Road Stories

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.

There is just something unique about the smell around a feedlot. Those heavy, pungent odors rear back and punch you in the face once you step out of your vehicle.

I was at a feedlot in Earth, Texas, photographing a cowboy there. We set up a portrait of him horseback in one of the pens. I tiptoed through the poop patches, carrying my camera and a flash mounted on a tripod.

Tripp Townsend, the manager and owner, recommended that I roll up the windows, otherwise the flies would take up residence. But despite the windows sealed tight, I couldn’t prevent the feedlot smell from creeping in. It burrows into the fabric of your shirt.

I asked Tripp if he gets used to it. He said he does, kind of.

“It always hits me in the evening when I get in the shower,” he says.

Must be because of the stark contrast between Dial and doo doo.

I often have to apologize for carrying so much excess baggage—literally. When traveling on assignment for Western Horseman, I pack heavy. And that makes airline travel cumbersome. I almost always pack two camera bodies, five lenses, two flashes, a reflector, two tripods, battery packs, gaffer tape—it’s quite a load. And that doesn’t count my laptop, reading material, work files, clothes, extra boots, and sometimes spurs. Somehow I cram it all into four bags, making sure my laptop and camera equipment board the plane with me, checking my suitcase and tripod bag.

On small planes, I find myself saying “excuse me” and “sorry” the most often. Boarding a plane from Dallas-Fort Worth to Lexington a year ago was smooth sailing until I found my seat. I had strolled down the skyway, rolling my camera gear behind, with my briefcase slung over my shoulder, my Western Horseman jacket draped on my shoulders, my hat set square on my head, and a cup of coffee in my free hand (not a good idea). My camera bag didn’t fit in the overhead compartment like it usually does, neither did it fit under the seat in front of me. A pile-up of passengers waited in the aisle while I considered my options. Checking in my expensive camera equipment is not an option, as far as I’m concerned. So I momentarily set it down in my seat and tried to get out of everyone’s way.

Now, as I will detail, getting settled into a little plane with big bags, a cowboy hat, and a cup of coffee can be tricky. However, this can be accomplished in 20 simple, yet clumsy, steps.

1. Set the camera bag and coffee in your seat (that coffee cup will balance on top of your bag as long as no one bumps the seat).
2. Cram your briefcase in the overhead (ignore the concerned look from the seated passenger who has already carefully stowed his bag in the same compartment).
3. Smile at passengers standing in the aisle, waiting for you to get the heck out of the way.
4. Grab coffee and sit down in someone else’s seat (remember, your bag is in your seat at the moment).
5. Sip coffee and fumble with cowboy hat.
6. When one wave of passengers gets by, slip into assigned seat and set camera bag in your lap (don’t make eye contact with the stewardess, who by now is giving you that sir-you-can’t-do-that look).
7. Politely ask passenger across the aisle to trade seats with you (due to the plane’s design, your camera bag should fit in the seat in front of him).
8. Stand up, adjust hat (after bumping it on the ceiling).
9. Step out of the way of gracious passenger who’s trading seats with you (don’t forget to thank him).
10. Sip coffee.
11. Set coffee in your new seat and carefully cram you camera bag underneath the seat in front (apologize to the man sitting beside you, who just lost a little leg space).
12. Grab coffee, sit down (again, getting the heck out of everyone’s way).
13. Stand up, set down coffee and remove that hot jacket (apologize to the lady behind you who just got backhanded in the head).
14. Cram jacket in the overhead compartment.
15. Sit down, placing coffee between your legs as you buckle up (apologize to your neighbor for elbowing his arm).
16. Sip coffee.
17. Place hat between your feet on the floor.
18. Unbuckle and dig your cell phone out of your front pocket, turn it off.
19. Sip coffee, rebuckle.
20. Enjoy your flight.