Cowgirl Sass & Savvy

Trapped in the quakies

by Julie Carter

I let my cowpony pick his own path through the deadfall as we worked our way down a steep slope toward the cattle at the bottom of the canyon.

It was late summer at the ranch, but in this high mountain pasture signs of fall were already creeping through the aspens. Their heart-shaped leaves were wearing tones of gold as they shimmered and fluttered in the afternoon breeze, true to their “quaking” name.

The incline became arduous, and if I’d been older or wiser, I might have thought I should be fearful. The loose leaves that had fallen on the ground and the slick black soil still wet from a rain the night before complicated the already precarious descent.

The downed timber lay every which way like a game of Pick-up Sticks gone bad. In my youthful oblivion, I whistled a tune while the big bay methodically navigated his way through the quakies.

When the angle of the terrain forced him to slide, he worked athletically to keep his butt up under him in an equine sort of squat. He never wavered in his determination to get where we needed to go.

He knew there were cattle at the bottom, the same as I did. Sometimes the “cow” in cowhorse is an instinct more powerful than self-preservation.

Gathering yearlings for fall shipping was an adventure with my Dad. Especially so in this pasture, as it involved some overnight camping in an old log cabin complete with lanterns, wood-stove cooking and fresh trout from the creek.

Waking early to saddle when the dew was still heavy and the sun was just making it’s first shadows in the long canyon was the stuff of Zane Grey and old Western movies.

On this day, I was to learn a lesson that would serve me all my life. Before I realized what had happened, Bay and I were at the bottom of small crater-like hole near the base of the ridge.

We had literally traversed our way right into a trap. The sharply inclined sides of the crater were littered with fallen trees, an undergrowth of shrubbery and turf that was slick and nothing short of treacherous. Coming down that maze of obstacles was one thing, going back up looked impossible.

Immediately, I realized two things. No one knew exactly where I was, so help may not come anytime soon. And, I could walk out of there, but that meant leaving my horse, an option I wasn’t ready to consider.

For a while, I hollered for help, feeling more than just a little foolish. I sat quietly for another long while, hoping to hear any noise that would indicate that maybe Dad had found me, if he was looking. I wasn’t even sure about that.

It was several hours later before my horse’s head snapped to attention, his ears forward and he rumbled out a low nicker of a greeting.

I could hear timber cracking and brush popping as someone hollered at the cattle I could hear running through the trees. So I hollered a little myself, and in response, my brother and my dad were soon peering at me over the edge of the hole.

My Dad quickly assessed my dilemma while my brother started to offer some smart-alecky comment before my Dad could send him on after the cattle. It was obvious my Dad was trying not to laugh at me and obviously refraining, perhaps knowing I was already feeling pretty stupid.

Looking back, I know there were days we were more trouble to him than we were help, and this was quite possibly one of them.

Not one for explaining much, he told me to get off my horse and tie his reins around his neck. I did, and then he told me to climb on out of the hole. I didn’t want to, but obeyed, thinking I was leaving Bay there to die and it was my fault.

When I got to the top, my dad turned his horse and began to ride away. He told me to follow him afoot. I was mortified that he’d just ride off like that, but knew better than to argue.

My bay gelding decided there was no way he was going to get left behind. He began an Olympian effort to pull himself up the slope, over the logs, and in spite of the mud. There were dreadful noises of grunts, groans and crashes. I turned to see what was happening just as he appeared at the rim of the hole. Apparently, just like my Dad knew he would.

The lesson? What seems hopeless isn’t remedied by trying to holler up a solution. Some well-placed wisdom flavored with a touch of obedience could possibly offer a successful resolution.

Dad’s are pretty smart that way.

Julie can be reached for comment at jcarter@tularosa.net. Visit her website at www.julie-carter.com