Gone Fishin'

You may have worked out by now that Chris is a bit of a hunter-gatherer. He loves to shoot rabbits & make them into casseroles (delicious) and catch fish to cook fresh.


Since we've been in Montana he's been looking longingly at every stretch of fast flowing water and sagely pronouncing that "these rivers smell very fishy". So on our trip to Cody, Wyoming last week we stopped into a fishing shop and asked about the best time of year to fish here.


"Every month but June" was the expert's reply. Oh dear. This June has been particularly tricky because they've had a very snowy winter & wet spring so the rivers are high and muddy. No fishing then...


Ah, but Chris isn't so easily put off. There appeared to be one possibility: The Bighorn River, a convenient 2 hour drive from the ranch. And so I found myself goin' fishin' for the first time.


Now I'm a woman and an optimist. I pictured a lively scene surrounding said river: Perhaps a few bars & restaurants, some shopping opportunities and the chance for me to relax with my books and laptop while Chris indulged his love of fishing - perfect (not).


When we arrived at Fort Smith on the Crow Indian Reservation it amounted to a collection of trailers, a few cabins, some fishing tackle shops and a lodge. Added to this, I'd completely got the wrong location and was looking for the Bighorn Lake, which turned out to be 100 miles away in Wyoming.


Keeping my disappointment to myself, we drove up to a mountain resevoir, ate a hamburger and returned to Fort Smith to prepare ourselves for the fishing trip. Having revised the situation I decided to accompany Chris on the river (since there wasn't anything else to do). 


Arriving back we found a steady stream of keen fishermen back from a day on the river. Chris was in his element talking flies & casts and the ones that got away. I realised why we were there (for him) and settled down to enjoy the stories of these men who'd travelled from all over the States to fish the Bighorn River.


It turns out this river is one of the top 5 places to fish in the world! What luck to find it so close to where we're staying.


The friendliness and curiosity of the Americans we've met is one of the best things about our visits to Montana. The Montanans especially are open and genuine with a directness that is refreshing in this day and age.


After a very stuffy night's sleep (the Mosquitoes were biting so no open windows & the air conditioning unit sounded like a V8 engine) we awoke to a steaming hot day. The temperature was set to rise to 100' - phew.


I leapt out of bed having spotted a real coffee shop. I've only had one cappuccino since we arrived in the States and I was beside myself at the prospect of another. At 7am I joined two lovely ladies from Idaho who had decided that "if you can't beat them, join them" and were fishing with their husbands. 


Having 'visited' with them for a while it was soon time to meet our guide - a delightful man called Jim who'd been fishing the river for 25 years and who's kids all loved to fish too. Off we set, packed lunches in hand, for a day traversing a 12 mile stretch of the Bighorn.


And what a pleasure it was to be out on the water and sharing the enthusiasm of these avid fishermen. The banks were lined with Cottonwood trees and sweet clover, we saw Herons and Cranes and a Sea Eagle, and the gentle breeze off the water kept us cool and the Mosquitoes at bay.


Chris spent 6 hours standing in the hot sun casting & 'mending' and catching fish. I don't think I've seen a bigger grin on a man's face, and when he caught  a succession of Brown Trout and Rainbow Trout I thought he was going to expire in ecstasy.


A total of 8 fish were caught (and at least 20 lost) by the end of the day. And no fishing trip would be complete without the one that got away: a 2 feet, 10lb Brown trout that bit through the line - perfect.


On returning to the ranch we were fortunate enough to have Buffalo Mike Montana (so named by me because he's called Mike, comes from Montana & cooks Buffalo once a week in a Dutch oven, just like the cowboys of old) offer to serve up Chris's catch. 


Cooked in the embers of a campfire, the Trout tasted like heaven.

Life In The Saddle

Sunday 26th June 2011

Okay, so you know I was saying I hadn’t done much riding? Well, how about the expression - “too much of a good thing”? Today I spent 8 hours in the saddle. “Woah” I hear you say. Woah indeed! Yesterday we rode the mountains for 6 hours through the most breathtaking countryside I have ever experienced. Mountain prairies strewn with wild flowers, pine forests clinging to steep slopes with a river winding through them - blissful.

Thinking that I’d top up my riding with a couple of hours round the ranch, I signed up for a ride out with Barry, an explosives expert who helps out occasionally. Now his day job should have given me some idea of what was in store...nooooo.

We left the ranch at 9.30am and arrived back at 5.45pm. By which time I was exhausted and stressed to the point of tears. I’m a shopkeeper for God’s sake! An energetic day for me is running up and down stairs finding shoes for customers!

It started badly when the horse I was on (“Gentle Ben”) decided to bolt on me ten minutes into the ride, along a canal bank. On being given instructions by the explosives expert: “Yank him round to the left real hard if he tries it again”, we proceeded on our ride with Gentle Ben (was it an ironic name?) biting any horse that came within a mouth’s distance of him. 

The choice of route had been left to Barry, and he was basically making it up as we went along. And along we went - over endless prairies littered with Sage bushes, up rocky promonteries, across awkward coulees - and on and on and on...

The scenery, in its way, was just as dramatic as the mountains of the day before. But instead of thinking “The Sound Of Music” think “High Plains Drifter” - all arid, rocky shelving hills and endless scrubby plains. I truly felt like an extra from a John Wayne Cowy as we wended our way across this barren landscape. 

By the time we stopped for our packed lunch & a toilet break I had had enough. Now three hours into our epic journey and exhausted from trying not to let Ben bolt, I begged Barry to head for home. “Sure” he said, in his usual laid back manner. And proceeded to take us back the scenic, five hour route.

I should have known there was something amiss when the horses strained to go right as we were heading left. These animals know what their doing and have an unerring sense of direction. Which is more than can be said of Barry. “We’re going to head back along this ridge here” he said, pointing to a stupidly high wall of rock. “it might be a little testing gettin down but we’ll be fine”.

My heart sank. I have to confess to having a bit of a fear of heights. Ladders make me nervous, our roof-terrace makes me nervous! Traversing steep slopes on horseback made me want to pee my pants. But more of that later...

Now to give you a clear idea of the terrain we were scaling, understand that these hills are made of igneous stratus rock (Chris told me that). So they’re like sandstone layers which over the years have eroded to form rocks and sand. A little slippery under foot then.

Up and up and up we went until the majesty of the Montanan countryside spread out around us as far as the eye could see. I took a deep breath and tried to register the dramatic beauty of it all. But my mind was elsewhere. “So I’m guessing that if we’re up this high then we have to go down as far on the other side?” I asked, hoping for an answer that never came.

“Yup” was the monosyllabic response from Barry while my travelling companions laughed at what they imagined to be an ironic question. I was serious though! I was desperately hoping that this steep ridge would miraculously taper out to a gentle plain on the other side, with the ranch twinkling welcomingly in the (not too) distance.

Fat chance. 

We proceeded to descend, with the horses slipping and sliding at an 120’ angle. I knew enough to put my weight in each stirrup and breathe - harder than it sounds when you’re terrified out of your wits.

But we made it and I relaxed a little, sure that we must be on the homeward stretch. How wrong I was. Crossing another endless, scrubby plain we reached another rocky outcrop high above the landscape. How did that happen? I thought we were descending!

On asking how far to the ranch, Barry pointed to another ridge in the far distance where a tiny white barn stood. “See that barn? The ranch is on the other side of that”.

I could have wept. Literally. Remember I told you about my friends at Jenners and how we used to discuss being airlifted from the building on stressful days? Well if ever I needed a rescue helicopter, this was it. Knowing that there wasn’t a hope in hell of that happening, I resorted to continuous, tuneless whistling. The need to breathe while doing this seemed to calm my nerves, with the added bonus of irritating all around me. (Yes, by this point I was behaving like a fractious child!)

Jane, a fabulous woman from Manchester who spends so much time on the ranch that she is regarded both as family & staff, saved me from complete insanity by suggesting I sing. This also helps you to breathe and relaxes the horse. And so we continued across another plain with me singing a raucous version of the Oompa Loompa song from “Charlie & The Chocolate Factory”.

An hour later we reached a dusty road - the first sign of civilisation in 6 hours. Barry decided that this was a good opportunity to let the horses have a bit of a run. Off went the other guests and, yes, Ben wanted to join them. Encouraged by Jane to give it a go, I decided to be brave and follow suit.

Ben immediately began to trot and I practiced my “posting” (a rising trot). Within seconds he had speeded up to a lope (a canter in English). Picture the scene: Me with my Stetson clamped to my head, bedraggled & exhausted, singing the Oompa Loompa song as I hurtle along, feet pushed deep into my stirrups and my butt slapping rythmically on the saddle.

And I have a tip for you ladies: Do not try loping if you need to pee...you will.

Buoyed by my first successful lope, I yanked Ben to a stop and decided to give it another go. Still singing I started him up again only to find myself quickly devoid of stirrups and holding onto the horn of my saddle for dear life. When I finally stopped him I found Jane in fits of laughter. Dear “Gentle Ben” had managed to kick Barry’s horse as he rode alongside me, while in full lope. Well at least it wasn’t anything I’d done wrong.

As we finally neared the ranch I reluctantly admitted that, while mostly hating the whole experience, like all challenging situations, I’d learnt a hell of a lot. 

Dear Chris was waiting for me on our return and thankfully helped me to unsaddle my horse. (Saddling your own horse is a great motto, but equally important is knowing when to accept help!) Sitting me down with a glass of wine back at the ranch, he asked me about my day. Whereupon I immediately burst into tears. Eight hours of concentration and stress had built up to leave me a blubbering wreck. As they’d say around here - “Cowgirl up!”

Feeling like Goldie Hawn in “Private Benjamin”, it wasn’t until I’d washed my hair and put on my new, blingy cowgirl jeans that I was able to laugh about my experience. 

The lesson learned? (Apart from trotting, loping & how to control an errant horse.)

Be careful what you ask for - the universe will provide.

A Cowgirl's Life

Thursday 23rd June 2011

It’s Thursday and we’ve been on the ranch for 5 days. I’d like to tell you that I’ve been in the saddle all week but the reality is that I’m sitting here, eating jelly beans, in my shorts having only been on a horse twice.

I don’t care. While the rest of the guests are branding & gelding calves, I’m gazing at the snow capped mountains and lapping up tales of Cowgirl Heroines of yore from a little book called: “Cowgirl Smarts - How To Rope A Kick-Ass Life” by Ellen Reid Smith.

I haven’t bottled out (although de-bollocking calves isn’t my first choice for fun). I’m just having one of those monthly days when standing upright seems like too much effort. So instead I thought I’d sit down and share Montana with you.

The view from the veranda of the ranch house where we’re billeted is breathtaking. In the distance, past sweeping, empty pastures and rugged stratus hills, lie the Beartooth Mountains. Part of The Rockies, this string of pointed peaks stretch North and South as far as the eye can see.

Last night a spectacular thunderstorm lit the sky. From beyond the Beartooths huge dense black clouds roiled, as if stirred from above by angry Gods. Sheet lightening shimmered from cloud to cloud while thunder boomed & forks of silver blue struck the earth all around us. There is good reason why Montana is known as Big Sky Country. I have never before witnessed such a dramatic son et lumiere show.    

The evocative sound of trains in the distance & the sporadic bark of the ranch dogs are all that disturb my peace. Scattered herds of cattle and horses dot the endless landscape - not a human soul in sight. Ah, how different to good old Blighty.

I was reunited with my old friend Diamond on my second day here. When sent into the pen to halter him, he stood quietly and waited for me. I had forgotten over the months back home just how magical contact with these beautiful beasts can be. As I held his gentle head and slipped the rope around his neck, I remembered why (at the age of 45) I had fallen in love with the Wild West. 

On our first ride out we traversed some fairly vertical terrain. This isn’t as scary as it sounds if you understand that it’s the horse that does all the work. Remembering what Skylar taught us - 30% of your weight in each stirrup and 40% in the saddle; be relaxed but aware at all times; give the horse lots of rein; maintain a balanced centre of gravity - all helped me to ride out with confidence.

Thankfully I also remembered that steady Diamond likes to take a run at creeks, steep slopes (up or down) and anything remotely tricky. So while galloping up a rocky incline was a little disconcerting, I didn’t end up with my butt in muddy water!

The little book of Cowgirl Smarts that I found in our room has given me plenty to think about as I soak up all things Western. How about:

“Saddle your own horse’ - in other words - do it for yourself! There’s no point complaining when you fall off that someone didn’t tighten your cinch properly, it’s too late!

“Ride high but stay grounded” - no I don’t mean have long legs or a short horse. This means ride with confidence & optimism, but there’s a fine line between confidence & arrogance.

“Ride beside your man” - whether he’s the breadwinner or you are, it’s better to be a partnership than to be out in front or trailing behind.

Ride em cowgirl!