Happy Independence Day

 America. Why I love her. 

 ...have you seen the Milky Way reflected in a Wyoming, Windriver lake? Or shimmied through a slot canyon in the mighty Escalante? 

 ...have you smelled fresh-cut alfalfa or the sweet scent of Russian Olive hanging in the cool morning air in one of Utah's small towns? Or breathed the damp Magnolia perfume on a steamy Southern night?  

...have you heard the bugle of an elk reverberate among the jagged peaks of the Wasatch Mountain range? Or heard the Missouri thunder crashing through ominous green clouds? 

...have you tasted fire-cooked trout that minutes earlier was swimming in an ice-cold Uintah lake? Or savored the succulent flesh of a Maine Lobster pulled from a roadside lobster-pot? 

 ...have you watched the sunset make the Kolob Fingers blush a shade of crimson that'll bring a lump to your throat? Or gazed upon the morning shadow that Mt Nebo's triune peaks casts over the quaint village of Mona?

"You ask me why?  I have a million reasons..."

 America! God shed his Grace on Thee! May tyrants, dictators, and pencil-necked bureaucrats alike tremble in fear of the boisterous ocean of Liberty that rings from sea to shining sea!

If Only... RIP Gentle Maggie-Mule

If only.

If every man could have a good brother, who rides a good mule...this world wouldn't need many jails or jailers.

If every man could see the milky way reflected in a high mountain lake or feel the the alpine rain slap his oilskin coat...this world wouldn't bow to many kingdoms or kings.

If every man could feel the coiled power beneath his saddle as thunder echoes from Bally peaks...this world wouldn't cater to many courts or court jesters.

If every man could smell the pine scrubbed air that hides deep in the wilderness with his brother, all of the bureaus with all of their 'crats would become as gentle as spring's lamb.

RIP giant Maggie-Mule. Thanks for being the good mule who carried my good brother to so many of those sacred places with me.

AirTime

This amazing contribution comes from my good friend Steve Westhoff who is as real a cowboy as I have ever met.  I have laid it out exactly as it came in the email to me.  Stories like this need no embellishment.  Enjoy!  --pgooch

Parker and Mitch, my two younger sons roped “Belle” and I branded her with an iron heated in a fire. We tried for 3 years to catch her from the first time we saw her. We put a bell on her neck so she would be easier to find and catch in the future

“Fifty” Adventures

            A collection of true stories experienced while owning a public lands ranch in southern Utah on Fifty Mile Mountain. Cattle ranching with nothing to assist you other than horses, pack mules, dogs, and ropes on roughly 60 square miles of roadless desert wilderness has it’s challenges and rewards. Sometimes it’s hot and dirty, and sometimes it has amazing adventures.Fifty Mile Mountain is really a mesa that runs from Escalante, 50 miles to the Southeast, almost all the way to Lake Powell. Since it is a mesa, the sides are nearly vertical and half way up there is a bench that is about a mile wide that goes all the way around the mesa about 1000 feet below the rim. When we go there, we drive 42 miles down the Hole in the Rock Road and park below the Middle Trail, (the mesa is so steep only 5 trails have ever been made through the cliffs). We use the middle trail on the north side. Where we park is at 5000 foot elevation. We ride up through the cliffs and across the bench for about 2 hours to get to the top at 7400 foot elevation. The top is fairly flat and averages 3 miles across. I put some of my favorite pictures on the internet a few years ago, (they are still there at 50pictures.blogspot.com). However, unless you know the stories behind the pictures, they don’t have the same meaning. So, now I am writing the stories to go with the pictures. I am calling my collection “Fifty” Adventures and I titled this story, “Airtime”. It is one of my favorites.

Satellite view of the Fifty, the green pin is Hole in the Rock Road, the red pin is Rock Creek and the blue lines are the trails we use.

Airtime

     One time in April of 2012, my son, Mitchell Westhoff and I, Steve Westhoff, were riding across the bench between Mudholes and Blackburn Canyon and got ourselves in a situation where we had to do some "airtime", to get the job done. Let me explain.

On the bench, looking down into Rock Creek, Lake Powell in the distance.

     For years we have taken the cows off the back side of the Fifty, down Mudholes Canyon and along the bench for about 6 miles and into a big, 15,000 acre canyon called Rock Creek and a smaller canyon half way to Rock Creek called Little Valley. There is nothing little about Little Valley when you are looking for a cow because it is still 7500 acres. We usually put the cows in Rock Creek and the bulls and horses in Little Valley in November and go back and get them in March and April. Usually around New Years, I get my friend Dale to take me flying, as the snow is usually too deep to get there by horse back and Dale likes to fly and will take me in his plane if I will buy the gas. Somewhere around $45.00 will pay for a 2 hour round trip to look at the cows in the middle of the winter, not a bad deal.

            Part of what’s great about flying with Dale is he and his Dad used to own the cattle permits on Fifty Mile Mountain and the canyons on the back side and he can tell you all about the old days while you are flying. Well, one time after Dale had had his morning coffee, he took me flying and he was saying how when they owned the Fifty, one of the cowboys was chasing a wild cow trying to rope it and as they were running through the brush, he realized the cow was going out on a point where there was no way off. For sure he was going to get his cow now! The cowboy sped up, but also, the cow realized she was on a point and rather than get caught she jumped off the end, and rather than let her get away the cowboy jumped his horse right with her and as the story went, roped her in the air! When they hit the bottom, however far down it was, he was able to hold on to the rope and tie it around a tree before the cow could get her feet under her.

            I kind of raised my eyebrows when I heard this story wondering how much of it was true but I remember reading about the cowboys in Canyonlands cornering a wild cow on a ledge trail that went down to the Green River and rather than be caught, she jumped off the ledge to her death. I had also heard the story about Mac LeFevre chasing a cow in the bottom of the Escalante canyon and the cow jumped over a ledge into Lake Powell to get away and Mac jumped his horse right over the ledge into the Lake right behind her and swam out around her and brought her back. Also, the first wild cow that Parker, my youngest son, caught on the Fifty, back when he was 15 years old, the dogs had chased the cows up on a rocky point and when we rode up, the cow threw herself off the back side and I remember watching her spin around doing 360's on her side, instead of end over end, as she slide down the slick rock about 30 feet to the bottom.

This is Parker when he was 15 years old. He roped this calf, tied it to a pole that was laying in the corral and let the calf drag it around to teach it to lead, then Parker led him off the mountain the day this picture was taken. Proud Father in the background.

      So I guess the story could be true, but Mitch and I think we topped it because we caught our yearling bull at the edge of a cliff and ended up castrating it in the air! Here's what happened.

            In April 2012, right after Mitch finished his second year of college, I needed somebody to help me get the last cows out of Little Valley and Rock Creek and Mitch came down to help. We rode over the top and down Mudholes Canyon all the way to the floor of Little Valley. Then we rode into the box canyon we camp in and the 3 cows we were looking for were in it! Well rather than camp down in the heat, with the gnats already out, we gathered up the cows and rode right back up on the bench before dark. That night we camped at the spring at the mouth of Mudholes Canyon figuring we would go into Rock Creek the next morning. We had two pack horses and a mule with a harness on and we were leading them across the bench. We were riding through the trees and we came around a corner and there were about a dozen of my cows shaded up under some trees.

My cows started out as a herd of Longhorns, I have been using South Poll bulls, (Red Angus/Hereford crossed), since 2005 with great results.

     I stopped to look them over and saw one of my yearling steers that I had not been able to catch last fall.  I was wondering where the yearling bull was that I was also looking for that is usually with the steer. Well, after being satisfied all the cows were doing well, we started on and the next corner we went around, there was that little bull, breeding one of my cows.  I tell Mitch, "We can't have this because we are going to have a January calf now". (Since our cows are out on the range 12 months a year and are never fed hay, we try to wait until the cows have been on green grass for 50 days prior to calving. The desert feed is sufficient for a dry cows maintenance during the winter, but a cow’s nutrient needs double from 30 days prior to calving and for 60 days after, so to time calving with the spring green-up, mid-April and May works best for our ranch.). So Mitch and I decide we need, (it was not a want but a need), to tie up our extra horses and rope this bull and make him a steer.

From Grand Bench looking over at the south side of the Fifty in the background.

     It is some pretty rough country where we had found the bull and pretty brushy so we put on our chaps, take the rifle scabbards off our saddles so they won't get torn off as we ride through the brush, tighten our cinches and take off after the bull. He weighed about 600 pounds and was expert at ducking through the brush and under the trees. We each had a chance to throw our ropes at him but could not quite catch him. Finally, we are running him down a small ravine with Mitch right behind him and me on top of the ridge trying to keep him down in front of Mitch. This ravine poured off a 200 foot tall clay bank that wasn't straight down but was steep enough that you could barely keep from falling if you were using your hands and your feet. So, as Mitch was chasing this bull down the ravine, right when the bull hit the edge of the drop off, he stopped, and right when he stopped Mitch threw his rope, and right when the rope settled around his neck, the bull jumped.

            I was on the other side of a tree and didn't see it happen, but Mitch yelled out "Dad, Help!" I'm thinking to myself, "When one of my boys yell for help, as independent as they are, we’re both in trouble". Anyhow, when I get around the tree and see Mitch standing there by himself, I ask him, “Where is the bull?” Mitch says, “He jumped over the edge.” I say, “Where is your rope?” Mitch says, “It's on the bull”.

            We tie up our horses and walk over to the edge and there is our bull, wearing Mitch’s rope about 30 feet down, standing on a big rock about 4 feet wide and sticking out from the cliff face about 8 to 10 feet. 

This is the bull Mitch roped and the rock he was standing on

     We started laughing, asking ourselves, "What are we going to do now". Mitch got out his camera and took some pictures. We finally schemed up a plan, (Mitch's idea), that if he jumped down, caught the end of the rope and jumped down along the close side of the rock that was sticking out, that the bull would likely jump off the rock on the far side, if he did, Mitch would dally the rope around a boulder. I was on the cliff above the far side of the rock, and if the plan worked I was going to jump down and tie up the bulls legs and castrate him and turn him loose.

            Well, for the most part, the plan worked, but when the bull jumped Mitch already had him dallied up so he was hanging off the rock on the far side and under me. He was in the fetal position with his front legs and was trying to take the pressure off the rope with his back feet. He didn't look like he was planning to kick so I jumped down, whipped out my knife and castrated him in the air in less than 30 seconds, maybe less than 20 seconds. I yelled for Mitch to let him go and as he slid by I pulled the rope off of his neck. The bull went all 200 feet to the bottom, half sliding and half walking.

This is the clay bank the bull went down after we castrated him.

     I worked my way around to a ridge and was able to climb back up. I got out my rope and tossed one end of it down to Mitch so I could pull him up. We laughed and laughed saying, "Did we really just do that?" I don't think the bull even knew what happened, because next time we saw him 3 days later, he was with the same cow again.

Another view of the rock the bull was standing on.

     When we used to go with Quinn Griffin, whose family owned the grazing permits on the Fifty for 37 years, as we would start to ride out each morning, he used to say, "I wonder what adventure awaits us today?" It seems the Fifty is always good for adventure and that day Mitch and I sure had more adventure than we expected. 

End.

Click here to for "The Cowboy of Wildhorse Mesa" that I wrote about Steve in 2008

Click here for this fascinating newsletter about Steve by the South Poll Grass Cattle Association

Easter: Wellspring of Life

In remembrance of the Master of souls... He, who authored our Liberty, and then paid an infinite price for it. To know that He would have paid that unfathomable price, even if I were the only person in this big wide universe that needed it, causes my knees to bow and my heart to soar...

For His ability and desire to heal every wound that mortality can inflict--wounds both physical and spiritual--causes me to pause in awe...

And that He did it, and does it, for one as wretched as I--one who is not worthy to "lick His boots"--causes me to look forward to the day I that can wet the nail prints in His feet with my tears.

To Him who is called The Christ, I offer heartfelt thanks for my crack at life on this magnificent Earth--with all of its hazards and all of its rewards, all of its sorrows and all of its joys.

He is Risen. And He Lives.

--Flying I Ranch

Spring has Sprung in Gila Monster Alley

It is a rare treat to stumble into one of these reclusive creatures.  This desert is chock full of things poisonous and prickly.

Like Riding a mountain goat...

We especially love  the winter riding in the red rocks of the SouthWest.  Here are a few short clips from the past couple of weeks that show how sure footed the mules can be in technical, extreme terrain.  Notice how easy they make it look.




The clip above fails to show the pool of water down below the rider's right side (as seen in clip three and four).




My young son and his young john mule, Senator, making the climb out of this canyon look easy.  The horse with us wouldn't go down into this spot, and, most likely, have make it back out if it had tried.




Notice that when the mule is down in the water, the shelf it stepped off is taller than the mule.  Not shown here, but my son decided to take his mule along the serrated edge seen on the right--as shown by the rider in clip one who crossed this obstacle going up the canyon instead of down.  The next clip shows a horse trying to go around this obstacle to the left.




This rider decided to try and lead his horse around the water obstacle.   The horse may have been fine going into the water--the rider is quite seasoned.  But a mule would have either REFUSED to take the same path this horse took, or it would have done it without a wreck.

As traumatic as it appears, the horse was not harmed and was back up in this canyon a week later.

Two Coiled Springs

Senator about to leap

We were lucky enough on our last ride to have a real photographer along with us.  He took a bit of a risk bringing a super nice SLR along with him, but he shot some great photos.  I love the headliner photo particularly because it shows that moment of truth... that moment just before the leap when the springs are fully coiled.  The look on my son's face is one of intense focus as he and his mule, Senator prepare for the leap up onto the sandstone shelf.

Riding a mule is a bit like riding a cat.  It is a work of art how they always land on their feet...

Video Blog of the Haslem Trail.

I've written and photographed the beauty of the Haslem Trail several times for my blog.  These honey-combed crimson cliffs lie East of St George Utah, and offer some of the reddest, most eye-popping, high angle scenery to be found anywhere.

The older posts can be found here:

I almost lost my ass

Haslem Trail ode to old Kim

High Octane Mule on the Dad Trail

The Optometry Intern

The headliner video is a bit funny and shows why sometimes, it is just better to stay on than get off.  The rest of the clips show mules at their very best.  In the clip where we jump up into the narrow chute that takes us out into the open on top, you can see a bit of the difference between how the mule and the horse approach technical stuff.  Our mustang Kate, surefooted as she is, doesn't handle this task as well as the mules.

Enjoy some high angle thrills from the safety of home!

...and this, Dave's mule loves to get in the horse trailer.  Dave say's it didn't require any training to get his mule to head for the trailer and climb right in from a distance.

Haslem Trail revisited

I was out with a nephew and his girlfriend last week riding the Haslem trail.  It is truly one of my favorite rides for the winter in this desert.  Some of our most spectacular photos taken while riding have come from this trail and you can read the stories or see the photos here, here, here, and here.

The girlfriend captured the headliner photo on my iPhone.  This little part of the trail is slightly technical because it has a gradual bull-nose that doesn't begin to flatten until about nose high on my mule.  To stand in front of it and contemplate a leap up still seems impossible every time I do it, yet every one of my mules will do it without skipping a beat--even the smaller ones who have even more vertical distance to leap.

 A few others below from the trip back down...