Carter
Courtesy
Cow Tracks
By Stephen L. Wilmeth
There was an interesting segment of RFD’s Texas Country Reporter this week.
Rather than highlighting a person of interest with a particular talent or specialty of interest, a sight impaired gentleman was featured who simply wanted to witness the famed suspension bridge over Texas’ Colorado River that is so familiar in the show’s credits. As this played out, the viewer was left in growing suspense what the catch was going to be.
Was this man a descendent of the bridge designer or did his father or grandfather oversee the construction? What surprise was in store for revealing?
As the segment played out, the realization became there would be no surprise, no revelation, and no expected backstory. This simply was a man who could no longer see with any degree of clarity who wanted to experience the bridge with the show’s creator who made the bridge such a familiar feature to millions of people who will never witness it in person. What became almost a disappointing storyline became a moment of witness regarding a man aging with decreasing physical abilities, but remaining rock solid in the simple courtesies of being a gentleman.
He was a Texan. He wore a spotless short brimmed silver belly hat clearly defining his roots and the era of his contemporaries. His being was locked into a time of the past when he, too, was young and formed preferences and the look of his era. Gone were his once physical abilities but remaining was the foundational mannerisms and courtesies of a different time.
Yes, ma’am and Thank you, sir dotted his conversation continuously. As the segment ended the realization came into focus that the hook of the story was the man himself. His story was not one of grand accomplishments or special talents. His story was a profile of what Texas once projected to the world that independent men and women who, under all circumstances, projected their fiercely individual choices and beliefs, but did so with constraint and formal courtesy.
It is a lesson … this modern world needs in abundance.
Carter
A long ride was the order of the day on Friday.
The focus was the numerous drift fences that were built 90 years ago in the cuts in the rimrocks along the ridgeline that separates our operation with the Corralitos Ranch to our east. The rimrocks themselves form impassable barriers separating the ranches, but the cuts act as gates that cattle can pass through if their noses are pointed in the right directions as they graze along the ridgelines.
As gates, they are pretty much one way due to the severity of the offside sheer of the ridge slopes. If cows go through them, they don’t make the climb back out and then we have mixed cattle. To get to these portals is strictly a horseback deal and Carter was the gentleman on call.
He came to us from Ramon Villanueva and he is a typical Villanueva horse. There are just not too many things he isn’t good at. The two things that stand apart from Ramon’s horses and others is the fact his finished horses seem to love to load and to side pass to open and close gates. It’s almost like they are projecting their delight in doing both.
Hey, I can do that just watch me is their demeanor when both tasks are asked for.
BJ dropped us off at the Monterrey well with the agreement he would leave the rig at the Howard pens. The wind was blowing out of the east as we pointed our noses to it and started the climb out of the Apache Flats basin. When it is just this horse and me, the approach is to start at his pace and let him pick up as we go. He can walk and his sustained gate is a comfortable and extended when he gets lined out.
The climb from the bottom as the Manuel drinker is left is a rocky confluence of numerous trails.
Carter disagreed with me on several of the early choices and he demonstrated it by changing angles when he was given his head. It got to be a game as I would deviate between forcing the issue or letting him make the decision.
I reminded him of his less than perfect choices. His ears twitched back and forth as if he might have been interested in the discussion.
As we climbed higher, he was allowed to stop and blow if he needed. He always has that discretion, but most of the time he just kept climbing until I suggested a short halt. As soon at that long exhalation was felt, we continued.
By the time we stopped to pull the cinch, the trail was rocky and rough, but clearly distinct by use. Generations of hooves had made it that way. There was no disagreement in how it was approached.
The high ridge offered vistas that are always appreciated. Smoke from the California fires corrupted the far horizons including views of the Organs and the Floridas, but the Las Uvas with the Hyatt country and the Sleeping Ladies and the Rough and Readies on the Corralitos were distinct enough to pause to study and contemplate.
Carter was interested, similarly. There were places now that could be hairy if a horse danced and fidgeted.
As his most distinct character now displayed … he was ever the gentleman.
Cow Tracks
The drift fences connecting rim rock to rim rock needed attention. A more thorough job posed a distinct pang of dread, but this day was as much an inspection as anything.
As we left the second chute and portal, we picked up the trail around the long hillside and Carter was given his head. As a youngster of years ago, the trip around that slope would have been viewed with outright thrill. As an oldster, the slick rock sections were accompanied by a deep breath and a soft reminder to the horse to use his head.
He did.
By the time we hit the bottom, he was in his long reaching walk. As we topped out again into the upper Martin drainage, there, in the trail, were fresh cow tracks. That altered our remaining plans as cows in his vacated pasture meant we needed to see if we could pick them up and take them with us put them through the gate at the Howard place.
At the Martin drinker, Carter walked up, took one short swallow, and left on his own accord. He had business to attend.
From there, we again sorted out the maze of trails coming into the water and on to the Mesquite drinker we headed. At that point, we had lost the fresh tracks. Carter was offered water and, again, he took one short swallow and left in a rush.
He had seen the shine off the windshield of the rig parked at Howard a mile and a half away.
Across the big tabosa bottom we sailed, never getting out of that reaching walk. Carter, are you needing to get somewhere?
At the corral, we went into the dry lot to close a gate against the fence line. At the trough in the corral, Carter was again offered a drink, but he would have none of it. He was ready to load and head home.
As he was offered the open trailer, we shared a secret, and then, he jumped in as if he was joyous. He stood without being tied.
He had long earned that bit of freedom.
Stephen L. Wilmeth is a rancher from southern New Mexico. “Everybody needs to ride once in their lives a Ramon Villanueva horse. The middle name of each of them has to be … Courtesy.”
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