Beach Girl Turned Cowgirl

Growing up in Orange County there weren’t many opportunities to move towards my current lifestyle.   Yet there were glimpses of a future that would lie a bit off the average side of suburban lifestyle. 

My father worked for the Irvine Ranch.  The major portion of his work dealt with leases to farmers.  Once upon a time agriculture was the main industry in Orange County, hence the name. Among the thousands of acres owned by Irvine, was a large cattle ranch that ran all the way to the beach in Newport and Laguna.

Every spring, they would gather the cattle and put on a huge branding.  It was quite a social event.  Movie stars, politicians, and other dignitaries were all invited.  They would watch the cowboys on horseback cut the young calves out of the herd then rope and brand the bawling calves.  The smell of burning hair 50 years later takes me back to that time during the branding.  It’s so peculiar how the sense of smell has the ability to transport us.

In the evening the feast of deep-pit beef, beans and garlic bread was combined with the consumption of much drink. It was always accompanied by the music of strolling, silver-festooned Mariachi band. I would hear those trumpets in my sleep for weeks afterwards. As a kid, it always amazed me how loud the grown-ups raucous laughter became during these festivities. 

Catching Wild Cattle

Most people don’t know there are "wild" cattle. Matter of fact, I don’t think most people knew there were cows in California, at all, before the “Happy California Cows” ads. Just what are wild cattle you ask? Wild cattle are animals that were not well managed by their owners. They were sometimes bought at auctions by people that had enough money to by a couple of acres and then decide to become ranchers. Fences weren’t built properly and cows got out.

Cows are herd animals just like horses. They want to be with other cows. As they get mature, cows want to be with bulls and vice-versa. So they begin to wander. A thousand pound cow can plow her way through a fence that is not meant to contain her. A bull can go through just about anything when surrounding cows are "in the mood".

When cattlemen gather their herds for branding and shipping sometimes these “wild cattle” are caught. But these cows, that are used to going where they want, often find a way to evade the average herdsman. It takes a different skill set to catch these troublesome bovine.

That’s where cowboys, like my husband come in to play. This breed of cowboys have good cow dogs and horses that go anywhere. They don’t just ride four-wheelers. Awhile back a neighbor, about 6 miles away, called to ask Coleman if he could help him out. Coleman has a reputation for being able to catch these wild, and they really are wild, cattle. It seems that a contentious bull had come on to his property, which was a good sized piece of hill country and been breeding some of his registered cows. He had only seen him once or twice but by the time he would get out a camera, he’d be gone.

Coleman said, "Sure I’ll come get him and any others you want out."

Before light the next morning, he gathered his dogs, two horses and loaded up. He went out into the man’s field at first light. He didn't find the bull he was after in the ranchers field, so he dropped the fence and went out into another piece of neigbhoring ground. It was June in Raymond, and it was going to get over 100 degrees that day. He knew that bull would shade-up soon and be really hard to find. But first, he would go to water. There’s a river that ran through that property and and it was still running with some snow melt from the high country. He rode to the river and started to travel down stream. He found that bull and more. There was a handful of cows and a couple of young bulls in the group. Using binoculars he couldn’t see any brands on these cattle. They were slick. Now this was going to be a pretty big order to gather these wild cattle. They were as spooky as deer in hunting season. Looking at the size of some of the calves, it was obvious that they’d been living on the river for quite a while and knew well how not to be caught. This was going to have to be handled differently. He loaded up his dogs and horses drove to the ranchers, house and let him know he’d be back with some reinforcements. That night he called his buddy, Chance, and asked if he’d like to make some money. He told him he’d pay him by the day until they caught what they could. Since these cattle weren’t branded, they would be delivered  to a sales yard and the state brand inspector would determine the ownership,  Coleman would put a lein on them to cover his costs.

The next morning they went after the cattle. These cowboys are hi-tech. They had walkie-talkies around their necks for communication and tranquilizer guns for the bovine that are too big for just a cowboy with a rope. The drug they use is strong enough, with suggested doseage, to slow an animal, not drop them like on TV.  That brings me back to the big red bull the rancher called about originally. 

They started out before dawn: dogs, horses, and cowboys. The dogs jumped a handful of cows and the problem bull. Immediately the bull broke away from the cows. He ran into the most dense brush and down the rockiest deep gorge he could find. Of course, Coleman followed. The bull finally  wound up in the river with just his horns and nose above water.

The dogs, trained to be relentless, bailed in. That mean son-of-a-gun tried to drown the dogs. Coleman told Chance to go back to the truck for the dart rifle. This process took about 45 minutes.  It was a stand off at the edge of the river.  Coleman called off the dogs. The bull came out of the water far enough, with a good shot by Chance, to get a dart in his hip, making him a very angry bull. He charged both cowboys and dogs. Twenty minutes later the drugs had slowed the bull down enough for both Coleman and Chance to get their ropes around his head and a hind leg. They began pulling him to a tree to tie off. Just as they thought the fight was over, he gathered steam and took a run at Coleman and his horse. The dogs were no longer the target of his wrath.  Yep, it was Coleman and his tough palomino stallion, Champ.

The bull charged, and that stallion literally flew sideways half way into that river. He had Coleman zeroed in. Out of nowhere, the youngest, but biggest dog, Gator,  leapt liked "super dog" onto that bull's neck and clamped down(that's where he got his name). Chance took advantage of the pandamonium and shot him with another dose of tranquilizer.  Coleman and champ took the reprieve and got to the bank. Now that Chance had that bull's full attention, Gator swam to safety.

By the time they managed to get a couple more ropes on that mean bull, the drug kicked in. He became a "lethargic" mean bull.  They managed to half drag and fight him towards a tree a couple of yards at a time.  In position of the tree they tied him off by a hind leg.

They went and got the truck and trailer.  They had to use the same method they used to get him to the tree to load him into the trailer.

That mean red bull was taken to the sales yard and weighed in at 1600 pounds.  That was 1600 pounds of pure muscle.  I'm not sure he wouldn't have mad a pretty good bucking bull.  As mean as he was, I don't think most cowboys would have been too thrilled to draw that one at the rodeo.

The picture is pretty grainy, but I think you can see how muscular he was.

Married to a cowboy: 2 Kids and a Pony

Married to a cowboy: 2 Kids and a Pony: Let me first say that no children or animals were injured during this experience. 22 years ago, when I first met my husband, I gave him...

On The Way To A Rodeo

Rodeo was different back in the 70's.  We had no communication when we were out on the road
unless you count a pay phone.  Do I need to explain what a pay phone was?  We couldn't go on GOOGLE maps to have someone talk us through directions.  We would ask some other cowboy and they would give you the ole "turn left at the broken fence" type of directions.

In the 70's, there were enough rodeos in California for a cowboy, with decent talent at riding rough stock (bulls, saddle broncs, bareback horses) to make a pretty good living. For example, entry fees in the bull riding were about $35 dollars.  If you won, it could pay as much as $500. Minimum wage was about $1.65 as I recall. You would be lucky to make $150 in a week at a minimum wage job..

The weather is good in California year-round unlike many other big "rodeo states",  There were more than 90 rodeos a year to enter.  You could jump in a car and make it to multiple rodeos in a weekend if you were riding rough stock.  After all, you didn't need to haul a horse in a trailer.  You just needed your gear bag with your rope, rigging or saddle. Most of the time you could save that expensive 35 cent a gallon gas if you shared a ride.

Well, back in the 70's, people went to the beer stand after the rodeo and you didn't have to show ID if you looked like you were out of grammar school. The beer stands weren't separated by a fence and you didn't need a wrist band to get served. All you needed was a buck.  On one particular weekend, my husband Coleman and his buddy Rick, only 19 at the time,were competing in Merced in the central California valley.  They both had good luck that day, so they decided to head to the beer stand. They were up in Orrick at 1PM the next day.  Orrick is about 400 miles north of Merced up highway 101, which they figured, gave them plenty of time  to relax. It was only about a 6 hour drive. July in Merced is always pretty darn hot, You can understand that contributed to needing quite a few cold beers.

They got in  the station wagon they borrowed from Rick's mom at about 1:30 am to start the drive. Rick said he would drive the first shift and Coleman lay down to sleep in the back seat. Coleman woke to sunshine in his face and the sound of traffic racing past. He sat up feeling quite groggy, looked ahead, then looked back over his shoulder. The sign read, Merced 10 miles, 

He yelled, "Rick you idiot, wake up.  We're still in Merced"

They turned on the radio to figure out what time it was since neither had a watch, of course. The DJ said it's 6:30.  They looked at each other and Rick punched the gas.  They would have to "go like hell" to get there in time.  Rick got two tickets before they reached Sacramento. He was so mad he picked up a hitch hiker.  No that doesn't make sense to me either, but that's what he did.

Coleman decided it might be a good idea if he drove.  So they switched.  Switching during a rodeo trip does not involve pulling over.  That would cost time.  They switched places while still speeding down the highway.  He and I have done the same thing, but I have trouble picturing two guys trading the same way we did.  There must be several methods in which this can be accomplished.  About that time the hitchhiker had had enough.  He asked if they would slow down enough for him to jump out. Coleman sped up even more.

The three of them rolled into the rodeo grounds just in time to see Coleman's saddle bronc horse, with his head held high, trotting out of the chute. After your name is called three times they "turn you out" In the rodeo world there's no do-overs.

They were both up in the bull riding but neither rode. This was "Rodeo Karma".

2 Kids and a Pony

Let me first say that no children or animals were injured during this experience.

22 years ago, when I first met my husband, I gave him a certificate after he helped me win a team cattle sorting competition by lending me his horse to ride.  On the certificate, it declare him to be “SUPER COWBOY”.  He has always worn that big “S” well.  This last weekend I got the big “S”. 

We attended a draft horse, mule and horse sale in Tulare, California.   We arrived Thursday to have time to get our horses settled into this new environment. None of our horses had ever “gone to town” or been exposed to horse-drawn wagons and carts.  All our horses had their pens bedded with shavings, water and feed  to make them comfortable  for the next three days.

I served as labor force, groom, and general ”go-fer”, carrying bridles, ropes and spurs.  But I kept my eye on the steady stream of animals being ridden and driven by our pens and in the various arenas.  When I say “driven” it means pulling carts, wagons, and buggies.  There were Clydesdales, like the Budweiser horses, saddle horses like ours, miniature horses and ponies, and mules of every size, being ridden or pulling wagons. There was a good sized palomino that an Amish girl was riding Roman style (standing on his back holding the reins). We all hooped and hollered for her as she went past. She looked over her shoulder with a sheepish little grin.  Everywhere I went a tiny black and white pony, harnessed to a little two wheel cart, was being driven by an Amish girl from South Dakota.  That pony was really getting around.  Sometimes there was a young blonde boy, about 5, with the biggest black hat, riding with her.  I would also see that little girl riding that pony bareback just as calm as could be (the pony and the girl).

After 2 days of watching this little pony, I took a picture and sent it to my daughter.  I knew her husband loves black and white paint horses and my grandson could definitely get a kick out of this cute pony. She was really interested and wanted to know if she had  time to get there.  People were getting ready for the sale but it was still early enough. 

I had some time so I followed the pony and cart over to the big arena to get a video.  There wasn’t anyone around since that arena is set apart from the sales area.  I stood next to the arena fence to get lined up for my shot.  The little girl was looking away from where she was heading and that cart hit the pipe of the arena.  The clang of that pipe cause that pony to stampede sideways.  He made a hard left and turned that cart over sending those two kids flying. Now without those kids in that cart that pony could really move.  The girl jumped up and started chasing the pony.  I had somehow jumped that 6 foot fence and was heading for the kids.  When kids are involved you can do the “super mom” thing without even knowing. By then the little boy was up and chasing his sister, so they were okay.  But this was not going well.  The cart was dragging sideways behind the pony and the kids were chasing him.  He just sped up.  I saw what was going to happen.  Both gates were open. I ran across the arena to cut him off and even with my short legs managed to get to him first.  I grabbed those reins in the middle of his back and dug in my heels.  He was really strong for a little guy.  Fear makes them stronger too.  I got him stopped just long enough for the girl to catch up. She grabbed his head.  While I held onto the reins I righted the cart to stop the shafts of the cart (side rails) from digging in to the poor little guy. 

The girl sent her brother to go get their dad.  This pony was not getting much calmer and it was everything we could do to hold on to him.  We moved him headed into the fence and I ran over and shut the gates in case he pie-eyed again.  

My husband told me that the little boy got to his dad and was talking so fast that he couldn't understand what was going on, but luckily his dad did.  Dad came over to the arena, as calm as can be, got in the cart, made both kids get in with him, and drove the pony around in that arena for quite a while.  There was nothing else for me to do but go back over to the barns.  

I got on the phone and text my daughter and said, “never mind”.

Coyotes Are Out Of Control

This morning started out with a coyote coming right in to try and attack my German Shepherd.  Pretty stupid coyote. I guess in defense of the coyote, my female shepherd, Bella, is in season.  My 3.5 pound male Yorkie is also in love with her right now. Now that would be a crazy cross. It started a conversation about coyotes while we were watching the sun come up.  

This year has not been good for our calf crop.  A few weeks ago, we branded and castrated our calves.  Steers bring more money at the sales yard.  There  were only 2 calves that were castrated and then turned out in the big field with the other cows and calves. Apparently the smell of blood brought in coyotes.  They killed one the first night.  Now that calf was pretty small and a little weak. The cow was a pretty gentle cow that was also broke to dogs.  But when my husband went back the next day they had killed the other calf.  He was just sick.  He's a cautious man and if he had any idea they would take down the bigger calf,  he never would have left them out there.  

Coyotes are getting really out of control up here.  They have no predators.  The only thing keeping there numbers down is this drought. They have less food.  But that is exactly what is making them more aggressive,  I always think it is so sad when I see posters up for a "lost" cat or dog.  We, pretty much, know what that means. I had forgotten about the time they almost got hold of my husbands cow dogs.

In the area above Huntington Lake in the Sierras is BLM land.  A corporation had the permit to run cattle on that land for years. They had there own cowboys that had to gather the cows and calves and bring them out before the weather turned  bad in the fall. Otherwise they would be trapped in the snow and probably die.  Well at the end of the gather they were still "out quite a few". They hadn't found them all.  They hired Coleman with his dogs and a few other good cow men that also brought their dogs to find the rest, the "tail end cattle".  This is some pretty rough country and you really have to know the permit area or you can get lost up there.  

Coleman came upon a big yearling  about 1000 pounds.  He and his dogs chased that steer down into a canyon at the headwaters of the San Joaquin river.  It was so brushy and rough that he was lucky to have caught that steer. He got it roped and tied down and went back to get another cowboy to help bring this steer out.  On the way a pack of coyotes tried to attack his dogs.  The dogs got up under the horse, risking being trampled.  The coyotes just kept taking a run at them.  Coleman took his rope and kept beating the coyotes back and yelling until they finally retreated.  He moved out and ran into his brother who had heard some of the commotion.  They rode back to the calf.  One got a rope on his neck and one got a rope on a hind foot and they brought that calf out.

I don't remember hearing that story before, but he didn't always tell me the bad stuff until a while after it happens so I don't get too crazy over this stuff.  There isn't much that he does that surprises me any more.

This is Coleman and Speedy, one of the best dogs he's ever had.  We lost Speedy this year to a stroke.  The day he died he went out with Coleman to move some cattle.  He stopped at a trough along the way and didn't seem to want to move.  Coleman picked him up and took him back to the barn on the four-wheeler.  He ran to the house for some  aspirin, but by the time he got back down to the barn he was gone.  We've really missed that dog this summer.

Night Rider

It's 5:00 AM and my husband just came through the doors. "I just finished riding those two new
horses and our colt", he said.
"What, it's pitch black still", I said.
He went on to explain to me what he was up to.

He had been pretty quiet the night before.  This is never a good sign.  That meant he was stewing about something.  I chose not to ask what was going on.  You know they say "ignorance is bliss".  I like bliss.  I have learned a cowboy stewing is like a General planning his troop's maneuvers.  So he apparently came up with the plan he put into action in the wee hours of the morning.

All three young horses had some sort of issues, from a horse trainer outlook.  The youngest one is just a spitfire that can jump right out from underneath him.  The mare is not real fond of "listening" to his feet.  The oldest just needed to settle down.

He rode the same basic pattern with all three.  He took them one at a time at a trot straight out from the barn into a huge field.  Now these are not flat fields.  These are fields with scrub brush, oak trees, rises and drops and squirrel holes too.  There is a dirt dam above a very dry pond.  Once he had them on top of the dam he turned them around each direction several times.  They really "listened" to him in the dark, since they had to trust him.

So I asked, because I just can't help myself, "couldn't they fall down the bank?"
He responded, "they will if they don't do what I'm telling them."

AGHHH why do I ask?

He went on this morning to tell me a great story.  His dad, Joe, was a colt breaker for Simon-Newman, one of the largest cattle operations in the central valley of California in the late 40's through early 60's.  They had a string of colts that would need to get broke in a hurry,  Joe would get a lot done in a short time by riding those young horses out in the dark.

Joe always told Coleman's mom, Gloria, when to expect him back.  One night he hadn't shown up, so Gloria took a lantern and went out to find him.  She found him lying underneath a horse in a sandy dry river bottom.  I can just imagine her panic.  The horse couldn't get up and Joe was trapped.  She dug underneath Joe and got his knife out of his pocket and cut the latigo holding the saddle.  The horse was able to get up and freed Joe.  He wasn't hurt badly and went on the next day to do it all over again.

"Gee thanks for telling me that great story, You know your mom was a lot tougher than me", I said.

"No",  he said. "I know you would come looking for me if I didn't show up for morning coffee."

That has always been a code for us.  You don't deviate from the expected without telling each other.  If you're going to be late, we tell each other or get the word home.  You leave a message with what field or what highway you'll be traveling.

He reminded me of when we first started dating.  I came up to meet him at his ranch  for a date. When I arrived he was not there.  This was very uncharacteristic since he's always early for everything.  There was a halter hanging from the tie rack, a missing saddle, and the dogs were gone. It was just about dark and I hadn't ridden in these hills but once or twice. So I went and caught a broke horse and got ready to go looking.  Just as I started down the trail from the barn in the complete dark,  he came over the hill.

"I had never had anyone come looking for me", he said.  "That's when I knew you were the one."