Road Stories

Last week I made a short trip to West Texas to photograph a day worker cowboy (see our upcoming September issue), as well as some ranch mares and foals. The weekend before I was there, the area had received 5 inches of rain, which is unheard of in that part of the country, especially in July.

The grass was unbelievably green. The gravel roads were flooded. The air was muggy. Cows were fat. Horses were muddy. One veteran cowboy said he’d never seen so much rain.

One of the negatives, particularly when you’re the type of photographer who finds himself crawling around on the ground, is the critters.

Big red ants had been flooded out of their holes, and a number of them were flying in the air. Tumble bugs were busy doing the dirty business that they do. Grasshoppers the size of buffalo wings (no joke) were lumbering on the ground.

And then there were the tarantulas. On the road later that evening, I saw about 30 eight-legged jay-walkers in the space of 20 miles. But seeing them from the safety of your truck cab is different than watching one at ground zero. Shortly before taking this photo I had stomped a fuzzy tarantula to death. Then I spent about 15 minutes sitting on the ground, taking these photos of mares and foals. I tried not to think about what multi-legged creature might wander up my pants leg.

“So you photograph nature and people,” she said excitedly. The lady working behind the counter, named Melonie, continued chatting with me as she made arrangements for my overnight stay in a vintage Airstream travel trailer. “This is going to be an interesting place to sleep tonight,” I thought.

Paisley is a small, remote town in southern Oregon. Logging and ranching have been its main industries throughout its existence, but sadly the community is shrinking. That means no hotels, except for a tiny three-room lodge that was surprisingly booked full when I arrived. That’s what led me to the Airstream.

The Summer Lake Hot Springs is an RV park five miles north of town. It has plenty of RV hookups, hiking trails, cabins, public restrooms and, of course, an old sheet-metal barn that houses natural, warm, healing artesian springs. I pulled into the gravel drive, weary from a long trip. After driving past a few totem poles, I read a sign outside the office that said, “Respect this sacred land.” Inside, I was greeted by a painting of an oriental woman meditating in the lotus pose, a three-legged cat, and Melonie.

Melonie told me the cabins were already booked, but I could stay in one of the refurbished travel trailers. She added that a group of bikers thoroughly enjoyed hanging out in the Airstream whenever they rolled through the region. Despite the rave reviews, I had to inspect the mobile living quarters myself.

Now, I’ve stayed in a lot of different places in my travels besides the cushy confines of a Holiday Inn. I’ve slept in guest houses, living room couches, bedrolls, tepees, horse trailers, a bunk-bed (top level), and even the front seat of my pickup. But a chrome-colored trailer on the Oregon range was a first for me.

“You must have good karma to have dropped into such a healing place,” Melonie said.

I had a photo shoot scheduled in town that evening and didn’t get back till after dark. Another photo shoot had me stepping out of the Airstream at 4:30 a.m. I never had the time to soak in the hot springs. But I must say, my brief stint at Summer Lake Hot Springs was the best night’s sleep I got the whole trip. It was groovy.

On Thursday we drove from Fort Worth to Colorado Springs in the company truck and trailer. Friday was the last day that the historic Western Horseman building, built in 1949, would be used by the magazine, and we were there to close the building and pack up furniture, files, artwork, etc.

Upon arriving, associate publisher Ernie King said, “I still can’t believe after 61 years that tomorrow is the last day Western Horseman operates out of this building. That is as wrong as Pikes Peak is tall.”

Friday was a sad day. Staff members who had worked there for years came to pack up their belongings, say goodbyes, take photos and shed tears. Many of them stayed late helping the crew haul boxes and clean out offices. That’s the kind of work ethic Western Horseman staff are known for.

During the day, a man showed up with his big palomino gelding and led him into the office. The last horse to step inside the building. We took pictures, and the man talked about how his grandfather subscribed to the magazine. Visits like that are common and are what has made our building unique.

We will spend the rest of this weekend emptying the Springs office. And the artwork, furniture, files and equipment will be moved to Fort Worth in two large Uhauls and the company truck and trailer.

I’m confident that Western Horseman will continue to be a great magazine. The staff and I will do everything we can to ensure that. But no doubt, with our beloved building closed, things will never be the same.

It’s not uncommon that writing and photographing a story requires me to be horseback. So a lot of times I’ll pack a pair of spurs and maybe my chaps. On a recent trip to Arizona, I put my spurs in one of my carry-ons. Don’t ask me why. Flying out of DFW, security personnel didn’t ask any questions. It’s likely that they’re used to seeing such contraptions.

But returning home from Phoenix, the nice security lady said, “We need to look in your bag, sir.” Again, don’t ask why I tested fate again. After spending five minutes cross-referencing to see if spurs fit in the category of banned objects such as guns, explosives, fingernail clippers and big bottles of shampoo, security cleared my jingling hardware.

It was a good thing I didn’t pack a set of rock-grinders. The security lady said, “If these [rowells] were sharp, we wouldn’t have okayed them.” I replied, “Thank you very much.” Then she felt the need to add her own opinion. “Either way,” she said, “the horse sure doesn’t like them.”

Despite all the comebacks that came to mind, I held my tongue. “Okay, thank you,” was all I said.

“Next time I’ll be sure to pack them in my checked luggage,” I thought.

There we were, kicking turds. It’s funny the kinds of things you find yourself doing in preparation for a photo shoot. I’ve pulled weeds, groomed horses, cleaned tack, set up jumps, rearranged panels, gathered cattle, trimmed trees…I even showed up early one time with two buckets of paint and went to work on a trainer’s obstacles for an article on trail courses.

Last September, senior editor Jennifer Denison and I were at Richard Caldwell’s facility in Alturas, California, getting photos for the training article series on vaquero horsemanship. It’s our cover story for the March issue. Richard has a nice arena. But it was my idea to do all the photos in his pasture, a small trap holding several horses. Even if those horses hadn’t been in the pasture at the time, let’s just say there was plenty of evidence that they had been there.

Horse people develop a unique tolerance for manure. No big deal if they step in it. And piles sprinkled throughout a pasture are almost invisible. But that tolerance completely disappears when they show up in a photograph. It’s like looking at a pretty sunset with those wind turbines on the horizon. Sticks out like a sore thumb.

So while Richard was getting his horses ready, Jennifer and I were walking around his pasture, giving the boot to dried piles of horse apples. There’s a technique to that, you know. If you kick a chip just low enough and with the side of your boot, it won’t break up as much and will go flying for 10 feet.

We got to laughing, wondering if Richard was watching us from a distance. What would he think of his two guests in his pasture, walking in eratic circles, holding their heads down and kicking dust into the wind? But I must say, we cleared an area fairly well. If you look a photos in the article “Handy with a Hackamore,” you’ll see Richard riding his horses in a pasture clean and free of horse chips…well, almost.

This winter, snowfall has been en vogue. Even in my home state of Texas, we’ve seen record snow showers. After getting an astonishing 14 inches at my house west of Weatherford on February 11, we’re experiencing more falling flakes today.

Texans aren’t used to this. Two weeks ago, I had to crawl onto the flimsey, shallow-sloped roof of my barn to shovel snow. It was on the verge of caving in. The horses were spooked at the cedar trees bent down from the heavy accumulation. Our road was covered in deep snow for two days (we don’t have very many snow-plows down here).

But it sure was nice to be able to get some good snow photos from the comfort of my back pasture. My wife hopped on her horse and rode around while I hammered out about 100 shots. Then I saddled a horse and we rode to the back of our property. Our horses snorted and acted like they were stepping into a different world, and so did we.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve returned my rental car covered in dust, mud caked under the wheel wells and dirt and gravel all over the floor mats. The soiled condition in which my rental wheels return is not out of disrespect. It’s simply inevitable that my photo shoots will take me off the paved roads.

You’d actually be surprised at the kind of terrain a Ford Focus can traverse. Bumpy gravel roads, rocky pastures and snow covered ranch driveways can all be negotiated as long as you steer, shift and hit the accelerator just right.

One time I got a pickup, which was helpful. Another time I was upgraded to a Mustang convertible. Nice. But most trips find me in a intermediate sized coupe. Nothing too exciting…until you have to go off-road.

It’s always surprising to me how many people think I have arrived in my own car. I have to explain that I’m a thousand miles from home, covered most of the distance in a plane, and “No, that is not my yellow PT Cruiser. It’s a rental!”

Getting a Western Horseman cover shot is rarely easy. Our February cover of cutting horse trainer Kory Pounds is a good example.

The photo shoot was scheduled during the NCHA Futurity, a busy time for Kory. But the Weatherford, Texas, horseman willingly obliged. The Futurity runs for about three weeks during November and December, and the weather was dicey. When we finally had a sunny day, it was because a cold front had swept out all the clouds and rain. Kory and I set up a time for 6:45 in the morning at his training facility.

I wanted to shoot the cover image before the sun came up in order to avoid hat shadows and also get that pretty pink western sky in the background. We shot the rest of the photos for the article when the sun came up.

The wind was howling out of the north, making 28-degrees feel like 10. Camera batteries and cold weather don’t get along, so I went through six battery packs during the shoot.

But lying on the cold ground, with chattering teeth and numb fingers, I wasn’t about to complain. Because 10 feet away, Kory patiently stood in front of my camera. At my request, his coat was laid on the ground a few feet away. Whenever we took a break, he quickly put his coat back on and lit a cigarette.

After getting the cover shot, we worked for another couple of hours on photos for the article. The sun didn’t make things much warmer, and the wind never died down.

I’m ready for Spring.

From left, Dan Noyes, Lyle Jordan, Marc Brogger and Roland Moore.

We’ve received many comments on the January feature “Cowhands of the CA.” The story is about four day-workers who have kept the historic CA Ranch in operation for the past 15 years. They work hard for cheap pay, and their skills as cowboys and stockmen are a great benefit to this Montana outfit.

Photographing and interviewing these men (Marc Brogger, Lyle Jordan, Roland Moore and Dan Noyes) was a great experience for me. These cowboys love what they do and are willing to sacrifice their time and many comforts in order to help preserve a piece of the West they believe in.

I watched them sort cows all day in the cold, snow and mud. The following day, I rode along as they gathered cattle in the mountains. Brogger talked a lot about how he enjoys working alongside his friends and working for Frank Anderson, who manages with a laid-back style and works just as hard as any man he hires.

It’s cliche to say that men like this are a dying breed. But I will say this: they’re getting harder to find. And I think it’s up to you and me to fill their shoes.

I love Guthrie, and drive through the small Texas town often. Large cattle outfits such as the Four Sixes, Pitchfork and Tongue River give the town a unique, ranching flavor. Most residents are closely tied to ranching and have a deep respect for cowboys and traditional values.

It also might be the only place where you’ll meet two men named Cotton and learn about a beloved “Uncle Brother.”

While photographing Ashley Daniel at the Sixes, I met Cotton Leathers, one of the ranch’s hired hands. Daniel is featured in the December issue of Western Horseman, and Cotton helped us with cattle during our photo shoot. Later, eating DiGiorno pizza (it’s most certainly not delivery in Guthrie, America) in Daniel’s house, I talked to Sheriff Cotton Elliot, a longtime cowboy who just took up public service.

That same day, I heard stories about “Uncle Brother,” and I couldn’t help but think of an uncomfortable case of linebreeding. Daniel laughed and assured me that wasn’t the case at all. Her father’s brother, Daniel’s uncle, earned the nickname “Brother” years ago.

Scheeeuww.