Dear Friends and Partners As we made our way through the switchbacks cut into the rock pasted against the cliffy bluffs, the crystal clarity of the Salmon River rolled lazily by below. An orange sun worked its way down to the horizon. Like us, I think the sun may be getting tired of forest fire smoke. The fires keep going into this month of …
Ruminations & Newsletters
On Making Horse Sense
The forest-fire-smoke-induced-orange ball of sun broke the jagged 10,000 foot spine of the Continental Divide as I braked my truck and trailer to a gentle stop. I had the big gooseneck with 8 horses on board, and I chose the open grassy spot next to a massive crack willow trunk. The spreading branches arched over the two track that ushered arrivals …
A Tale of Two Ranches
August 17: three of us, standing over a six-inch diameter pipe sticking out of the ground, in the middle of the broad field, staring at the 1 inch of water in the bottom of it in a windstorm. Boiling, threatening clouds of green, brown and gray rise up in the west. We all cast furtive glances to the dull nearly indistinguishable horizon. Linnaea …
Hope in Fire Season
I bashed my head on the frame of the pickup in an unconscious attempt at sitting up, perhaps dream initiated. This was the second time. Awake, first forgetting where I was, but rudely brought back to reality by unyielding steel on forehead. I’m surrounded by the noise of truck traffic, helicopters in landing and take-off, and incessant radio …
Sutter’s Mill and Salmon River Sediments
The Salmon River is running chocolate milk, and I think it saved us. I had been clattering on the rough cobble of the rocky shore, threading my way through downfall and impenetrable willow brush with my mare, Sunny, tracking a couple of steers in the early morning light as more rainclouds scudded across the short-lived sun. I scanned the steep bank …
Beaver As Teacher
Beaver camp, July 2019. We call it that because there were at least two colonies of beavers there, thriving in the waters of upper Little Hat Creek, just a few hundred meters from where we were living as well, in a five tented temporary settlement of cowhands and horses, high in the backcountry at the foot of Table Mountain. They didn’t seem …
We Are Not Alone
They stealthed upon us suddenly in the silent black of night when we least expected it, as they often do. Ironically, we were just 5 minutes earlier taking about them. And it had been a while. We were all exhausted from a long day astride saddle horses in rough country. For icing on a fatigue cake, it was a late day coming into camp on …
Ode to Iron
Dear Friends and Partners: We have horseshoes. Lots of them. There are buckets and random piles around the shop, barn, and equipment sheds. And I’m not even counting the countless ones left up in the alpine goat-rocks of the Hat Creek Ranges. Often, we’ll find hand-forged ones up there, nearly a hundred years old, left by cowboys long gone …