Having been into all things equestrian since childhood, a cattle drive had been a long held dream, a bucket list adventure which finally came to fruition. The arrival of a big birthday had prompted us to book this dream trip almost a year ago and in September 2026, those dreams finally came true.
Having always wanted to steer clear of the beaten track, of the typical tourist trappings, we researched a cattle ranch in the depths of the United States of America and we had both decided that we didn’t want to visit a dude ranch, and ‘play’ at being cowboys – we wanted to do the real thing. So we booked a week with Klondike Ranch in Wyoming when they were bringing the cows home from the plains at the end of the summer, to bring them into the warm barns to shelter them in winter and provide plentiful forage where the grass was no longer. We also planned a road trip across some of the lesser known states in the USA following the cattle drive, to head to meet some old friends that we had made in the Maasai Mara around 7 years ago.
Our flight was uneventful and we landed in Denver, in the state of Colorado. We were not spending too much time here but this was the first state that we visited, and turned out to be the first state of the ten that we would visit on this epic trip. Denver itself was a sprawling city, nicknamed the Mile High City because it is one mile above sea level. It started out life as a gold mining camp in 1858 and became the state capital in 1890. Being from the flat land of Norfolk, we immediately felt the change in atmosphere, the thin air of altitude.
The city was built where the South Platte River meets Cherry Creek and in the South Platte Valley, it can be found on the western edge of the High Plains, just east of the front range of the Rocky Mountains. We were astounded upon our arrival of the sheer magnitude of this mountain range. Wherever we went, the land was overshadowed by this formidable mountainous region. We were awestruck by the dramatic landscapes and this was only a fleeting visit as we collected the hire car, and prepared to move onwards into Wyoming.
After staying overnight in Denver, and feasting in a local Mexican restaurant with the largest glass of beer known to man, we got on the road the very next day which was day one of the adventure. We headed towards the town of Casper where we would stay overnight once more to break up the journey to Klondike Ranch. So we left the state of Colorado and headed into Wyoming.
The driving is on the right side of the road, so the very opposite of what we are used to, and as I felt somewhat uncomfortable with this, Mr Nomad did much of the driving although I promised to take a turn to relieve him but only in straight lines. In fact, he had fallen in love with the huge hire car, a Volkswagon Atlas and it was actually difficult to take over and prise the car away from him. We were so excited during the journey and our eyes could not take everything in. The drive however revealed the vast open plains, the ever present mountains and a rugged and wild terrain which whilst looked peaceful and ambient in the warm weather, it belied the dangers that would inevitably be present when in the grip of winter. The land was barren, and endless, and we were in awe of the sheer size of the country unfolding before us. It was vast.
This became the theme to the journey. Everything we witnessed seemed so much bigger than anything in the UK. The trucks – big rigs as we called them – were huge and for reasons unknown, this amazed us. We saw oil pumps in maize fields, reminiscent of movies we had seen, neat white picket fences around substantial gardens, and as we left the urbanicity of Denver, the land became less populated, and the plains rolled on forever without evidence of civilisation. These prairies had been occupied by Native Americans thousands of years ago, tribes such as Apache, Ute, Cheyenne, Comanche and Arapahoe wandering freely following buffalo but these tribes had long since disappeared having been banished to reservations. There were horses everywhere and it was obvious we were approaching cowboy country.
We crossed the state line into Wyoming and hours passed and we saw signs of people when we passed by the city of Cheyenne. We didn’t stop here but it had been the only sign of surburbia for some miles so I felt it worthy of note. Furthermore, this city is the state capital. Wyoming is a landlocked state in the mountain west of a subregion of western US. It borders Montana in the north, South Dakota and Nebraska to the east, Idaho to the west, Utah to the southwest and Colorado to the south. It has an estimated population of around 587,618 and it is the least populas state despite being the tenth largest state by area, with the second lowest population density. It was plain to see from our travels that the land was expansive, but there was a distinct lack of population centres.
We arrived in Casper some time later having driven for miles uninterrupted by any traffic which was non-existent, as were sightings of people.
Casper is a town that sprung up around 1888 when the rail road arrived. It is in Natrona County in Wyoming and is the second most populated city after Cheyenne. Although the locals believed it to be busy, by UK standards, it was quiet and although not exactly bustling, there was a sense of a relaxed way of life. It was very friendly and we headed towards Lou Taubert‘s to purchase our cowboy attire. We both went a little bit crazy and purchased a vast array of clothing including jeans suitable for riding, Stetson hats and cowboy boots, two ‘must buy’ purchases for any self respecting cowboys! A small fortune was spent but it was well worth it. We also dropped into another shop known as The Boot Barn where we purchased yet further goodies to equip us for the cattle drive ahead.
Most helpfully, Mr Nomad bought an American SIM card. Although we are reasonably tech savvy, Mr Nomad more so than me, there was a concern as to how we would navigate across this vast open land without the use of Sat Nav. We had both taken to downloading maps from Google maps to use offline (which by the way, is genius!) but the addition of the SIM card was a valuable tool so that we did not get lost, and we could research trips and destinations, and points of interest as we went. A short visit to the local TMobile shop sorted this out. Both of our mobile phones are quite old and neither of us could use an eSIM so being able to purchase a physical SIM card was a bonus.
We had the most amazing wrap to eat at a place called Eggingtons and had a comfortable night in Casper before travelling onwards to Klondike Ranch the following day. That journey took us through never ending plains, scorched from a drought but strangely beautiful and sun kissed in the waning summer sun. The state of Wyoming is semi arid in some parts, and continental in other parts making it drier and windier overall than other states. Several Native American tribes had occupied this region similar to other states across USA like Colorado where we had started this journey such as the Crow, Arapaho, Lakota and Shoshone thousands of years ago but these days, there seemed to be lonely but somehow mystical feel to the countryside. It has been described as the land where the Great Plains meet the Rocky Mountains. We were heading to the Big Horn Mountains where Klondike Ranch was nestled in the foothills, and a stones throw from the Big Horn National Forest.
The Big Horn Mountains form a northwest spur from the Rocky Mountains extending around 200 miles northwest on the Great Plains (also known as High Plains) with much of the land within the Big Horn National Forest. This forest covers approximately 1.1million acres and is named after the Big Horn River, covered in alpine meadows with lakes at high elevations. The trees contained within the forest are primarily Lodgepole Pine, along with numerous species of Spruce, Fir and Aspen. We had no idea at this stage how familiar we would become with these trees.
Wildlife to be found within this rugged terrain could be black bears which apparently were widespread, cougars, elk, moose, mule deer, pronghorn deer, coyotes and numerous bird species including many varieties of birds of prey. We had heard that although Grizzly bears had not been seen in many years, there had been suspicion that they were returning to the area. The thought of seeing such wild life was incredibly exciting. All we had seen for some time was horses, or cows although we had also seen the pronghorn deer with their white bottoms and giant ears.
Upon our arrival at Klondike Ranch, we could see a scattering of log cabins, and a barn and corral. We were greeted by several dogs including Roscoe, some sort of shepherding dog with a fluffy blue merle coat and intriguing multi coloured eyes. There was also Britney, a lanky pointer type hunting dog with questionable parentage who took a shine to Mr Nomad and a very old dog tottering around and clearly riddled with arthritis and not best pleased to have been disturbed by strangers from her slumber. The owner of the ranch, Patty Tass met us and showed us to our log cabin and we were informed that supper would be served at 6pm. We were allowed a couple of hours to settle in and to take a walk around the premises with a warning to watch our step owing to the presence of rattlesnakes. We were incredulous at this information – this was most certainly unexpected!
The cabin was small and rustic but very homely, cosy and warm. The ranch was wonderful, and we walked to the corral to say hello to a couple of horses hanging around. A giant bell was rung as the 15 minute warning and we hurried along to supper with a hearty and wholesome meal of creamy mash, roast beef and meat gravy with a homemade cheese cake to follow. It was delicious. We met Patty’s husband, Richard, Mike the cook who was to accompany us to provide meals, and two wranglers, Candace and Brooke who enquired as to our riding experience. Mr Nomad had little riding experience so there may have been a little trepidation on his part, but some other ranch guests were even less experienced and had participated in some trail rides but there was a mixture of guests with a mixture of ability and experience. This chat around the dinner table was to ensure that we were appropriately matched with a horse as it was explained to us that we would have an early start and we were going straight up the mountains to go look for and round up any straggling cows. The welcome from the Tass’ was warm, and we were treated like family and with prayers said at the evening meal, we loved the family orientated feel of our new albeit temporary home for the week.
We were informed that ordinarily, we would have a day in the arena to get used to our horses but the summer had been exceptionally dry and there was an urgent need to gather the cows together, round them up and bring them home for winter. The grass was non existent so the cows had wandered in search of forage, and they were some way from their holding pasture where the grass was diminishing with such speed, there was a concern for their welfare. So there it came – the news that we were riding out immediately at first light to go find the cows. The horses would be taken in a trailer up the mountains, and we would drive up to meet them and stay on the mountain side in tents until the job was done. We would round them up over the course of the coming days, drive them into a holding paddock, drive them along the plains into another holding area, then the final push would be to literally bring them over a ridge and down the Big Horn Mountains back to the ranch. We would need to push home over 300 cows and this was truly the start of the adventure of a life time.
Mr Nomad was paired with a tall chestnut gelding called Tom. He was smitten from day one but he was warned that Tom was known to be stubborn. Mr Nomad delighted in granting him a Sunday name of Thomas Equinas. My horse was an aging chestnut gelding known as Champ. His face was somewhat salt and peppered, a smattering of grey hairs but I was told not to be fooled by his age. At 20 years old, he had seen it all and done it all but one of the wranglers, Brooke, informed me that he was an ex-roper, and was the fastest horse of their herd. I was not convinced as he seemed quite laid back but I was to find out exactly what Brooke had meant. The horses were loaded onto the rig, driven by the lead cowboy, John, and we drove up the mountain to meet them at camp.
The drive up the mountains was an adventure in itself as we wound our way up the mountain side along narrow and dusty tracks, through the dense forest, along steep cliff edges, through towering mountains, crossing crystal clear creeks over rickety bridges, taking in the wilderness with nervous excitement of what was to come. The atmosphere grew thinner and feelings of being up high crept in, but we were in awe of our surroundings. Camp was basic and we picked a small bell tent as home, being provided with sleeping bags and mattresses. There was a mess tent where we would have supper, and there was a porta loo. There were no other comforts of home – no showers, or wash areas, no electricity, no internet and certainly no central heating. We were told that if we wished, we could forego a tent for a bunk house but we chose to sleep in the tent, as would be Mr Nomad’s favourite.
There was no time to waste and as soon as the horses arrived, they were tacked up with their big comfortable western saddles, and halters under bridles for ease of handling and we mounted the horses and off we went. Out into the Big Horn mountains, to seek and recover lost cows in the forest. To move them through the forest, over the plains to their pasture until we had gathered them all in preparation for the ‘big push.’ There was no brief, no checking on us, no pandering to any whims, no creature comforts (certainly no Wifi) and weighty expectations that we were there to do a job. We had made ourselves a packed lunch which we stuffed into saddle bags. But those cows needed to be found and safely brought home. It was fabulous. It was also exactly what Mr Nomad and I had signed up for. We had been warned to ‘layer up’ because it could some times be cold in the mountains but the weather was hot – those layers were peeled off as we rode, and our sandwiches were eaten on the go.
The first day of riding was a real baptism of fire. We did not ride at speed, but trekked over the land and through the forest in the quest to find cows. None of us sought a break, and we plodded along in blissful ignorance of the pain that would later become us after around 8 hours in the saddle, which none of us were used to at all. Although I am a seasoned rider, I had not spent that much time in the saddle in any one stint and joints were aching, bottoms were sore and Mr Nomad and I were suffering somewhat on only that first day. That said, we had began a most wonderful journey in a wilderness like nothing we had seen before. We were completely off grid with no contact with the outside world. From day one, we were cowboys. We took in the clear blue vast skies which seemed to go forever, we rode in silent wonderment at our surroundings of dense forest, of rocky outcrops, of meandering creeks and the rolling plains. We were living the dream and although our bodies ached, it was worth it. We also learned very valuable lessons such as when the wranglers suggested a quick toilet break, (every tree is a lavatory) we should take them up on this regardless of whether we needed to go or not, so that we could dismont for 5 minutes or so and stretch our legs out, move around a bit, give the horses a quick break etc.
The scenery was epic. The group of riders had split up as we rode along on trails to find the cows, some times in silence, taking in the awesomeness, some times with banter mainly in wonderment of our surroundings, pinching ourselves. Mr Nomad was learning how horses could be and once he had arrived at an understanding with his steed, he also enjoyed the ambling along, reaching places where vehicles could not get to, exploring the forest, weaving our way through endless and tightly packed trees. Once cows were located, we would surround them and push them along, and return them to a holding paddock. We followed the lead of the experienced wranglers, encouraging the cows to move with excitable ‘yips’ and ‘c’mon’s’. It was exhausting and those cows were often not compliant but it was rewarding when we located some, and pushed them on to gather in a safer location.
We were accompanied by two dogs, ‘cow dogs’. Alvin, a black and white border collie type belonged to John, the head cowboy who was the son of Patty and Richard, and he was great at pushing the cows. He became the star of the show. He was brave, but some of the cows took offence to him and there was many a stand off. Maddie, a gingery brown cow dog belonging to the wrangler, Candace, also came and although fearless, not quite as experienced as Alvin so she was closely supervised as both dogs hurried the cows along side us. Mr Nomad and I agreed that Maddie reminded us of a larger version of Zuri so she was a comfort to have along. There was considerable mileage covered and the first day saw us riding around 16 miles, if not more.
Our first night in cow camp was a chilly one but it was bliss. There was no light or noise pollution and it was a reminder that we were truly in the wilderness. We felt a million miles from any form of civilisation and we relished this break from reality. There was no phone signal at all, but we did not miss this whatsoever. It was fantastic to enjoy the peace and quiet following a hearty meal provided by Mike. The sky seemed enormous and black but the stars came alive and filled the darkness with a mesmerising intensity like no other. Mr Nomad and I were blessed to be on this journey.
When we rose the following day, it was cold but with a freshness in the air which was welcome. An early breakfast of hash brown, scrambled eggs and bacon or sausages was eaten quickly and we set out into the countryside upon our steeds. The grass was dew-laden, the air was crisp and it was exhilarating when the horses breath from their nostrils rose like steam in preparation for a day of hunting wandering cows. The smell of damp horses hung in the air, but it was blissful to be out in this wilderness. The second day was much the same as the first day in that we were on a quest to seek and find missing cows. We had around 30 to find, and we were able to take the horses where it would have been ordinarily inaccessible. The trails through the forest were tricky, with many fallen trees, and they were so tightly packed together that I suffered significant bruising when my knees collided with the trunks of those trees. We were also in the mountains so the horses were tested by having to clamber over rocks, and make their way through rocks and stones. They were incredibly sure footed and much more used to this dramatic terrain than we were.
Without the chaos of ordinary life, our senses felt sharpened, and we could hear every rustle in bushes, the wind brushing through the plains grasses and whipping over the prairie, the trickling of water in the creeks and streams, the eagles soaring overhead often silent but sometimes squeaking, the horses hooves softly impacting the ground, or their steel shoes scraping off rocks when the ground underfoot became more mountainous than the sandy forest bedded with pine needles. Branches were snapped off the trees we we fought our way through, and the dry ground underfoot was dusty and stung our eyes, and dirtied our faces. What became music to our ears was the lowing of the cows when they were discovered. We would then ride along side the cows, moving them in the direction of the holding pasture, and encourage them along with the dogs snapping at their heels, with excitable shouts before peace would reign and the cows would amble along, knowing the well trodden paths would take them to their comrades in preparation for the journey home.
Day two also brought with it the discovery of two very sick cows. A mother cow was found looking distressed and she was with a calf which did not belong to her. This caused great concern to John who spotted immediately that all was not well. Both cows were weak, and struggled to move along at any pace so John asked us to carry on to focus on finding other cows, and he would follow behind doing his best to keep the two poorly cows moving with promises to meet us at the holding paddock as soon as he could. This was not to be, and it was not too much longer that a gun shot rang out. John did join us at the holding paddock and was incredibly upset that both cows had been lost – one was too unwell to carry on and was suffering, and the other had disappeared into the depths of the forest, never to be seen again. John was a tough looking chap, with weathered skin and you just knew that those weary lines in a furrowed brow told a story or two, but for all of his tough exterior, he expressed real sorrow at the loss of two cows. We realised that this was the brutal reality of ranching though – it was not always the romantic version as seen on the TV and that real life was often much more difficult. Keeping cows up on the mountains was a harsh world and any challenges faced in this beautiful but brutal landscape were often ruthlessly unforgiving.
After this sobering moment, we had forgotten about our aches and pains and another day was done with plenty of miles in the saddle, and hours wiled away riding through this wonderful place. That evening brought some frivolity and fun in the mess tent. We had yet another amazing meal of steak and gravy, and creamy mash and then somebody brought out a bottle of whisky. We might have had some beer, and this led to card games, fun and laughter while we all compared what body parts were aching the most. A couple of birds hanging around camp also flew down and took grapes from our hands, much to the amusement of both of us. At one point during the night, both Mr Nomad and myself had got up at the same time to use the toilet and we were stopped in our tracks by the majesty of the night sky. The stars were plentiful and we could see the milky way and we had a romantic and unforgettable moment in complete silence and hypnotised by this rare and unfiltered sight. Unbelievably, we also heard coyotes howling, which set the dogs off with barking.
Day three was much the same although Mr Nomad opted to learn to fly fish so he gave the riding a miss. I’m sure he enjoyed this experience but he was disappointed that in our riding out over the plains and the mountains, we had recovered the last of the cows that had been evading us and we had even gained 10! Apparently, we had found the neighbouring ranches’ cows as well as Klondike Ranch cows so we were to bring them all home. All cows were now accounted for, and in the holding pasture, well over 300 black beef cattle all of whom were more than ready to come home. There were three red cows in the herd who stood out like flowers and they were distinctive, breaking up the sea of jet black but they were also quite stroppy. Most of the adult cows were female with calves at foot, and the mother cows would be brought in to have more babies, and the calves if of the appropriate size, would be eventually sent to market. They would all have health checks and be thoroughly fed-up. But to get home to the ranch, an epic journey was to follow.
And so it began. The horses were loaded back onto the rig and were trailered up to the holding pasture, and we followed on in our vehicles to meet them there. This was to preserve the horses energy so that we could drive the cows forward down the roads to the next holding area, before the big push down the mountain. It really is quite grueling and the cows aren’t the most cooperative creatures so the horses needed to be on their A game.
There were 12 of us riding on this cattle drive (3 wranglers with the remaining 9 being guests) and we all rode into the holding paddock to start to group the cows together. We rode out across the land in several small groups to ‘sweep’ the land, to ensure that the cows weren’t hiding in the bushes and trees. All cows were flushed out of the bushes, and pushed across the swampy fields and then they were held as a large herd, as one, at the gate to start to drive them altogether down the road. It was quite a feat.
The cacophony of sound was adrenalin inducing and the cows mooing grew in volume and intensity as they realised they were going home. We surrounded the herd and the horses could sense the excitement in the air and their breath arose from flared nostrils, cows stamped and scuffled, noise levels rose with heartbeats, and then we were off. For all of the tension, we set off at a slow leisurely pace, taking it steady. The herd naturally started to section off and the faster cows, mainly the mother cows started to take the lead and soon disappeared out of sight. Mr Nomad was at the front of the herd with others, driving the cows to keep them moving, and I was with the rear group. The rear group was mainly calves who had become separated from their mothers in the confusion, but they would all eventually meet up together at the next holding area, not that they knew that. The calves were problematic and constantly kept turning back, to seek out their mothers. The wranglers explained that the calves would try to find their mothers, and in turn, their mothers would wait for them and often turn back to where they last were with their babies.
Many a calf kept breaking off, and trying to make an escape so they had to be retrieved so this was when my horse, Champ who had been quite happily plodding along, came into his own. Being an ex-roper, he could turn on a sixpence, and would spark into a canter (or a lope as the Americans would say) at the drop of the reins to spin around to round up those calves. It was crazy fun, and persuading those calves to keep moving forwards to catch up with their mothers was exhausting but rewarding. It seemed to take an eternity to drive all cattle along an 8 mile stretch of road to the next holding area but upon arrival, we merely held the cows so that they could ‘pair up.’ Once the cows at the rear had caught up, there was excitable mooing as mothers sought out their calves, and calves reunited with their mothers. We were told that when the cows fell silent, they had paired up once more and we could then move them on a little further. We were told that once paired up, they would become much more compliant, less argumentative and probably move on as one huge herd. And so the cows were left to reunite with their babies.
Because of the magnitude of these scenes, a local man known as Carlos Bernal had been attracted to the sights and sounds of the cowboys and girls, the bellowing cows, the excitable dogs, the quarter horses at work and took many photographs. He had explained that his photography was part of a college course and he although he retains the rights over his pictures some of which feature in this blog, he permitted us to use his images, much to my delight.
After having glorious sunshine for much of our time on the mountain, the weather changed a little and drizzly rain was apparent. John thought the weather was coming in so advised that it would be more comfortable if we returned to the ranch for the night so we drove back down the mountain to the ranch. Just before we left, we had a brief attempt at ‘roping’ or lassoing. I was a little reluctant as I am quite adverse to public humiliation but as it turns out, I was a natural at this and the only person to ‘rope’ the pretend cow (a bale of straw adorned with fake horns!). I have to admit that I was quite proud of myself.
Mike the cook came back to the ranch too and cooked us yet another wholesome meal. I was overjoyed to have a hot shower, and a warm snuggly bed. A restful night’s sleep was had although I suspect Mr Nomad was disappointed that we were not camping.
We rose very early to get back up the mountain so that we could commence the ‘final push.’ We were to bring the cows over the mountain which was no doubt going to be challenging. On the journey up the mountain, a lady that we had given a lift to spotted a moose hiding in the trees. We were overjoyed! We stopped the car to observe this mighty beast and realised it was a female with a calf at foot. She was huge. Mr Nomad and I had never seen a moose before so we were pleased to see some wildlife which had so far evaded us. The wranglers had informed us that hunters had been out on the mountain so the moose and elk which habituated the area had scarpered, and their presence was scarce so we were chuffed to see this incredible animal.
We met the horses at the holding area where they had been trailered up once again. The cows had not roamed too far away thankfully although the wranglers regaled tales from the previous evening when we had all disappeared back to the ranch, some of those pesky cows had wandered off yet again and were once more rounded up and held together. They were now all reunited and we drove them forward as a single huge herd towards the ridge of the mountain.
The morning had started quite cool but the sun soon appeared and it became very warm as we walked along. The cows ambled along with no hurry at all, and spread out, trickling across the plains like ants. They knew where they were going but as they spread out, so did the riders so there were many moments of solitude which allowed for reflection. I was able to take in the vastness of the plains, riding alongside the cows who were strangely peaceful and meandered along in the knowledge they were heading to warm barns, with plentiful forage. Aside from the odd bellow of the cows, the only sounds were the grass crunching underfoot, the shushing of the wind, and the occasional snort from the horse. I felt on top of the world as we headed towards the very top of the mountains.
There was no adrenalin fueled hurry like the previous day but once we got closer to the ridge of the mountain, there was a feeling of nervous trepidation and the cliff face seemed steeper than ever. The horses clambered over rocks, as did the cows but we continued to push them through the forest, over the rocks, taking a quick break when we reached the ridge. Mr Nomad confessed to me that as we had made our way through the forests, with the rockiness increasing underfoot, his horse Tom had stumbled ejecting Mr Nomad from the saddle to the ground. He had suffered an unplanned dismount much to his disappointment but nobody had witnessed this. He was uninjured despite falling onto a rock, but it may well have been only his ego that was slightly bruised by this event.
The top of the mountains presented the most incredible views. I felt like we could see the whole of Wyoming. The cows had already started to filter over the edge and were making their own way down, but it was such difficult terrain for the horses, particularly with a rider on board that we were asked to dismount for the first part, and walk over the edge on foot leading our horse. The horses slid in the loose gravel and stones and it was a treacherous walk for those first 100 metres or so, but then we all re-mounted and went on our way. The mountain side was steep and dangerous so we had to snake down the side, weaving along the cliff edge in an S shape. The trail was narrow and the cows had come to a standstill, most likely bemused as to this journey but Mr Nomad managed to get to the front of the herd with John directing him to drive those lead cows forward. With the cow dogs already exhausted from the week, they had not accompanied us down the mountain so John dismounted and gave his horse to Candace and pushed the cows on foot.
Once the small group of cows at the front started to move again, thanks to Mr Nomad’s encouragement, the rest of the herd tentatively followed. The riders had to follow in single file as the ground was so tricky with every step being precarious, but down we went at a very slow pace and eventually, after an hour or two of gingerly advancing, all cows were down the mountain and out in the open on flat ground. Once we had reached the bottom of the mountains, the cows started to pick up the pace and moved quickly on towards the ranch.
We returned to the safety of the road, and rode alongside the cows as we all made our way back to the ranch. As we rode along, a car pulled up alongside and there was a couple inside the car taking pictures. It occurred to us that many Americans never got to see the sights of a cattle drive, of real live cowboys bringing home the cows, with echoes of days gone by from the wild west. Mr Nomad and I reveled in this adventure, and felt privileged that we had been a part of something so special in such stunning scenery. We were somewhat disappointed that the task was almost complete, and that our job was almost done with the first week of this journey coming to a close.
Driving the reluctant cows down the mountain side had been exhausting. After sorting the cows with blue tags in their ears from those with yellow tags, and returning the neighbours cows to their home, we sauntered along on our trusty steeds, stretching our legs out, munching on sandwiches and although fatigued, the job had been done – the cows were home for the winter. They had been led out to pastures anew, and the horses were also turned out into the largest field I have ever seen where they rolled, and gleefully galloped around without the weight of the saddles and riders on their backs, as if shaking off the weeks work. There was something rather exhilarating about this sight, of the horses being liberated, of their bliss in being free once more.
Whilst we cleaned ourselves up with hot showers, to wash away the dust and grime of a good week’s work, we were treated to an epic thunderstorm. Mr Nomad and I sat on the porch of our log cabin watching mother nature perform with lightening that danced across the vast sky, with thunder so loud it could wake the dead. We sat in silence as a small gathering of deer had sauntered through the gates into the compound and wandered in front of us, although they spooked at the thunder and leapt the fence with ease, melting back into the countryside and vanishing without a trace. It was dream like, with the powerful storm mesmerising us both.
Our last supper was wonderful – rib steak (quite possibly from the very cows we had brought home!) and creamy mash, broccoli and gravy, crusty bread with a token salad followed by apple pie cheesecake washed down with homemade pink lemonade and an offering of moonshine, a contribution from guests who hailed from New York. We all regaled our stories of the last weeks escapades and awards were made for stand out moments. Mr Nomad was the recipient of an award to become an ‘honourary cowboy’ with the tag line ‘I did mean to do that.’ This was because of his unplanned dismount that he had confessed to. Nobody had witnessed this fall but Mr Nomad admitted that he had had to ask Brooke, the wrangler to retrieve Tom for him. Thankfully, he was uninjured save for his pride taking a bashing.
It was a jolly evening with Patty and Richard Tass telling us tales of the old frontier, and showing us the items gifted to them from passing Indians who had been allowed to stay on the land. We both felt sad that it had come to an end. We had been welcomed as if one of the family, and although we had been put to work, and my legs and knees were black and blue after numerous collisions with trees, it was an adventure like no other. We had covered around 70.5 miles and spent around 31hours in the saddle over 5 days and it had been fabulous. We had mucked in like the wranglers, and our contribution and efforts had been genuinely well received and we felt overwhelmed that lifelong dreams had come true.
Although this week had come to an end, this represented the start of the next leg of this journey. With the cattle drive complete, we left the ranch happy and excited to start the road trip – part 2 of this American Odyssey. This would take us through many more states in the U S of A so onwards, the next destination lay in the next state we were to visit, that being Montana.
#dreamscancometrue
#onemoretickedoffthebucketlist
#onwards!
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