Money for Nothing

                                                         Money for Nothing (Chicks for Free)

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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 .

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.
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.

Stay tuned to Adventures with Positive and Hombre.  The True and (Untrue) Tales Tales of Horses and Women in the Key of Life.

Rockin' in the Free World

I'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.

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.

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)!

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!

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.

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.

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!

A True Path in Life

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.

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.
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.

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.

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.

Riding the Four Winds

I'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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

See you in May!

Bill

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