The 36 Hour Rancher

I’ve never described myself as a cowboy.

I can’t stand country music, I don’t own any bluejeans, the only boots I’ve ever owned are designed for snow. Hell, the closest thing I’ve done to farming is pull weeds from aspens at the family Nursery, and even then my Grandpa fired me after a month. 

Then we drove through Montana and had the opportunity to stay on a 3,000 acre farm and ranch for 2 days. 

While staying there, I learned about swathing and baling hay; wrangling and sorting the different ages and stages of cows and bulls; that you should refrain from grinning while pushing 40 mph on a 4-wheeler; and that some people find their calling very early in life. 

Waking up at sunrise, I was not only willing but excited to get my hands dirty and help out. I asked what I could do to help to pay for my keep on the property. The owners smiled and told me the first task on the chore list was to wrangle a herd of cattle into the pens and sort them into calves, bulls and cows. Second on the list was to herd James Bond. 

Note: Calves are female or male within their first year. A cow is a matured female. A Hefer is a young cow that hasn’t given birth. 

To peak my interest, it was suggested that I drive the 4-wheeler as we took 3 different vehicles to wrangle up the cattle. “It’s a bit touchy, you’re gonna want to engage the throttle as you turn the key and rev it a bit…” Said Oscar, the 12 year old who I referred to as “boss” the whole time while on the ranch. 

Wrangling cattle is an eb and flow of being in the right position and progressing slowly to scare cattle into going the right direction. However, if there’s a sizable gap between 2 of the vehicles, Tipper, the border collie, springs into action with pure instinct – nipping at the cattle’s heels. With 3 vehicles, one smart Border Collie, and the vocal instructions of “Yaw”, “Get em up”, “Move em out”, and other nonsensical phrases that I could think of, we secured the herd fairly easily. 

After wrangling the single herd into the pen by the house, the next 2.5 hours consisted of sorting, branding calves, getting my hand pooped on, and then securing some escaped yearling bulls chasing some hefers around.

After lunch, and an onslaught of rain, thunder and lightning passed over, it was time to wrangle and haul James Bond, a 6 year old 2,500 lb bull. The ride out to Bond was around a mile and a half across the highway. The 4-wheeler is tough to drive after the rain, not due to it being slick, but because of how many bugs are hovering around the tall grass… but the thrill of hammering down the throttle made it well worth the extra protein I ingested. 

James Bond was a force that was visible from across the field. As we set up the pen adjacent to the trailer, Oscar told me, “A bull that size doesn’t go anywhere unless it wants to. We’ll need to wrangle some cows and hopefully he submits to getting in the trailer”. It took 5 of us, but slowly 007 led the herd into the pen as we followed and lightly pushed the cattle forward. England’s finest secret agent was relaxed and calmly stepped into the trailer after we separated him from the rest of the herd. 

It was a hard days work that was more fun than I could have possibly imagined. That night Oscar and I raced 4-wheelers up the hillside to watch one of the many viewable storms float across the face of some nearby mountains. As the sun set, I asked Oscar what was next. He said he was heading back home – near Seattle. When I asked if he was excited to go back, he told me, “Nah, I like it out here, there ain’t a lot of people… Besides, I have to swath and bale 100 acres of hay before I leave in a week”. After watching the colors fade and the mosquitoes intensify, Oscar said “Let’s head back”… “You got it boss”.

Just as a pilot earns their wings, a cross country skier earns their fanny pack, a hipster earns their pbr tattoo; in those 36 hours I earned a cowboy hat and maybe 1 cowboy boot.