lucky enough to ride a few. Good ones that is. They're all good to some degree. But there's no doubt, if you're riding a counterfeit sumbitch and you've got a bad feeling going the entire time you're on his back it ain't worth it. As we all know, there's too many good horses out there to be riding bad ones. I was given a real good looking nine year old registered quarter horse a few years back. A grandson of one of the famous foundation studs of all time, Doc Bar, and to this day I can't get around that horse. I might have a good ride on him on a particular day and then he'll be off his game the next and be plumb dangerous to ride. There's a few of you reading this that know the horse. You may have ridden with me on a day I was on his back and so you damned well know what I mean. He's a headcase there's no doubt. But I'll keep him and maybe age will slowly but somewhat surely will him down. I wouldn't bet on that last statement, however. I'd say it's a 50- 50 deal with him. One of us will die first and I hope it ain't me!<br />
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Speaking of dying, I started a big colt a bunch of years ago and his name was Casey. He was a 1200 pound three year old breeding stock paint when I started him for a real good fellow from South Dakota now living in the Flathead Valley of Montana. Casey was named after the famous bronc rider Casey Tibbs. Actually, there were two colts, full brothers, and both were pretty similar in looks and temperament. But Casey, for whatever reason, possibly, the heavier set of hindquarters and ass end, captured more of my attention than his partner, and was the first of the two I crawled up on. I mounted both of those nice geldings after a few weeks of ground work and got around them well enough. Hell, they were both real nice, even tempered colts so one could say they helped me out a fair amount. Casey was the first of the two under saddle and rider, however, and handled those first rides in the round pen real well. It wasn't long before I had him out doing longer rides in the hay stubble and over to the Flathead River and along the banks and through the brush of that scenic body of water. All was good. Casey was progressing real well and rarely showed any lack of confidence in his abilities to understand his environment or me. He didn't have any "issues" that I could see and in any case those horse "issues" that are so often referred to are in many cases people "issues."<br />
But that's another story. Casey and me were doing well. And we continued to do well until I jerked him up and over and onto me one icy morning in the round pen. I'd been having trouble getting him to flex to the left and doing so in an icy round pen on a December morning didn't help matters. I was too harsh and unyielding and in return tipped that big colt up onto his back legs and over onto me, the majority of his weight and momentum ending up in big woomp on my pelvis. Casey might have been able to get around me but being on ice he was flailing for balance and I'd bailed out of the saddle and stirrups but had undoubtedly pulled on the reins as I was dismounting so there was the perfect storm for one helluva wreck. And it was. Casey's owner found me a few minutes later on and ultimately got me to the hospital where I spent the next couple of weeks recovering from major surgery. I think if the saddle horn had hit me square in the chest instead of the pommel on my pelvis I'd be growing daisies. So there's a story for you and a lesson to boot. Ride with a light hand, take your time, and if you have to bail out don't take the horse with you! By the way, I hear Casey is in Wyoming and has become one helluva calf horse.<br />
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Well, as Augustus McRae said to his gal Lorena, during what was becoming a morbid conversation about life, "it ain't about dyin,' it's about livin'. I couldn't agree more. But we still have to be careful out there. We put our health and lives on the line sometimes when we're horseback. Getting hurt or killed ain't worth it. Alright, "that's all I have to say about that."<br />
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I did alot of horsetrading with "Papoose" Rattler years ago. Not as much lately since the price of horses has dropped through the floor and apparently so has Phillip. But not too many years back I'd pick up a couple good mounts from Phillip, or as we've called him for years, "Papoose." Doesn't matter what their creed or color is, if you're horsetrading for a living you bear watching. "Papoose" was no different than any other horse trader I've known. He bore watching. But he was a good guy and I did get a kick out of him even while he was sticking it to me. I used to meet "Papoose" at his place on Two Medicine. We'd exchange pleasantries and then get down to business. He always had a bunch of horses for sale. On the particular day in question he did as well. But one of them really stuck out and that was Positive (Positivio, out of Amber Su Cat and by a local stud named Sensitivio). Boy did he stick out. Positive was one good looking animal with the kind of conformation that made your eyes bulge. I bought him on the spot.<br />
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Pos had been trained up north, on the border, by Tracy Vaile, a very well known and exceedingly well respected trainer Why she got rid of and unloaded him on "Papoose" I have no idea but then again folks in this part of the country can run out of money in a hurry and horses can be good trading collateral so who knows. It wasn't long before I began to recognize I was riding a real different mount. A damned good horse but a real bundle! When you mounted Pos you had to be ready to rock and roll. He was a hand full. Safe for the most part, soft in the mouth, attentive to leg aids, but a rocket nevertheless. Pos, as I began to recognize, could run barrels, rope on the front or back end, break away, and certainly leg up on the variety of trails in the mountains. I wish I'd been able to use my body language better while I was in the saddle cause I was often too heavy handed on his face. I used a correction bit to a fault with Pos and didn't use a light handle and physical cues well enough. But, we got around each other and over a period of time we did good together. I learned how to stay off his face in the roping box and use my body language to cue him to a hard stop and sometimes a slide. He was real good on both ends. I think he was probably the first horse I'd ever ridden that was close to a pro on so many levels. I even won money on him!<br />
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As I look back on the horses I've ridden Pos definitely stands in the top 5. You know, making that kind of a statement is so judgemental but whether he was first or fifth he'll always stand way out there to me. Pos collicked a few years back and is mostly buried in our back pasture. I say mostly cause I saw a sow and a cub grizzly dig him up and feed on him late one fall. I guess that's as it should be as well. His last act was providing those two bears with some good protein prior to a long winter sleep. Vaya con Dios Pos!<br />
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Well hell, I really get sentimental recalling some of the fine horses I've known. They've taught me alot and provided lots of some of the best memories I have of years gone by. And you know what, there's lots of years left and lots more good horses to ride!<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH1o3gqorrEdiStC6hQL95qVvqKsTeIYA43BSHIyWM7PeiihKbUmWF-X0-hH04tR0Jp9_LtTcbP3vBs1p1mz2zTMz24DHC8B0642lARJCanUcHb7Y3v1K2u1FdixFat3nbo95tgXtNYcI/s1600/falldrivebill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH1o3gqorrEdiStC6hQL95qVvqKsTeIYA43BSHIyWM7PeiihKbUmWF-X0-hH04tR0Jp9_LtTcbP3vBs1p1mz2zTMz24DHC8B0642lARJCanUcHb7Y3v1K2u1FdixFat3nbo95tgXtNYcI/s320/falldrivebill.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Giz (Gizmo)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj34SHA-JxxwwxJsfQqGDWXs2n40eBFcENBooKtl4sw_RyXz13wEtACklGNThjYmrTPYMqSff5pCLE0Qc_xYyszMOFHrS36VEx7B0GPzktUWg_gErTcVhMvwfW3AKMb09942EtrSkLqgc0/s1600/ropintucker1.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj34SHA-JxxwwxJsfQqGDWXs2n40eBFcENBooKtl4sw_RyXz13wEtACklGNThjYmrTPYMqSff5pCLE0Qc_xYyszMOFHrS36VEx7B0GPzktUWg_gErTcVhMvwfW3AKMb09942EtrSkLqgc0/s320/ropintucker1.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Tucker (Doc Bar Grandson)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKz0uLst9FhG7g75V83upxAUM61hmyv1QvP6vNzGVdOc_a4p8lca9EG5B-sdMOHZxxCH0QrGsTNRLlOBfBTH6zETeNe17LapLlkpGNUcDRlSBMnkjok8yJTzADzHkKk7n_48imPECpxsE/s1600/hombrenbarn.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKz0uLst9FhG7g75V83upxAUM61hmyv1QvP6vNzGVdOc_a4p8lca9EG5B-sdMOHZxxCH0QrGsTNRLlOBfBTH6zETeNe17LapLlkpGNUcDRlSBMnkjok8yJTzADzHkKk7n_48imPECpxsE/s320/hombrenbarn.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Hombre (quiet and humble like Paul Newman in "Hombre")</div>Bear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234322229047233900.post-67748791384020321352012-02-25T08:40:00.006-08:002012-02-25T14:22:41.674-08:00Money for Nothing Money for Nothing (Chicks for Free)<br />
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I've loved two women in my life. Lora was certainly a very special person who a man is lucky enough to meet in a hundred lifetimes. There won't ever be another like her, not for me anyway. I think I've stumbled more than a bit trying to find her twin the past bunch of years but finding that gem ain't too likely. I did ask her sister Sue Sue to marry me but she turned me down like a badly burnt pancake. Said she knew too much about me! Well, then there was the woman who did enter the scene a while after Lora and as I've described that affair to a few good friends, "I went from the robin's nest to the bees nest with that one." I'd have to be drunker than a waltzing pissant to pass along the story on that one so I'll let it be. Be that as it may, the point of it all is to recognize that they're (women that is) a different breed of cat. I know what you're thinking, "tell me something I don't know Bill." I might add as well that when you the reader figure out the feminine gender please write the damned book and kindly send me the first copy. I want to be the first to know.<br />
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I do know this however. Women aren't just a different breed but each and every woman is singular. There aren't two women in this universe that are alike. I don't know if God had it planned that way but he surely put his cards squarely on the table and said, "you think you're so smart, well you go figure 'em out." I've done a better job trying to figure out horses than women and that's really the gist of the following subject matter. I've had more success with horses but the plain fact of the matter is that like women, there aren't two horses that are alike either. And to add a bit more to that not very profound statement, both women and horses offer very similar exercises in frustration, and yes, in joy!<br />
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Now then, before I get myself in too far like the none too deep character Pea Eye in the Larry McMurtry novel, Lonesome Dove, as he lamely tried to explain away his reluctance to chase buffalo with a tale about the neighbor lady's husband and his misfortune with bison, to Augustus McRae, who responded by telling him he was getting in over his head, I do want to gently move the topic at hand squarely back to the world of horses. I'm a whole lot more confident passing along to you the loves of my life, horses that is, than the women I've loved. We're back in safe territory and quite frankly I'm looking forward to sharing those with you.<br />
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When I think back there have been a bunch of good ones. There was Charlie, a middle aged thoroughbreddy lookin' gelding, mountain wise, fast enough on his feet, and handy enough in a jackpot. We hunted the Hoback Range country south of Jackson when the elk hunting was in its prime. There were fourteen thousand elk on the refuge in town and many more scattered on refuges throughout the area. On more than a few occasions I can recall riding into more than two hundred head in a herd. Those kind of numbers are unheard of anymore. I rode Charlie pretty steadily during that period of time in the mid 1970's, before environmeddlers began their campaign to reintroduce wolves back into the picture. Charlie took good care of me. We covered hundreds of miles together in some wild and pretty country. I don't know what that Willow Creek drainage looks like today. I do know that Charlie was my good partner in those early years. To Charlie; long may you run.<br />
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Cody, (Ko Dee Jo Bonanza) . I bought Cody, a registered Bonanza bred quarter horse as a three year old from a fellow down in the Bitteroot Valley south of Missoula. I should have bought two of him! Cody was a fine looking, muscled up fellow who was good to go from day one. His owner had done a great job starting him. He wasn't at all cold backed, never offered to buck, and although a bit slow on the get go, he sure as hell never made a bad move. It wasn't but his second ride with me in some rugged country in the Selway-Bitteroot Wilderness, easing our way through a lodgepole pine thicket, we killed our first bull at no more than forty yards. I swear that bull, hard in the rut, walked in on Cody's footfalls, mistaking him for another bull. We got off to a great start! Shortly after that episode we were on our way to Bear Creek Ranch and what was to be my home for the following thirty plus years. In retrospect, as wonderful a horse as Cody was there's no doubt that horse was bred to be on cattle. He always did the job I asked of him but perhaps with some element of resignation. He didn't fire up on the trail and one needed to keep a leg on him to keep him attentive and moving. But on those days when we were moving horses or on occasion, cows, I could feel a horse under me. His ears went back and his lights went on. I'd love to have had him down the road when we started to rope. He'd have been in his element. He wire cut the back of his rear foot down close to the bulbs of his hoof and never quite made it back to full health, We put him down in his tenth year. Cody was a good one. When you've spent hundreds of hours on the back of a horse over the course of a decade one doesn't forget.<br />
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I think that my life with horses really began to accelerate as we recognized and put into place a very horse intensive program at the ranch. From late April until December, we emphasized activities that took place on the back of a horse. Beginning in the mid 80's we put on the miles big time and as we did so purchased one horse after another. I think we reached more than sixty head of horses with some mules to pack as part of the string as well. And believe me, even with that number of horses, we still found ourselves short at times. If you're running sixty head there's mares with colts one has to hold out. Then there's a few lame ones, several that are sore, and then those that just need to be rotated out for rest. When you get down to it, maybe there's forty that are good to go. But then again, out of that forty, there's always a bronc or two in the bunch. And who wants to ride a horse that's likely to blow up when you've got a half dozen guests to take care of. See what I mean? We're down to thirty eight head out of sixty. That's alot of grass!<br />
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Be that as it may, as I've often maintained, there's only one way to learn how to ride and that's by swingin' a leg over and putting on the miles. Our guests came to the ranch to ride and so we obliged them to the best of our abilities. We rode, rode some more, and rode till we dropped. And then got up and did it all again. Those were some good days for all of us. Alot of the folks that came to us were pretty green. But when they left us they weren't. I swear we ran through lots of good people who never would have imagined they'd do what they did on the back of a good horse. Like I said, we rode hard, we rode in hard country. And we got it done. Those years were a kick in the pants. Many of those guests are still in touch and a bunch of them will be back here this coming summer. <br />
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As you might well imagine, during the course of a very horse intensive bunch of years there were a few real bright lights as that pertained to my personal choice of horses. There was Dodger, first and foremost arguably the finest horse I'll ever have the privilege and honor of riding. Dodger was a horse among all horses. I got Dodger from Rick Lucke in the late 80's. Rick had got him from the Gustaffsons down in the Two Medicine country. He was a locally bred registered quarter horse with the +3 brand on his left hip. The Gustaffsons make some nice horses. <br />
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Dodger was also the Richard Farnsworth character in the movie, "Comes a Horseman" and came to me as a three year old. Rick sold me the horse because as he explained to me, "the horse crowhops a bit when you first get on him." Uh huh. We've all heard that one before. Rick had some horse trader in him as you might have already guessed. And yup, Dodger could "crowhop." He was juicy enough that first season I rode him but when he came back off of winter pasture as a four year old he'd muscled up a whole lot and it wasn't long before I discovered he could buck. And I mean plumb break in half I kid you not. The redeeming factor with Dodger is that he was predicable. He'd buck in the morning when he was cold backed and I could usually feel it coming. If I could catch him before he got his head down I could talk him out of his "condition" and on we'd go. <br />
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Dodger and I travelled together for more than a decade. We covered more country than most horse folks cover in ten lifetimes I kid you not. We ran horses, moved cows, rode the park, the Bob Marshall Wilderness, killed elk, got ourselves into more than a few jackpots, and spent many nights together in primitive spike camps well above timberline. Dodger was my pard during those years. He bucked me off atleast twice a year or more and sometimes it wasn't pretty. He could buck hard. I rode him in a single rigged Hamley saddle with a deep swell. It didn't make any difference. He'd bust in half, dump me on my ass, but he never quit me. I was directing a horsemanship clinic for some folks one time in our sand arena and I had a leg swung over his neck as I was explaining gaits and lo and behold I found myself airborne after one good jump. There I was, on my butt, surrounded by a bunch of ladies beginning to think I was the second coming of Ray Hunt. Right! I didn't say a word . I brushed myself off, got back in the saddle as if nothing has occurred and carried on. What could I say? Dodger is still alive. He's twenty seven years old now and swaybacked to beat hell. That's no wonder. But he's a wonder. I'll be one lucky man if I ever find another horse even close to his calibre. See, there is an analogy there. Horses and women. Lora and Dodger. Hard to find two like 'em!<br />
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Ahhh, Gambler. Yup, he was an Appaloosa, registered to the breed and introduced to me by Carol Many Quills from the Blood Reserve in Alberta. Probably the kindest horse I've ever ridden over a long period of time. Gambler was a rope horse extraordinaire. He was a big horse, probably twelve, thirteen hundred pounds and a good sixteen hands. What an animal. Sixteen years old when I took possession of him after getting my ass kicked in that horse trade. Carol asked for a pretty tidy sum of money for Gambler and she didn't back down. I felt like Captain Woodrow E. Call, Texas Ranger, also from the same McMurtry novel I've mentioned, after he got financially raped by that fine woman Clara, Bob's wife, and damned well knew it. Remember? The Captain, after having his wallet emptied by Clara, was additionally perplexed by her gracious gift of a horse to the Captain's son Newt and in fact asked Newt why he thought she gave him that horse as a gift after being so tight during the sale. Newt had no clue himself why he was bestowed with that fine horse by Clara and finally, the Captain just started off into space and in a confused manner replied "women!" Well, that about says it all. I rest my case.<br />
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The plan fact of the matter is however, that Gambler could rope. He was good in the box, rated a cow right on the money, handled a rope real well, and was smooth with the handle. Most of my first ropings with Gambler were up at Sam Lanes -X6 arena on the top of Hausman Hill north of Browning. That was a cold winter and I recall roping on more than one occasion at well below zero. That quonset hut arena was maybe 120 feet long and 40 wide. Made for some pretty tight roping and it was prone for good wrecks. But those Indian boys (and girls) know how to handle a juicy horse with or without a rope and although things could get a bit western at times I can't recall any real disasters. But it was colder than a witch's tit a good part of the time. You couldn't see from one end of the barn to another there was so much steam from horses and warm bodies mixing it up with below zero temps. Hey, that was the only game in town back in those days and we all roped hard and didn't complain. And Gambler was always steady . <br />
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I paid her full price but then again, never regretted it. Gambler was worth every penny. The first good steer I ever turned on Gambler was at the Hell's Half Acre Mother's Day rodeo down on the Two Medicine River.<br />
Those out of the way Indian Rodeos like "Hell's Half" are always tougher than you'd think. Some of the very best local cowboys and cowgirls bring their best stuff with them. Team roping entries might go to sixty or seventy teams and once the roping began to warm up the times went down in a hurry. At "Hells Half" that first year with Gambler I turned a steer pretty quickly but my heelings partner's horse stumbled moving into the catch and that ended ended some very temporary glory. Nevertheless, I roped on Gambler pretty hard the next couple years and one might say, really cut my teeth on the back of that exceptional animal. Even later on, after graduating to some younger, faster mounts, Gambler remained a tough competitor with a heart as big as a tank. Oh, Gambler wasn't the quickest cat in the bunch but he was the kindest, most forgiving horse I've ever owned. He is missed. End of Part 1.<br />
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Stay tuned to Adventures with Positive and Hombre. The True and (Untrue) Tales Tales of Horses and Women in the Key of Life.<br />
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</div>Bear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234322229047233900.post-34644102865011617282012-02-16T08:39:00.000-08:002012-02-17T14:05:33.284-08:00Rockin' in the Free WorldI've got the park circus back in my cross hairs again. That cycle has repeated itself rather consistently over the years following my epiphany in the late seventies as I became aware, much like the character in the pinball wizard. It doesn't take a genius to "become aware," especially if you're anywhere near a park circus operation. Can you believe those sons a bitches are now trapping lynx in the park, pretty damned near our back yard? And wolverine I think. I've got to confirm that one to be sure but they have been trapping wolverine for sure until very recently, once again, just to the north of us. They're probably in a holding pattern for God knows what other species they decide to target. God probably can't figure them out so I doubt if he knows! Their days of setting up big, stinky bear bait stations may be a thing of the past but I wouldn't put that past them either. I've seen those horrible looking cables snares in those bear baits and I assure you they take you back quite a few centuries into the medievel ages. I think there's more than a few of them bugologists that need to be snared. Wouldn't that be a hoot. Snare'em, live trap 'em, then send them on their way and there's a good chance they'd never show their faces around here again. <br />
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Grizzly bears, lynx, and wolverine, to list just a few are in good shape around here. By here I mean the entire Glacier National Park ecosytem including the Bob Marshall wilderness complex. I'm talking about alot of undisturbed country. There's no shortage of those critters around here I can tell you but there will be if they're continually fucked with. Anyone with any brains around here knows damned well the populations of those animals is real good. We live here, we see them from time to time. We see their tracks and scat and we're all aware no one's trapping or shooting them much anymore. So where's the problem Mr. Bureaucrat- Biologist? "well, we're operating under a grant underwritten by the Center for Biological Diversity and very intent on determining the role of bifurcation in ecosystem management for species of special concern." Oh make me puke why don't you? I've heard it all before and I'll hear it all again and again. But the bottom line is that if it isn't broke don't fix it. <br />
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And by the way Mr. Ranger Man, if you continue to piss me off I'm bound by honor to piss you off as well. I may have to run fifty head of horses through your study area (again!) this spring when I bring them all home. It wouldn't be the first time. Yup, we'll spill 'em and ride west with the canners and when we get to the pass we'll take the easy way back to the ranch. Hit the trail at a lope, mud flying, elk scattering, all hell breaking loose. But I swear, the lynx, wolverine, and griz will thank us. Hell, they've had enough of the trapping business and anyway, they aren't as dumb as the folks trapping them so they'll hear us coming and give us our space. And if the Park Circus boys get wind of our little adventure we can always wait until dark. Wasn't it Ed Abbey who said never do during the daylight hours what you can do under the cover of darkness (or something close to that)!<br />
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We ran 'em back to the ranch a few seasons ago and I swear, I had a smile on my face the whole go round. It wasn't a conscious decision to hit the park trail with the ponies. I just felt that pull within me. Kind of like flirting with a woman who's going to get you in trouble sooner than later but you just can't help yourself. I'm speaking very hypothetically of course. Or like cotton candy when you're a kid. You know that stuff is going to rot your teeth but you just can't help yourself. In any case, I'm a man of principle and my better judgement prevailed so we hit the trail hard and never looked back. And no one was any wiser for it. Well, the trail didn't look quite like it had for a few years after our little escapade and if the subject ever came up in my presence I was sure to praise the Park Service for maintaining such a fine herd of elk in that area. But, boy, do they do some damage to the existing trail system!<br />
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Well, back to the trapping practices of the boys (and girls in green) in OUR park. I've bumped into some of them in the area and they're friendly enough folks. But they're stupid. Most of them have a connection to the University of Nuts and Raisins in Missoula and naturally, they're wildlife management majors and budding bureaucrats of the twenty first century. They're young. Hell, I was hunting the primary prey of lynx, lepus americanus, the snowshoe hare, at about the same time they were getting weaned off the tit. They've been at this particular project for a few weeks now and haven't scored a lynx. Good. I'm rooting for the lynx. I'm all for the wolverines as well. They've had to endure an onslaught of trapping the past few years as a result of just one more study that was somewhat successful from their perspective. Check out Doug Chadwick's book, Wolverine Days. I know for a fact that one of my pards very strategically attached his pubic hairs to one of the non-confining scent sites. Apparently, the DNA from that hair didn't exactly match up with some of the existing data and did create a bit of angst at Park Headquarters. It did me as well. I had a nasty smile on my face for a week.<br />
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I guess you can tell by now that not everyone in the area is in applause mode as that applies to the continued and unnecessary trapping of so many species of animals, particularly sensitive species like lynx and wolverines. Hey, we'll trap you and see how you like it. There may darned well be solid justification for trapping some of our animal species for specific reasons at specific points in time. But that ain't the case with this one. The populations of those two species in particular and certainly the griz as well are robust and healthy and they don't need any fucking with by a bunch of masters degree driven students who should know better. <br />
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I have a funny feeling some of you reading this deal (like you Nicholas!) know damned well where the trail is I speak of. Let's stay in touch. We may have to cross the river after dark and visit Pedro Flores. Get your horse saddled Newt. Your coming, too!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyAUwAdDBaWu-6wRx_81x-w2N-twZS8d1ZJ8aEPz_MEC4mpMVmjaQNSllFlCso6g93YP4hbbRwG6i4kqbTztu-zwxBmVE8FmelC2gZeh8sL_GmkgPLuQ-f-HXNAxhnvVemFuftfwWIYgE/s1600/4ridersin+dark.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyAUwAdDBaWu-6wRx_81x-w2N-twZS8d1ZJ8aEPz_MEC4mpMVmjaQNSllFlCso6g93YP4hbbRwG6i4kqbTztu-zwxBmVE8FmelC2gZeh8sL_GmkgPLuQ-f-HXNAxhnvVemFuftfwWIYgE/s1600/4ridersin+dark.bmp" /></a></div>Bear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234322229047233900.post-46438231468637345422012-02-12T08:14:00.000-08:002012-02-12T08:18:10.665-08:00A True Path in Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMZPTeiSFlwB6D5SzX5Dzm26SWcudbrDsLUWN4rN9AnQaQBZM8RHQXbfo7-ec0eFJJ1xQkY-0B13ltquvhX9ji9Z3BGWbPiYe-DiIsO0wCLf2JRxvZN6MPiysslTmYtKGv9V1h6JdS86s/s1600/daneat3bears.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMZPTeiSFlwB6D5SzX5Dzm26SWcudbrDsLUWN4rN9AnQaQBZM8RHQXbfo7-ec0eFJJ1xQkY-0B13ltquvhX9ji9Z3BGWbPiYe-DiIsO0wCLf2JRxvZN6MPiysslTmYtKGv9V1h6JdS86s/s1600/daneat3bears.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjY6vEDyXiE0E5q7-qRw991eEIRN8K9GaohyMqXuK_FObCiUHwNiKS_2s7H60TOLHj5JidPjNAVAdPjSQXXv2KbYIsOFbxZya_cHcaITHv7rOP4NTkQZMGPRlrVNUE6JqdHquYtHMxfOk/s1600/curly-bear-wagner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjY6vEDyXiE0E5q7-qRw991eEIRN8K9GaohyMqXuK_FObCiUHwNiKS_2s7H60TOLHj5JidPjNAVAdPjSQXXv2KbYIsOFbxZya_cHcaITHv7rOP4NTkQZMGPRlrVNUE6JqdHquYtHMxfOk/s320/curly-bear-wagner.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Sunday morning. It's still winter for sure. I look out the office windows and it's still outside. And white on the ground and the sky is grey. The dogs don't seem to notice. They're not like us humans. They're pretty much the same from day to day. None of them need anti-depressants, unlike someone else I know. Well hell, if I play my cards right I'll stay busy today and do a heart pumping ski later on. My goal will be to "keep it in the middle," as Jack would say. I was the last to know. <br />
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My oldest, Dane, is leaving today, driving east to meet his wife and son to start a new life. I can't say I wasn't surprised. We'd had quite the party the past eleven months. Dane worked with me and Fe worked as well and they both did a great job with Elias, bringing him along. I thought, incorrectly they were pretty happy in Montana. Little did I know. And to set the record just right, we all did pretty well together. But, this is rough, rugged, harsh, and unforgiving country. It's got to suit you to live here and be happy. The winter's are brutal and money is always an issue. But that's the worst of it in my opinion. The people here are good, close knit, and always have your back. I know Dane and Fe recognize the good and the bad and quite frankly, this neck of the woods will always have a real special place in their hearts. But kids got to go and make their marks in the world, just like I did years ago. Nevertheless, my heart is heavy today. I take great solace in the world around me. If I choose to I can listen closely for the coyotes out back. And when they start yipping I damn well might yip back. Hell, they're telling me something. I don't know what that is but I'll try and guess and when I yip back maybe they'll know I'm trying to tell them something as well. The wolves to the north of the coyotes may be a bit more expressive. They'll not yip, they howl a high, mournful call to the coyotes, me, the dogs, and each other. Or maybe they howl to express their own sadness or joy.<br />
How the hell do we know how they feel? We can only guess. But for the record, I think those coyotes and wolves I hear are alright. We're not hunting them, They have nothing to fear from me I know. Oh, I can talk tough but that's just bar talk. I think the dogs are jokers as well. Between the dogs, the coyotes, and the wolves, they make a helluva racket just before dark, when it's real quiet. I think they're just entertaining each other.<br />
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Ten Bears said "every man must find his true path in life." We all do. We're lucky if we're on the search for that path, much less able to find it. The journey to that fulfilled life is a big part of the path we follow. The final destination is somewhat problematic and perhaps that's what we begin to see as we live our last moments in this life. The journey on that path to fulfillment is the unfinished life, the incomplete life that keeps us moving along. I think Dane and his family are continuing their journey and it's going to be a good one. The heavy heart and the sadness I feel has a flip side, however. I have a strong feeling that they'll come out the back side of that journey having found that true path in life.<br />
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It's grey today but it may very well be blue tomorrow. I think it will be. I'll do a ski to the north, towards the coyotes and the wolves. It's getting close to denning season. There's got to be some young families making preparations for their new arrivals. Maybe the adults of both species are mapping their strategies for survival and success on planet earth. I'm not going to get in the way. And if Dane, Fe, and Elias have a change of heart along the way as they find their path in life they can always come back home. I think those coyotes and wolves are telling us all something. I need to listen.Bear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234322229047233900.post-31700530676142510602012-02-06T10:03:00.000-08:002012-02-06T10:05:29.750-08:00Riding the Four WindsI'm not real sure exactly what I'm getting into here but I'm feeling it. "It" isn't just a philosophical discourse on the free thinking exercise of being horseback. That's a no brainer. Isn't that one big reason why we ride? Being horseback opens up so much inside of me. And I gather that it's no different for most of us. There's a lady I sold a couple horses to years ago. She renamed them Zooloft and Prozac. Doesn't that tell you a whole lot right there. And that was a lady who is pretty grounded. But that's one of the big reason we ride. We get in touch with ourselves a little better being on the back of a horse. Oh yeah, running, bicycling, skiing, working out, they all get us going real good and it feels better during and after a good workout. But there's something special about horse back riding that "starts me up" and keeps my mental engine going long after I stop. However, the best is the ride getting there. That's why we ride. <br />
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There's something about that combination of having a real strong compadre under that saddle and travelling through good country at the same time that makes it work. I've never been a good sighteeing fan. When you're in a car with glass in front of you and oftentime the window closed you just don't feel it. I don't in any case. But, horseback is a different deal. We're out there. The wind is blowing, the sun is shining, and there's horsepower between your legs. You can keep it in the middle or hit the gas. It's your call. I like to keep it in the middle horseback. It's good for the horse, a walk or an easy trot. Out in the wide open when I need to cover some country I'll hit an easy trot for a period of time and then shut 'er down a bit so me and the horse underneath me can enjoy the day. Horses like to daydream too, you know. In any case, a horse in any kind of decent shape can be on a trot for miles, particularly in relatively flat country, across the badlands east of the mountains, or out in the open prairie grass even further east. Up on the mountains and foothills a rider has to manage their horses' energy and probably keep it at a walk for the most part. That's when we're able to get in touch with ourselves. That's when I do my best thinking. You could call my thinking daydreaming. A lot of it is. I didn't go to an Ivy League school so don't overestimate my intelligence. But I do know that when I need to get things right and feel good about it in the process getting horseback puts me half way there. <br />
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That's why we ride. It isn't sitting in the front seat of a fancy new car touring the Going-to-the-Sun road with a combustion engine whining while we're looking through a glass window and sharing that experience with a thousand other sightseers on the same asphalt rode we're on that does it. No, when you're mounted and breathing real air and seeing real country you're not cheating. I haven't been on the world famous "Going-to-the-Sun Road for years and have no plans to do so anytime soon.<br />
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You think about what I've just written and correct me if I'm wrong. Or better yet, come on out here in late May and we'll ride "the Four Winds together." You can look me in the eye at the end of the week and if you think you didn't "get it" I'll give you all your money back. How's that? I won't sweat that wager however, cause you'll have the time of your life. You see, we're going to ride horseback in four different directions over the course of a week beginning on May 27th. We're going to cover some country, some of the most awesome country you'll ever see in your life. From the mountains to the foothills, to the high plains, and out to the tall grass prairie. All day rides, horseback. Lunch on the trail in the sun, a nap, and that back in the saddle and more adventure. Quiet adventure. Oh, we'll have our moments. Maybe we'll see a grizzly, a herd of elk. Who knows, a horse might blow up, bust in half, go to buckin'. But for the most part, we're going to get in sync with our ponies and put on the miles, alone with our thoughts and when we choose, together with our riding partners and our horses. You're going to ride four different directions with the Four Winds at your back or in your face and you might go through two, or perhaps even three different horses over the course of that week. <br />
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If you're interested in the adventure of a lifetime and at the very least a very sore butt, give me a call. I'm going to tell you you're very welcome here and I'm also going to tell you to get in good shape. You're gonna need to be.<br />
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See you in May!<br />
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Bill<br />
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'Bear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234322229047233900.post-7982647533162593932012-01-29T12:11:00.000-08:002012-01-29T12:40:57.314-08:00From the Rifle to the Camera Photo SafariThose were the days! Outfitting for Big Game in the Bob Marshall Wilderness in the fall and hunting black bear in the Spring in the country closer to the ranch. That career of mine ran for about two decades, from the early 80's into the early 21st century. I know that time frame so well because I had always maintained that I would outfit into the 2000's and that's the way it turned out. I was a fanatic hunter for so many years in addition to running the big game hunting business. But that passion of mine burned out like a candle. I'm not sure why but I sure as hell know it did. <br />
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Funny though, through all those years of hard hunting I always maintained that love of looking for animals, shootable or not. I think that throughout that last decade of hard commercial hunting I was a better traveller of wild country while always keeping my eyes open for elk and deer but also for wolves, griz and black bears, lynx, wolverine, and more. There's nothing like ridding the high country of the Bob horseback. I mean, it's cool! There's lots of open country up there. Not a trillion Love Making Trees (more fucking trees!) ruining the scenery, snagging the horses, ripping up the gear. I'd get above timberline and ride the high basins and ridges and stop now and again to glass sidehills and on up to the tops of the many mountain tops around me. I loved kicking up mulie bucks bedded down in sparse brush or in the occasional pockets of fir or limber pine. And then now and again, we'd find elk way up high and the game was on. Lots of frenetic movement grabbing rifles, getting dismounted, and finding a rest to shoot, sometimes losing the horses in the melee. Oh those were the days.<br />
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On a good day, with the sun shining and the wind less than a roar I really did enjoy cruising the high country of the Bob. There's still some real wild country up there. Some of those hidden drainages and canyons are rarely seen much less visited by man. Spending time in and around them is a real special feeling. I'll bet some of that country we hunted was visited by man maybe only on a real rare occasion every few years. Sure, there's parts of the Bob that damn well do get some serious traffic but some of that remote high country stays way in the background. <br />
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Well, as they say, that was then and this is now. I've felt myself drawing further and further away from the hunting and killing of those animals for quite some time. I've lost that passion for taking the hunt to the ultimate end with the harvesting of elk, deer, and bear. I lost it. There isn't barely a bit of wanting to pull that trigger again. Maybe just a bit. Possibly some fall in the future back up in the alpine country of the Bob after a long ride and a good feeling inside me. If it feels right maybe, and I said maybe, I'll whack a mulie buck, for food. Those high country mulies are extraordinarily superb grilled on an open fire. Two inches thick and almost no marbled fat. I'll add some bacon to the chops or fillets. That'll work. But more than the hunting I look forward to once more getting back to that big country of the high Bob that I love so much. <br />
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In any case, I'm also looking forward to a new chapter in my life and that being a "hunter for photos." And not just for photos, cause truth be known, I'm a lousy photographer! I don't even like to take pictures. I'd rather focus on the moment with m own two eyes and think about what I'm seeing. Nevertheless, I do plan on accumulating some photographic "trophies" and at the least guiding guests and photographers to the right places so they can get good shots of the critters. Then I'll use their photo skills and put their photos on my website and walls. How does that sound? <br />
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I've put some of those thoughts and emotions to work in a practical and business sense by offering up a "Photo Safari" week as part of our array of special events in 2012. Oliver Klink, one of the worlds' truly great photographers will be at Bear Creek Ranch for a week beginning May 11. Oliver will be conducting a workshop on photographing the Glacier Park area's wildlife and I'll be guiding him and his students for the big and small game animals including elk, deer, moose, sheep, goats, both species of bear, and of course the very hard to find smaller animals like lynx, wolverine, and wolf. May is the absolute best time of year to find the area's animals as they are on very exposed habitat and feeding very heavily after a long winter of little feed. We should have a wing ding of a time. We're going to see alot of game. Exactly how much and how easily our venture becomes remains to be seen. Stay tuned!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjulaCqZI7HsJU5zarHl9FmSx42xCAMUsjSS2UueksqFCvFv4AZ4uIUpPNGWxzP5wRcDuSLlhPm78huOpy36YBe8hjebwffCouV-FnfDYcuE9YmcbBvWSiZx5dPthSlCDQouk7aGQDAW2U/s1600/IMG_0920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjulaCqZI7HsJU5zarHl9FmSx42xCAMUsjSS2UueksqFCvFv4AZ4uIUpPNGWxzP5wRcDuSLlhPm78huOpy36YBe8hjebwffCouV-FnfDYcuE9YmcbBvWSiZx5dPthSlCDQouk7aGQDAW2U/s320/IMG_0920.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Bear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234322229047233900.post-82888424574757152822011-12-27T14:02:00.000-08:002011-12-27T14:02:45.088-08:00The Dutchman; Horses and HollywoodYou may have heard me mention the name "Dutch" over the course of conversations or perhaps noticed his name on our website (bearcreekguestranch.com) as a partner and special guest during the coming season. If you have heard or seen that name you're going to get a kick out of the reality if you're so inclined to visit us up here at the ranch after the snow melts! Dutch is going to be helping us put our spring cattle drives together and then add his lifetime of experience with horses and direct our week of "Pure Horsemanship" in early July. I haven't yet explained to the reader yet who Dutch is but I can tell you right off the bat we're talking about a real heavyweight in the world of horses. And above all, a real good man.<br />
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Dutch, and his wife Anne, own Ghostridge Outfitters, and have been providing horses to Hollywood for more than twenty years while also acting as a stunt double and wrangler. Dutch has been on more than forty films and TV movies, including many of the big ones that you've seen, ie; Dances with Wolves, Geronimo, Hidalgo, etc. During that period he's been able to not only display the unparalleled level of horsemanship that was learned from being horseback at an early age but also the equine qualities that are unique to the Blackfeet people. I've been around alot of the really handy Blackfeet cowboys and it wouldn't be a stretch to claim they are they best there are. Pretty strong statement but pretty damned true. You'll see for yourself.<br />
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So this blog isn't so much about Hollywood as it is about horsemanship, and Dutch. If you go back a couple blogs you might want to go over the comments I made regarding horsemanship issues and opinions. I did that piece not too long ago and so my visit with Dutch yesterday was timely as it evolved into a discussion of horsemanship and specifically as that subject applies to starting colts and bringing them up through the ranks.<br />
I've known Dutch for quite a few years and although his reputation as a hand is huge I hadn't ever listened to him articulate that lifetime of experience with horses on the Blackfeet Reservation and beyond. There's horse folks out there that can do alot of talking about horses but you quickly realize their knowledge is an inch deep and not very wide. When I listen to a fellow like Dutch I know that wealth of knowledge is deep and wide. <br />
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I think the general theme of our discussion was the increased dependence and use of the round pen and arena as part of a colts' early education in this day and age. Times have changed. People have changed. Even cowboys have changed, evolved if you will. The Dorance brothers, Ray Hunt, Pat Parelli, and Buck Brannaman, to name just a few, have helped engineer a new dawn as that applies to more humane and cerebral treatment of horses in the earliest stages of training. Gone, for the most part, is the physically abusive, punishing style of breaking that was in too many cases standard practice years ago. But that was then and this is now. I hear, as I listen to Dutch, a hard earned acknowledgement that those hard days gone by are exactly that. But, what I also hear is a man telling me that quite possibly there has become too much dependence and use of the round pen and arena and that quite frankly there aren't enough cowboys and horses who are willing to spend the time getting themselves and their horses "out," where a real education is to be found. Ahh yes, a kindred spirit. I couldn't agree more.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zlu2HxATSVU/TvpAMkOez5I/AAAAAAAAABM/CctflfnKGvA/s1600/dutch3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zlu2HxATSVU/TvpAMkOez5I/AAAAAAAAABM/CctflfnKGvA/s1600/dutch3.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cVJTg4i25fU/TvpAXnd1G1I/AAAAAAAAABU/mwaxsYNlFhM/s1600/dutch1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cVJTg4i25fU/TvpAXnd1G1I/AAAAAAAAABU/mwaxsYNlFhM/s1600/dutch1.jpg" /></a></div>To make a long story a bit shorter I urge you to follow my stories and comments as we move further on into the latter part of spring and on to the warmer months. We'll be putting more activity and action into our (my) words and stories and will get away from the printed word. With any luck if you''re able to make it up this way the coming summer you'll be able to meet Dutch and his great family. He is what epitomizes real horsemanship. Stay tuned.Bear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234322229047233900.post-22059119587896365022011-12-12T13:07:00.000-08:002011-12-12T13:07:27.109-08:00Off Horseback and into SkisWow, what a day. Saturday, with some good friends from the Flathead Valley, skiing Autumn Creek. Many of you may have seen warm weather photo shots of the Autumn Creek Country posted on our website or facebook. I think Autumn Creek has some Alaska type tundra country with the steep, hard rock mountains of the Summit Range towering over that area as you ski it, hike it, or ride it horseback. My history in Autumn Creek has been long and always a marvel, an adventure. Autumn Creek drops off the Continental Divide at Marias Pass and gradually meanders west from Three Bears Lake and towards the ranch, just eight miles from our back yard. Pretty handy, huh? I've skied Autumn Creek on a few occasions each winter for many years and I've never tired of it. This past Saturday was no exception. Hell, it's mid December and there could be well below zero temps but it sure wasn't this past weekend. I think we were skiing in thirty to forty degree weather with a hit of chinook warmth and a bright blue sky. It was windy up on top but just plumb fine as we skied in well over a foot of hard snow with an inch of powder over that. My type of conditions. Couldn't have been better. I'm on Kahru 190's with medal edges, a fine gift from even better neighbors. To be honest, I'm not a handy enough skier to know a real difference between good and real good skis but these worked well. I don't get fancy. I'm wearing Wranglers and long underwear. Good enough on a mild day and my partners are carrying day packs with all the food and accessories I need. Mikes' a doc in case of emergencies and Carlene's got plenty of good in case we get hungry. No worries, Mate! <br />
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Well, if you know Autumn Creek you also know that for a couple miles you travel in a lodgepole pine forest with small meadows and springs here and there. I know for a fact we're travelling in big elk country. But it's winter and the elk are gone for the season. Where to? I've never figured that out. But most of the Autumn Creek country is normally waist deep in snow by this time of winter and I've always recognized a migration occurring there although I don't know to where or when. Bighorn sheep are usually visible up higher in the rocks and on the patches of grass above us and although I'm looking I don't see any evidence of elk or sheep. However, I've heard from a couple ski buds of mine that there are sheep on Elk Mountain at the present time and there are wolves as well "minding the store" and since Elk is on the western edge of the Summit Range the sheep aren't far off. Frankly, I'm really wanting to get a look at the sheep or the wolves in this drainage. I hear there's some serious predation going on in the area between the two species. <br />
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We identify at least one set of large "dog" tracks about half way down the trail. Quite obviously, they are wolf tracks, bigger than you'd imagine, and fresh. No snow in the tracks and they're real well defined. Wolves for sure. They're (wolves) relatively new to this area so this particular sighting is kind of cool. The whole wolf issue is a hot potato and no sense going into that right now but I must say there is an added degree of excitement knowing they're around. Wolves aren't yet dangerous, either, so as opposed to griz, we're not excited because we're in danger. I've seen grizzlies up the rear end in this drainage and have always had to keep my shit wired tight. But they're denned up and the country is safe! And I kid you not. I've seen four griz in a day here and many times at least one. Autumn Creek during the warm season is prime grizzly habitat.<br />
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Years ago I did a special with ESPN and a show called Photo Safari and we spent an evening in Autumn Creek filming. We got sheep, goats, and a huge herd of elk on film. We were horseback and had two mule loads of camera gear with us. It was a bit of a circle jerk but we got it done. I still have that CD if any of you are interested. And for the record, we've got Oliver Klink, one of the most widely known photographers in the world due out next May on a Photo Safari tour. We'll be looking for griz, wolves, lynx, and wolverine in addition to other big and small game. I think we'll get the griz, should get the wolves, may get a lynx, and the wolverine is problematic. But don't bet against us!<br />
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Back to the ski! Doc Mike and I continue on down the gradually steeper trail as Pat and Carlene head back to Marias Pass to get the truck We've got a ways to go and as I'm already working steadily with a mild sweat on my back I begin to recognize the toughest part of the trip lies ahead. The trail is hard packed now, more than a mild downhill ski, and tough to negotiate. I find myself gaining speed too quickly and setting myself down on my rear end sometimes in a tangled condition. After a half dozen wrecks I decide to take my skis off and walk out. I've had enough punishment for the day. But it's been worth it.<br />
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As Mike and I finally near our ending point on Hwy 2 I can sense the end of another grand day. Although it's <br />
just 3:30 the sun is beginning to weaken and the sweat on the back of my neck is gone. My wranglers are wet as are my gloves. Enough is enough. And I hear a vehicle on the road and a horn honking as well. We're back. And I'll be back as well.Bear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234322229047233900.post-20610643262588540072011-12-09T12:25:00.000-08:002012-01-30T18:21:46.355-08:00Looking Ahead Pt. 2 Pure Horsemanship<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUi0yPfUqwqRlHzZeE-j37XFRMyvXSHbxc3TxG6w-JSPAK7YopwENNjjrW1lpku4KKpOmcjwrOynByXnWeYLBsrHUobiaCcAKCg86hPPuu3yuOlL4Hdfx5JoDV8Xbyzzq9qhgfvzPdMAM/s1600/ropintucker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUi0yPfUqwqRlHzZeE-j37XFRMyvXSHbxc3TxG6w-JSPAK7YopwENNjjrW1lpku4KKpOmcjwrOynByXnWeYLBsrHUobiaCcAKCg86hPPuu3yuOlL4Hdfx5JoDV8Xbyzzq9qhgfvzPdMAM/s1600/ropintucker.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAvzhkgmlDF3iBWlWB37JH5TMKULV5izTCSxkAKMxHGiGTJNcI0uev93RyL9rd2S_6j9HpFF3SbdqM-W7407P56W7de44YiTG9TIm_q9EL2u0Jew9Sb-K_Jq14cRye4D5ki_cbWQpraL0/s1600/billongrizzmo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAvzhkgmlDF3iBWlWB37JH5TMKULV5izTCSxkAKMxHGiGTJNcI0uev93RyL9rd2S_6j9HpFF3SbdqM-W7407P56W7de44YiTG9TIm_q9EL2u0Jew9Sb-K_Jq14cRye4D5ki_cbWQpraL0/s320/billongrizzmo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEUeUApw59GaGCkueD3IOv_0Z3hwSwyavUoRprNzteBWk4Ct0cLWXnOsLRNtI-VV4jJU3FuMPLOpHfLCmJgUMyvRuGO_HNy4xY5txNlIHtt9v3S3SGbaWH76LFvRQK3OpFvXVmy7Uh4NU/s1600/Montana+&+Glacier+National+Park+Aug+2011+269.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEUeUApw59GaGCkueD3IOv_0Z3hwSwyavUoRprNzteBWk4Ct0cLWXnOsLRNtI-VV4jJU3FuMPLOpHfLCmJgUMyvRuGO_HNy4xY5txNlIHtt9v3S3SGbaWH76LFvRQK3OpFvXVmy7Uh4NU/s320/Montana+&+Glacier+National+Park+Aug+2011+269.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I sit here on a winter day in December, at my desk banging out thoughts on the keyboard. My mind is on being horseback, however, and so that's what comes out at the end of my fingertips, and from there onto the keyboard, and from there to the printed word on these pages. It's alright. <br />
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I was thinking this morning, on the drive over the ranch from my winter part time pad in East Glacier, about some comments an acquaintance of mine had made regarding comments I had posted regarding a ride we'd done in what I called "sacred" country. He wrote that if the country was sacred, what was I doing there? Well, I don't know for sure if the country in question is sacred, in the purest sense, to anyone else. It may be or it may not be. I don't know. I do know this. That country we rode in on that particular day and which I've ridden many times with and without guests, is sacred to me. That's what really matters. That's why I was there. I ride in alot of neat country, some of the best in the world, in my opinion. And damn it, some of it is pretty special. It's sacred to me. Especially that piece of paradise that will remain undescribed and unnamed.<br />
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Back to the subject at hand, however, and I'll add to those thoughts. Isn't the desire to ride a good horse in real special country why so many of us do it? It's the second best feeling in the world! On my way over the ranch I was able to think about that sacred ride on that very special day and why I did feel so good, so light over the course of those miles deep down in the bowels of the river breaks. Why? Quite frankly, I was on the back of my very special partner, Hombre, a helluva horse. He's capable, big enough for me, and so light in my hands, He takes me, guides us on the trail, cross country, up and down hills and mountains, and across criks and rivers. And we see the same thing. Oh, he doesn't say much to me nor I to him. But we do well together. We share the day, sometimes deep in thought. Both of us, although I suspect his thoughts are a whole lot more simple than mine. Good for him. I'm the complex dude. But Hombre makes my life a bit more simple. I love the day with the good horse. He isn't the only good horse in the bunch but a day with Hombre is a day well spent.<br />
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Isn't that the cowboy in all of us? Riding a good horse in good country, alone with our thoughts. Our hopes, our dreams, our problems, and our frustrations, all there, but perhaps easier to understand and digest on the back of a horse. Somehow it all seems easier, simpler, less complex, on the back of a horse. The good days riding are great and the average days are good. They all beat the hell out of driving on the freeway!<br />
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Over the course of my riding career, the last thirty five years or more, my riding emphasis has been doing exactly that. Riding. Getting in the saddle and moving forward, literally and figuratively. That's what you'll do here, at Bear Creek Ranch. We'll get a big fancy from time to time, particularly during our time spent training and riding in our round pen and arena. You'll begin to learn how to move your hands lightly, softly. You'll begin to understand lead changing and transitions from the walk to the trot and on up the gaited ladder!<br />
We'll talk about and follow through with a consistent emphasis on riding with feel, the dominant theme of the great brother tandem of Tom and Bill Dorance. That philosophy of riding with a light hand and mind will always be front and center during your week at Bear Creek Ranch. And I don't doubt for a second that most of our guests and students will hit that learning curve a whole lot quicker than I ever did.<br />
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And perhaps most importantly, you'll be able to ride some of the same country I do. That's where you'll put your ongoing equine education to work. The ultimate classroom is the world outside the round pen and the arena. I look forward to sharing so much of that with you. That cowboy in you is right there ready to blossom. One of these days, hopefully this summer, you'll see what I mean.Bear Creek Guest Ranchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16375621599297693555noreply@blogger.com1