Late August, 2009 - We left Stanley, Idaho and continued traveling north
towards Montana, following the wonderful twists and turns of the Salmon
River as it descended down the mountains. During two days of leisurely
driving along the river's edge, we watched the terrain gradually change
from tall pines on steep mountainsides to rolling, barren hills that seemed
to have been shaped and smoothed with care. We slowly began to feel
the mood changing from fly fishing in fast-moving streams under cool
trees to ranching on the wide open range under the big sky.
Stopping in the small town of Salmon, Idaho, we found a shop filled with
cowboy hats. The new ones on the racks looked very crisp, but the ones
with real character were the crumpled ones the customers had turned in.
These hats lined the tops of the walls in the store. Each hat was crinkled
and worn in a different way, and each had the owner's name under it.
Outside of town we found
the Lemhi County Fair in
progress. There was all
kinds of horse activity
going on, and we
watched a little as the
riders competed with
each other to be the
fastest one to sort out a
single cow from the herd.
It was more fun watching
the cowboys watch the
event.
Some of the ranches and farms we passed were beautiful properties. One red barn in
particular caught my eye, and later I found that this same barn was featured on a
glossy Montana calendar.
We went to Stevensville to visit our friends Bob and Donna
Lea. Before we'd even said "hello" to them, we met their
horse Little Buck. He was carrying Bob's ranching boots on
his back.
I got a chance to try my legs at
riding a horse. This was just the
third time I'd been on a horse
since my first outing on a pony at
the church fair when I was five. I
managed okay, but I got the
signals crossed for turning right
versus left and consequently had
to duck under a very low branch.
Bob had work to do at his
neighbor Carl's ranch, and we got
a fantastic inside view of what
ranching is like. This was the day
the cows and their calves had to
be inoculated with two vaccines
and sprayed with an anti-fly spray.
I had no idea what to expect, but I
loved the sights and smells and
busy activity on the ranch.
First the calves were sent down a chute to a single-calf sized holding
pen. There they were held in place with a clamp on either side of their
neck so they could bob their head up and down but couldn't wriggle out.
This made it easier to give them their shots. They didn't seem thrilled
with the idea, but they didn't protest too much. A scratch on the head
helped the medicine go down. Next, two ranchers lined up with the shots.
The syringes were pretty good sized. Bigger than I'd want, anyways!
Then the vaccines were injected and the calf was released to run
off to his friends down the hill. There was all kinds of mooing going
on in the distance, as the calves and cows had been separated
from each other for this project, and they kept calling to each other
from their separate pens.
Eventually everyone got their shots and later they all got their spray. We
had a chance to go through the calving barn to see where and how that is
done (in March when it is zero degrees and snowing). As I looked at the
apparatus for handling a breach birth and for nurturing a sickly calf, I was
amazed at how much biological and medical knowledge a rancher needs
to have. I missed most of the scientific words Carl was throwing around.
Yet there was a cozy intimacy to this family enterprise that brought a new
group of calves into this world each year. I felt like I was peeking in on a
James Herriott story. In the distance that evening the mountains were lit
with a momentary splendor, adding a special glow to this world of Montana
cattle ranching.
A wildfire had been burning in the nearby mountains for a month.
During the day you could smell the smoke, and at times the fire danced
across the mountainside, sending up a ribbon of smoke first from one
area and then another.
A few days into our visit a torrential rainstorm came, dropping an
inch of water on the mountains and valley (along with a thin layer
of pea-sized hail). That doused the fire long enough for us to take
a mountain bike ride up to a nearby peak to get a closer look.
Our new ranching friend Carl showed us that ranchers don't just
raise cattle. They mountain bike too.
Once we got up in the hills a few miles we had an expansive view of the
Bitterroot Valley below. We met some US Forest Service rangers at the crest of
the mountain, and they told us that the fire was subdued but not quite out. As
we looked out at the charred hillside in the distance (on the right side of the
photo below) we could not see any smoke just then, but in later days it
returned.
The modern wildfire fighting method is
to let them burn, as fires are natural in
this part of the country. The hillside
on the left of the photo shows the
forest's re-growth since the 1910
inferno that roared from Washington
state across Idaho and into Montana.
The shorter, even trees covering most
of the hill are the regrowth and the
taller, darker ribbon of trees that lines
the ravine going down the hillside are
the original pre-1910 trees. One
hundred years later and the evidence
of that fire is still plain to see.
Hopefully the burnt areas from this year's fire will grow back
a little faster, as the fire was not hot enough to sterilize the
ground (like the 1910 fire did). All the fire talk aside, it was
a good moment for a photo op.
The fire was working its way across many healthy trees,
but we found ourselves in a stand of beetle infested trees.
The beetles bore into the bark and the tree tries to repel
them with thick sap. This gives the tree a pock-marked
look. Some trees are able to stave off the infestation, but
most eventually die.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Carl had just acquired an
adorable new cow dog. She was all cuddles and
goofiness, just settling in to her new home before learning
the ropes of her ranch job.
Out in the "wildlife sanctuary," a
portion of the pastureland allowed to
grow wild, two families of wild turkeys
showed up. They had been in the area all summer and at one time
numbered two adult females and 17 chicks.
We counted 15 chicks with the moms, but couldn't get them to stand
still or pose for us in the sunshine for a family portrait. They ran
across the road in the shadows instead.
In the midst of taking way too many photos of these turkeys, I looked
up and saw Bambi running across the field, white spots and all.
A few days later, Carl invited us over to see a "cattle drive" at the ranch.
This wasn't the big round-up you might imagine, but a simple walk-
through from one pasture to another. The cows had made short work
of all the grass in their current field, and when Carl called to them, they
came running.
He presented
them with some
freshly mowed
grass and they got
very excited. The
mooing was
tremendous, and
each cow came
bellowing over to
us, calf in tow.
They all stood around us in a circle, expectantly. He hand fed a
few, telling me some of the stories behind each one. The bulls were
lounging under the trees in another pasture way down the hill. It
was like a boys school and a girls school with each waiting for spring
time when they could finally get together at the prom. Each May he
puts two bulls in a pasture with 50 cows for 70 days. By the end just
about every cow is pregnant and the bulls have a lot of notches on
their belts.
Some cows had been on his ranch for 13 years, and others for just a
year or so, but each had a history and a personality.
This big guy was still nursing (a little old for that,
perhaps!). He spent quite some time going round and
round from teat to teat, quite sure that there was
something there for him, but not finding what he
wanted. Finally momma just walked off.
Carl led the cows and calves through the gate, and
they went running down the lush green hillside. They
were delighted with their new digs. The grass was tall
and soft, and the view was superb. The cattle on this
ranch have it good.
We said goodbye to Carl, and took off with Bob and
Donna Lea for the annual Labor Day Helmville