Home on the range: kick up some trail dust and live out cowboy fantasies on a rip-snortin' cattle drive in Montana

Travel America, May-June, 2004 by Barbara Gibbs Ostman

What do you get when you mix seven covered wagons, 10 wranglers, 22 would-be cowboys and cowgirls, two dozen crew and family members, a hundred or so horses and mules, and several hundred head of cattle? The makin's for the annual Roundup Cattle Drive in Montana--one of the best vacations ever.

It's every city slicker's dream--to play cowboy and ride the range for a week. The kind-hearted, good-humored ranchers of Montana make this dream possible by organizing the annual cattle roundup. They have as much fun as the guests do, and it shows. Perhaps that's why all of the crew and many of the guests are repeat attendees.

Take Howard Rogers of Arizona, for example, This was his 10th roundup, and the third for his wife, Bonnie. Rogers, an artist, spends much of his time on horseback taking photos of the scenes around him. Back home, he translates those memories onto canvas.

On the other hand, some of the guests are complete greenhorns. Jose Rios of Pennsylvania had never been on a horse prior to arriving in Montana. By the end of the week, he was riding poles in the rodeo and grinning from ear to ear while everyone cheered him on.

The cattle drive is an outgrowth of the Great Montana Centennial Cattle Drive of 1989. The nearby town of Roundup was the trailhead for the drive and is now the anchor for the annual event, which draws guests from around the United States, Canada, and other countries, too.

Guests ranged in age from 11 to 75 last year, while crew and family members extended the age range from 3 to 78. There's a fairly even mix of male and female. It's a great family vacation as well as an ideal adventure for solo travelers.

WHAT TO EXPECT

The week began with an orientation session at the Northern Hotel in Billings. I was feeling equal parts of excitement and dread, eager to go but worried about my riding skills. I was reassured by the number of repeat participants and the varied skill levels of the first-timers.

The next morning, we boarded a battered school bus and headed for the ranch of the Rod Dahl family, outside the town of Roundup. Along the way, 11-year old Vern Stensvad, son of Bonnie Stensvad, executive secretary for the association and a 10-time roundup veteran, put me at ease, giving me tips about what to expect. With his cute grin and outgoing personality, he was the sweetheart of the roundup.

At the ranch, we were paired up with our horses and set out for camp, stopping along the way to round up 13 pair of cattle (a pair is a cow and calf) and drive them ahead of us as we rode deep into the heart of the 19,000-acre ranch. My horse, Tank, a red roan, was an experienced cow horse: all I had to do was head him in the right direction and he took care of the rest.

Home for the first four nights was a sheltered valley, with plenty of trees to provide shade for our tepee tents. Each team camped around its wagon, the hub of camp activities. In the middle of the camp, the chuckwagon lured us with mouth-watering aromas three times a day. In the evenings, the bar with its wooden dance floor was the scene of two-step and line dancing, as well as talent shows, scavenger hunts, and other home-grown entertainment. One evening, wrangler and cowboy poet Leon Flick regaled us with stories and poems from his book A Cow's Tail for a Compass.

The stars were brilliant--no city lights to detract from the heavenly show. When we finally crawled into our sleeping bags, we fell asleep to coyote lullabies and the whisper of the wind in the pines.

ON THE TRAIL

Days begin early, with a hearty breakfast at the chuckwagon at 7 a.m. Then it's off to the hilltop above the corral to watch as the wranglers round up the horses. It's quite a sight as a hundred horses thunder across the plains and up to the camp.

After saddling up, we head out for the day's activities, which usually involve rounding up and sorting out cattle. Across open fields, up rimrock slopes, along wooded ridges, we search for cattle, driving them ahead of us to new pastures. Each day, the saddle becomes more comfortable and the confidence grows.

By the fourth day, it's branding time. In the corral of the old Harry homestead on the ranch, the calves we've rounded up are sorted out one by one, roped and tied, and branded with red-hot irons with the KO brand of the Dahl ranch. Normally squeamish city dudes take a turn at pressing the glowing branding iron into the hide, as the hair sizzles and the calves bawl. It's hot, sweaty work in the 100-degree heat.

That afternoon, we take a scenic ride to a rock alcove that shelters an ancient elk pictograph, painted hundreds of years ago by the Indians who lived in the area. On the ride back to camp, a herd of about 50 elk runs past us in the trees. It is almost too perfect.

The next day, we break camp and move to our second campsite, on the rimrock above the Dahl ranch buildings. Along the way, we drive 93 pair of cattle to their winter pastures. At one point, we're heading up a narrow trail in the hills, compressing the herd of bawling cows and calves into a single-file parade. I'm amazed at the skills we've gained in just a few days.