At the end of every June, our time allotment in a pasture called Runaway ends. After Runaway, we’re scheduled to graze The Bulls. So, Dan and I and a team of volunteer riders collect as many cows as we can out of Runaway and take them to The Bulls.
Sounds simple, right? Unfortunately, this move is anything but. Leaving Runaway is the hardest drive we do all year because we must go through Bear Wallow.
Bear Wallow is a deep, dark trench 1,000 feet below two ridges. You’re correct in assuming bears live there. I’ve also seen pine martens, marmots, elk, and deer. Based on the amount of cliffs and deer carcasses between Bear Wallow and The Bulls, at least one lion resides there, too. Even though it’s a mere 20 miles from Gunnison as the crow flies, I’ve only seen boot prints on its game trail once. That’s probably because the best way to get to said trail is by dropping off a rocky 45-degree face.
We pushed 340 pairs (720 individual animals) to The Bulls last Sunday. Here’s how it went down.
Dan and I met up with the eight other riders at 7:30 Sunday morning. With the trailers parked, horses saddled, and dogs unloaded, we rode the short distance to the cattle herd together. To begin gathering them, we fanned out, putting 100 yards or so between each rider. Then, we pushed north, bumping cattle towards the trail as we went.
Much like bird hunting, it’s important for the line to stay even with each other to keep everyone safe. It also keeps the cows from getting too far ahead. As a result, pausing to let others catch up happens frequently. Jazzy and I held up at the far end of the first meadow to let another rider get some cows pointed back in the right direction. Jazzy was less than enthused about this.
For one, her previous owner was riding with us that day. Our mutual friend was there as well. So, two of Jazzy’s long lost pals were within eyesight, but a couple hundred yards away. Plus, Dan was off in the trees with B.C.; her newest buddy was out of sight. Being the young, feisty horse that she is, Jazzy got pissed.
She tossed her head in a big way. I hope this isn’t’ going where I think it’s going, I thought, feeling premature embarrassment at the idea of getting bucked off with an audience watching. Then, she tossed her head again, but her front legs came off the ground this time. Holy shit, she reared! I realized standing still was not an option, so we walked in figure eights until the line was ready to push forward again. Of course, now we were headed straight into the woods, a place where Jazzy couldn’t see any of her friends.
Her high energy antics continued. Frantic neighs and fast steps continued for the next hour. Admittedly, I felt very nervous that whole time. Aspens threatened to tear my ears up if she started bucking, and I didn’t want to get injured from falling off again.
“We’re going to use this energy for good, not evil,” I told her, and we worked the entire rim of the ridgeline, bumping cows north to the fence along the way. We definitely cut in front of other riders behind us, but working out of line was a better option that falling off in the woods.
Eventually, her horse friends caught up to us, and we were able to ride to the next ridge together. Then, everyone fanned out again to collect cows against the east-west fenceline. Jazzy worked herself into a tizzy again, but this time I expected it. We worked cows over the second ridge twice before the other riders caught up to us.
Once the cattle were squished between the fence to the north and riders to the south, it was time to take them down the rocky face and into Bear Wallow. As you can expect, this is the most critical moment in the entire day. The face is very sketchy to ride on, and the risks of endangering your horse are high. The odds of something bad happening increase if the cows get past the riders; in this case, you must backtrack and bring the cows to the fence again. You have to ride the steepest country on this permit twice.
Having a wall of riders certainly helps the drop into Bear Wallow go smoothly. However, having a wall of incompetent riders makes it harder. Two volunteers we had that day (one was a roper, not a cowboy, and the other was wearing a t-shirt) never showed up to their position on the line. I rode downhill, attempted to cut off eight pair that were headed back to Runaway, when I saw them chatting in the woods. They were in the perfect position to cut off the bad cows, but they were completely ignorant as to what needed to happen.
“Cut those cows off!” I shouted from my stumbling horse. They looked at me quizzically and made a pathetic attempt to stop the cows. I left them to it and rode back up to my defensive position. I could see from there that they had turned the cows and were back on the line. I looked on as they dismounted and began walking their horses down the hill.
It’s much safer to be on your horse’s back than hiking in front of them on a grade this steep. Dan and I joke that if you dismount here, you’re not invited back the next year. It’s a little harsh, but that behavior is indicative that you don’t trust your horse, your horse’s training may be lacking, and your horse might not be physically capable of handling this trail. It’s just plain unsafe.
Once the herd was in Bear Wallow, Roper and T-Shirt remounted and rode ahead of the rest of the group. Shortly after, I realized many, many cows were side hilling on the cliff band adjacent to the cow trail in the gulch. That’s no bueno; the deadfall on the sides of Bear Wallow only gets worse until it eventually cliffs out. The cows needed to get off the hill.
I rode up the steep bank back into the sagebrush and began pushing the cows off the hill. After a quarter mile or so, who did I run into in the sage? Roper and T-Shirt.
“Are the cows supposed to be up here?” T-Shirt asked me.
“No, they’re supposed to be in the bottom,” I replied. “If they wrap around this ridge, they go back to where we started the day. They were never supposed to be on this hill.”
They watched on as I moved the rest of the cows downhill, which consequently created a gigantic hold up that stopped the good cows in the bottom.
Dan rode up to me, asking what the problem was. I told him that the cows were finally merging back onto the trail, but there were so many, it’s taking a while for them to regroup. From our vantage point, we watched another group of pairs attempt to climb out of the gulch on the other side. Thankfully, a very capable rider and horse were on it.
Things went more smoothly from there on out. Jazzy got to hang out with her friends. The cows trailed out pretty dang nicely for three more miles. They happily trotted through the newly opened wire gate to The Bulls, and we locked it closed behind them. The team of riders regrouped at one of my favorite grassy spots along East Elk Creek.
I pulled cold beers and hard lemonades out of a homemade Reflectix lunchbox I made for my saddlebag. Jazzy grazed with her sweet pal Dozer, and his rider, and close friend of mine, and I finally got to hang out for the first time all day. The long break was welcomed by every human, horse, and dog.
After cans were crushed and breaths were caught, we remounted and rode the beautiful five miles back to the trailers. A rider and I chatted about waterfowl hunting, duck blind building, and beaver shooting. Jazzy, my dogs Rosie and Pepper, and I also walked silently across the hillsides, taking in the unbeatable scenery and quiet solitude of remote places. Only hoofbeats, bird songs, and dog pants filled the air around us.
When the trail popped us back out at the sagebrush flat we parked on, rainclouds bursted to the south. A sliver of rainbow peeked over the horizon. Could you imagine a more fitting way to trot down the Rainbow Road, to celebrate a hard day well earned?
After everyone else left, Dan and I sat on the ground together and recapped our day. Jazzy and B.C. grazed around us, and the dogs were already passed out in a puppy pile in the backseat. We talked about T-Shirt and Roper, how the horses did, how that was the most successful push down Bear Wallow in his four years of being a range rider.
“I didn’t worry about you once,” he told me, his voice hoarse from shouting all day. I swelled with pride. He explained that he didn’t worry because I adeptly rode a horse we trusted, I’d grown very familiar with the route to The Bulls, I knew when to ask for help, and I took calculated risks. I covered down for more uncertain riders, and I continued to be in the right place at the right time. For the record, I didn’t worry about him once, either. We make a good team.
The next time we move cows together, we’ll be up the Red Creek Road, not the Rainbow Road. I am looking forward to showing Jazzy the other side of the permit—I hope she likes it.
Hey, thank you for being here. It’s really fun for me to have a place to share these stories, and I greatly appreciate your readership! If you have any questions about day riding, drop them in the comments. They help me structure what to write about next.