Dude Ranches: The Wrangler
The two young women enjoy their seasonal work for a Colorado stable. They get enough wages to eat and pay their rent in Breckenridge, the mountain town.
Another wrangler holds the same job at a dude ranch, one of the many in the U.S. West. She brushes and feeds the horses, then leads day rides past sage, juniper, pondorosa, up a switchback path once used by the Arapahoe Indians. By late summer she knows every tree: the spruces with their sharp needles and the firs with their softer ones; she knows that those low numerous bushes are not blueberries but kinnikinnick. She can tell the dude ranch guests why that big fir tree, over there, has no limbs on one side: they were killed by winds.
It takes a special person-woman or man-to work as a seasonal wrangler at a private stable or a dude ranch. You need to love the outdoors, and accept a simple philosophy summed up by a cowboy prayer framed at some western dude ranches:
May your horse never stumble And your cinch never break. May your belly never grumble, May your heart never ache.
Dude ranchwork is one of the last ways to get close to animals.
Of course, you won't make good on such a job unless you like horses and have been around them at some point in your life. Many personable young people who get these summer jobs-and there are hundreds to be filled-first came to guest ranches with their folks as paying customers. Or they had a horse somewhere at home, trained horses, or came from a farm family. Age eighteen is the minimum. Opportunities are nonsexist; a lot of dude ranch wranglers are women. One caveat, though: Be ready to start low on the ranch totem pole. "We send new people to the barn," says Les Williams, the Oklahoma owner of Colorado's Idlewild Dude Ranch. "We make them clean out the stables and sort saddles. We don't let them go out on a ride until they've been trained by us. And they must pay attention." The new future wrangler must therefore be willing to help out elsewhere on the ranch. Most owners care about their employees, and the atmosphere is friendly.
Dude ranches are basically rustic, with plain, western-style furniture against a log cabin backdrop; the rooms often contain fur-covered sofas, rugged granite fireplaces and antlers on the walls. There are some fairly primitive ranches, where you sleep in cramped cabins with other hired hands. But if there is a swimming pool, you can use it, and on your day off-just like the twenty to eighty guests -you can go trout fishing in nearby rivers, join a hiking group, or take part in square dancing at night.
The pay is adequate. But you also get room and board. In fact, you might consider the job a sort of working vacation. Most dude ranches are located in western states like Idaho, Montana, Arizona, Colorado, Wyoming, California.
How do you get hired? Write the ranch in January. Remember that competition is keen for these outdoor jobs. Make up a good resume. List some relevant references. (And be prepared that they'll be checked.) In a letter, emphasize your experience with or interest in horses. Say that you like people. It might help if someone at the prospective ranch knows you, that you've stayed there as a guest with your folks. Always mention specialized experience, like having trained horses, or bred them one summer, or learned how to shoe them. A previous stint as a lifeguard or ski patroller helps, along with possession of a first aid card. Any state tourist office has a complete list of dude ranches in a particular state. All the same, some employment leads follow:
The Working Cattle Ranch
The giant cattle ranches of North America employ general ranch hands, fence builders and fixers, trench diggers, haying crews, cow hands, mechanics, and maybe a cook. In April and May, a few tractor operators are sought. On smaller ranches, one or two persons may have to do all the chores; in some cases, the ranchers' own sons and daughters can handle all the work, with no outsiders needed.
During the past decade, the entire cattle industry has changed: now only the big livestock operators can succeed financially. One sees giant grain elevators and compounds where as many as 200,000 head of cattle are being fed. The amounts of alfalfa and corn per animal, the veterinary shots-everything that goes on in the cattle pens is honed to a fine science, complete with computers in the feedlot offices, and annual reports.
The beginner has less of a chance than twenty years ago. Many novice jobs were eliminated by the diminishing profits, other jobs by the mechanization and new methods. Some cattlemen now use helicopters for roundups, plus highly sophisticated feeding and breeding methods. Yet you can still participate in a cattle drive in spring or fall when the cowboys, complete with chaps and stirrups, drive the cattle to and from the high country grazing lands. Cattlemen combine the best of the new with the best of the old: from high-nutritional diets to bottle-feeding motherless calves, from the big feedlots and artificial insemination to getting up in the middle of a winter night to protect cattle from a sudden storm.
If there are some entry-level jobs at all, the newcomer has to take the rough and dirty work in an otherwise sophisticated business. Most of the experts interviewed for this book kept underlining the new scientific aspects; the livestock people kept saying (in a chorus) that the cattle ranch "isn't for amateurs." In the same sense, employers emphasize the low pay; a new ranch hand earns less than the lowest clerk in a city. Lodging is provided, though, and some of the young cowboys periodically get a side of beef and a pickup truck. The best way to break in? Visit the farm specialist in a state employment agency (or Job Service). Or see a private employment agency which specializes in farm labor. One such outfit on the West Coast will be of interest to anyone with some experience. The Warren Wegis Agency, Box 745, Modesto, CA 95353, places general farm and ranch labor, dairy employees, mechanics, foremen, and ranch superintendents. "We require a minimum of one year's recent experience to fill all job orders, and some jobs require three years' minimum experience depending upon the employer." The agency questionnaire also gives you a clue to placements. Among the questions you must answer: Have you milked cows? How many in a herd? How many years have you milked cows? What kind of machines have you used? What kind of barns? Flat, parlor, herringbone? Do you breed cows? Have you supervised men on a dairy?
Apart from trying a cattle ranch, which sometimes needs temporary help when somebody gets sick or is on vacation, you should also consider the major feedlot operators. Some feedlots can be found in small unpolluted towns. You may join the "sanitation crew" which keeps the feedlots clean; or you can drive the truck which transports the corn or other edibles to the animals. If you know enough about cattle, and possess more than average horse skills, you might apply as a "pen rider." Stockyards in major metropolitan communities also employ such riders, who generally know something about animal diseases, too.
In bigger cities, at various times, replacements or seasonal workers are needed by packing houses. But this is a bloody business that doesn't suit many mellow humane people. One thing is for sure: Packing houses won't appeal to vegetarians!
Rodeo Riding
The chute opens and a young Texas bareback rider holds on to the horse's riggings with one hand. He doesn't know this particular critter. Never rode it before. He leans back, spurs digging into the beast's neck. Resenting the man, the horse rears wildly, hoofs in all directions, a bucking, pitching, twisting, snorting wild-eyed rebel. The rider's hat flies high, landing in the dust.
He has been on the horse for five seconds now, and he still hangs on. He leans all the way back, ankles still spurring and his shoulder blades hitting the critter's spine. It's man against beast. Six seconds now. Seven. Eight.
The buzzer sounds. The rodeo rider jumps off the horse onto the ground. He stumbles to his knees. Picks himself up fast. Avoids the 1,000 pounds of hoofed muscle. His forehead is bathed in sweat. Eight seconds of bareback riding can seem like eight hours. Joe Alexander clears $500 that afternoon in Oklahoma City.
Some pros travel the circuit almost all year, turning up at dozens of the 600 North American rodeos sanctioned by the Professional Rodeo Cowboys' Association. Of course, you could also enter just an occasional rodeo and earn anywhere from $50 to $1,500 for those few seconds atop a bucking animal. You must be at least eighteen years old. And to ride, you need to join the Professional Rodeo Cowboys' Association. Ranch kids have an edge; they learn how to handle horses at an early age and know how to rope cattle. Many cowboys have also been exposed to riding at collegiate rodeos.
Naturally, you can never count your rodeo money until you've earned it.
The horses are unpredictable, and the winnings are unpredictable. A critter may refuse to buck and the rider will get nothing. A horse tosses you off after two seconds, and you get nothing. "They're the great American gamblers on horseback," says a rodeo announcer. "And every day, they play with fire."
Rodeo cowboys may be among the last American heroes. It takes nerve to tackle a furious, crowd-crazed animal and to look injury in the eye without flinching. You need stubbornness, the ability to keep your cool, to handle pressure. It takes intense concentration. Animal knowledge. Rodeo riding isn't for politicos or glib sales types and phonies. Unlike many professional athletes, who have sponsors and sell themselves for money, the majority of rodeo cowboys remain their own free agents. (Only a few get endorsements.) Saddlemakers, horse breeders, even cigarette companies may contribute to the purses, but no one "buys" the mass of rodeo contestants. A rider is his own man. The cowboy has to buy his personal equipment, which comes high.
Nobody gives the contestants an expense account. They pay their own way across the country. The rodeo cowboy draws no allowance, has no guaranteed annual wage. His only income is what he can earn in a fiercely competitive sport where he must win over not only against cowboys, but against the "rank" (mean) animals. And he must pay for this privilege-entry fees that can run over $200 per event per rodeo.
Despite the investment, you can have a "wreck" (bad spill). Or "crash and burn." The rider's injuries occur as they do in auto racing. A nervous horse jerks back its head, smashing a cowboy's cheekbone. Most professionals wind up with broken arms, ribs, fingers, legs, ankles. In bareback riding, whiplash is common. The saddle bronc events can be still rougher; an unlucky rookie's ankles may still hang in the stirrups as the jumping, bucking bronc propels him to the ground. The angered creature drags him along the arena, suspended by the ankle in a rack of pain. The finish buzzer has long sounded. But the cowboy is still being dragged.
Not all rodeo events are dangerous. Some of them merely demand skill, often acquired as a kid on a ranch. Take calf roping, for instance. Calf roping started in ranch work. These animals never stood still for branding, or for the vaccination. So they had to be roped. This takes a skilled person with a trained horse and teamwork. The rider must be an expert in handling a lariat or lasso. Competitors fight the clock to win. After lassoing the calf around the neck, the calf roper forces the animal to the ground and ties three legs.
At most rodeos, you'll also see women in some of the events, especially barrel racing, a kind of harmless slalom at a gallop around oil drums. Some women also go for the roping events, but against lighter and less brutal animals.
For more information, write Professional Rodeo Cowboys' Association, 2929 W. 19th Ave., Denver, CO 80204.
Raising Livestock
John Day, a well-known western livestock expert and president of the Denver Union Stockyards, was asked this important question: If he were just starting out, and had no money, where and how would he get his foothold? "Take a job in a small town," Day explained. "A good forty-hour-a-week job. Save the money. Build a small house somewhere on the edge of the prairie. And raise some cattle. One by one."
This ties into temporary small-parcel farming that we discussed in an earlier chapter. Day suggests that you start with one dairy cow. Consider livestock raising a sideline, because the profits will be low. This applies to raising hogs, goats, and rabbits as well. At the same time, the satisfactions can be great. It's a new world to most people. And you can have your own fresh milk, eat the kind of aged meat you like, obtain cheese, and perhaps churn your own butter.
A USDA expert suggests that you should not invest your savings before talking to your county agricultural agent and competent farmers in the neighborhood. This is particularly desirable if you are inexperienced in handling livestock.
Next, get the facts on the initial cost of the various kinds of animals-how much it will cost to feed and house them, how much time and labor they require, and what equipment and fencing will be needed.
Look over the buildings, fences, and equipment on your place and consider what kind of livestock is best suited to them. If you can use existing facilities, it will save additional investment.
Most people start with one dairy cow. A good cow costs you less than a motorcycle, and a grade cow, well fed and well cared for, produces enough milk to more than pay for her feed, even if you must buy it. She will yield 3,000 to 5,000 quarts of milk per year-more than enough for five persons.
A cow will eat 20 to 25 pounds of hay a day, unless you have a pasture for the animal. In addition, she will need one to two tons of a concentrate grain mix. If part or all of the feed can be grown on your farm, the cost of keeping a cow will be reduced, of course.
Generally, one or two acres of good land should provide most of the feed (mainly pasture). She also needs shelter, especially where winters are cold.
The annual cost of having a cow bred is minimal. The value of the calf is usually little more than the combined cost of the breeding service fee and the calf feed.
It should take about 30 to 40 minutes a day to care for your milk cow when she is producing and about half that time when she is dry.
Naturally, one or two animals are not sufficient for major milk commerce. Besides, you need a lot of equipment to handle milk to be sold. Strict sanitary requirements must be met. Running the dairy will take time, even with up-to-date equipment. Twenty cows require about three hours of labor a day if you use mechanical milkers. The investment for twenty cows would run almost into six figures. That's why most people prefer to own one or two animals instead.
Other part-time farmers start with goats; these take up less space, feed, and pasture than milk cows. An inexpensive shed will provide adequate shelter. A good doe gives around two quarts of milk a day for seven to ten months a year. During the winter a dairy goat eats two or three pounds of hay and one to two pounds of grain each day. In summer she will eat assorted grasses, juicy weeds, beet tops, bean and pea vines, sweet corn stover, and other garden truck. If you want to produce goat milk for sale, first investigate the possibilities for marketing the milk.
Hogs eat almost anything, but they should be kept at least 500 feet away from your house because of their heavy odor. Many communities prohibit them in thickly settled areas. Some part-time farmers raise one or two hogs for butchering. Usually they buy weanling pigs in the spring, fatten them to about 250 pounds, and butcher them in fall.
How about beef cattle? For raising livestock on small farms an important factor is the number of acres you own or lease. The more acreage, the better the grazing conditions, which will lower your feed costs. Cattle breeding takes a four-figure investment- even if you start small, with about ten head. Assuming you have shelter and the pasture, fencing, and enough capital to buy livestock, you will also need money for feeding and shots. Permits plus licenses may be necessary. For a farmer to make ends meet, his cattle won't be sold until it is fattened to 1,000-1,100 pounds for slaughter. (Very little veal is grown these days because farmers make more by fattening the calves to beef maturity.) The USDA official says that your profit margin may amount to less than 10 percent.
The U.S. Department of Agriculture, Washington, D.C. 20250, sells some remarkably practical booklets on these topics. Some other excellent books: How to Earn a Living in the Country (Without Farming), by William Osgood (Garden Way Publishing, 1974), and The Manual of Practical Homesteading, by John Vivian (Ro-dale Press, 1975). You'll also find helpful articles in Countryside Magazine, 312 Portland Rd., Waterloo, WI 53594.
Sheepherding
The scene is about 100 miles north of Boise, Idaho. One hundred miles as the eagle flies over these rounded mountains. No houses or villages for an hour. It is early June, and the valley meadows are green. Higher up among the massive fields of wild-flowers, you see the sheep. More than a thousand head are grazing up there, climbing day by day, as the snow line recedes, and coming down again for good in October. It will take you hours to reach the animals. But already from below, you can hear tinkling sounds. Some of the creatures have bells under their necks. Helps the shepherd find them if they stray. A few sheep make bleating sounds as the collie chases them to higher pastures, to more wildflowers and tender grasses.
Then you see Ramon, the shepherd. He slowly walks toward his camp wagon on a plateau. He smiles at you; he hasn't seen a human being in two days. His voice is hoarse, his speech awkward, because he doesn't use it much. Ramon is a Basque with the seasonal job of sheepherding. It's a solitary job. One person surrounded by immense mountains. Ramon must cope with coyotes that can attack sheep. Sometimes, the fierce rain storms send him into his wagon, which contains a stove, some food supplies, and an abbreviated hard mattress for sleeping.
Oliver La Farge, a well-known author of the U.S. Southwest, once asked a sheepherder why he chose to live this way. "I seek the quiet heart," the man answered. Ramon, age twenty-four, would give the same reply. It's peaceful in those mountains.
Many of America's sheepherders happen to be Basques. A few are illegal Mexicans. Only the minority are Anglos. All in all, according to the U.S. Department of Agriculture, "the labor shortage in the sheep industry is acute." During the late seventies, the Ramons became so scarce that U.S. sheep production had to take a drop by about 10 percent each year. As you read this, there are only about 13 million head left, and sheepherding applicants have a good chance for summer employment.
Most ranchers say that they'd hire any young, strong American if he can stand the stress of being alone. "Most of them want to be close to the bright lights," says Dennis Burke, an Idaho sheep rancher. "The fellows just can't stand being away from the city. They get unhappy about not seeing a woman. They talk about getting back to the earth. But they can't hack the loneliness. Most of the Basques can hang on. Yet even the Basques get homesick and lonely and quit." (Only on a few occasions will a rancher hire a second person, who usually does the cooking.)
The turnover in people is further explained by the seasonal nature of the work; unfortunately, too, most moderns-North Americans and Europeans-measure a job's value only by its wages. If you calculate a minimum of ten working hours per day, and multiply it by the month, the herder's pay will be below the minimum hourly wage. And in practice, the sheepherder must look after his critters from dawn to dusk, which amounts to more than ten hours. The rancher furnishes the food supplies plus the wagon and bedding for it. A herder naturally can do all the fishing and hunting he wants to complement his diet. (It includes plenty of lamb.)
Most of the jobs are in western sheep states like Idaho, California, Montana, Utah, and Wyoming. Many herders are also sought in Texas, which leads in sheep production.
If you want to own some sheep yourself-for wool sales and meat-you need at least two to three fenced acres of good land. A minimum initial investment, according to the USDA, amounts to $2,000. This sum buys the animals, inoculations, fees, transportation costs. In warm climates, the pasture may provide enough food. Elsewhere, alfalfa for winter feeding will add an extra expense.
