( HOLIDAYS ) Drive ‘Em Cowgirl!
A Montana cattle drive from a cowgirl’s perspective by Jane Wynyard
T
he Dryhead Ranch is located in one of the most remote places in Montana. It nestles at the foot of the snow-covered Pryor and Bighorn Mountains at 4000-metres above sea level, and spans 35-miles on the Montana/Wyoming border. I joined nine other guests from across the globe for a city slickers style week, all of us flying to mid-west America to become cowboys and girls. We were to ride with the real cowboys, our task to drive a herd of 250 cows and their calves from their winter pastures in Wyoming, to their Spring and Summer pastures in Montana. Free of any pretensions, Dryhead is a real life, working ranch. Think braving the elements, riding for between four and eight hours a day, and covering some pretty challenging terrain.
Staying on an Indian Reservation, means abstaining from alcohol and baring your skin is a no-no too due to Federal Law, but herding cattle under the influence isn’t a good mix, and it was mighty cold, my six layers and an oversize rain slick being the preferred choice.
Real life wranglers, four generations live and work on the Dryhead Ranch, and all are expert riders – their knowledge of cows, horses, ranch life and Montana greatly outweighing what I can cover here. Working ranches are no longer a mainstay of America’s mid west (another reason to visit), but the Dryhead covers a sizeable 32,000 acres, 150 American Quarter horses and 900 cows, making this genuinely authentic western territory; their seasonal cattle drives, horse drives and ranch weeks catering to between 250 and 350 guests each year.
Our first drive started near a bentonite mine in Lovell, Wyoming. We drove the cattle for 50 miles across the dusty plains, through a canyon, over creeks, up steep paved and dirt roads, underneath rugged cliffs, along snow covered paths and onto the pastures of Dryhead. The landscape was breathtaking, the Bighorn and Pryor mountains looming above us. The mind-blowing canyon and sheer
After several hours in the saddle, Jane Wynyard and her trusty steed Patches, enjoy a break in the sun en route to Dryhead Ranch (c) Jane Wynyard
cliffs stretched upwards to 1000-feet, and a ribbon of turquoise water cut across the ground below. A pickup truck followed behind carrying our lunch, and a cattle truck was our backstop, the stragglers and any horses (or riders) that got tired enjoying a bit of respite.
We rose each morning at 5.30am clinking our spurs and heading for the cookhouse, every meal made up of melt in your mouth French toast, pancakes, waffles, eggs, bacon, and the best hash browns I have tasted to date. After which, the drive would begin again, and I’d have my fill of cowgirl moments. I played the part, chasing after runaway cows, climbing across rocky canyons and charging in and out of thick shrub. At one point I even considered lassoing a cow, well, until I realised I might be red dust bound and not sitting pretty on my mount.
In this Big Sky country, raptors ride across the bluest of skies in search of their next meal; elk and deer prance across the plains and wild Mustang simply stare majestically as if they've seen it all before. I even spied a small black mother bear, her two small balls of fur whisked away to safety, no doubt to avoid the bellowing cows who sounded like a cross between a couple of hundred motor-cross bikes and 250 Wookies on the loose. Allowing the mothers to feed their calves was an essential end to every day’s journey – our job to wait patiently. If not, the mothers were known to have an attack of short-term amnesia and forget they even had calves, which meant a long drive in the reverse direction to find the newly made orphans.
Every night we ventured back to Dryhead Ranch. It was way too cold for a camping expedition and a comfortable bed and warm bath is the perfect plan after a day in the saddle. Leaving our cattle and horses safely in the corral we’d head back to find them the next morning. Authentic to the last, we would pitch hay in the horses paddocks, listen to stories round the campfire, and admittedly, only try and lasso the steel practice cowhead in
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Jane Wynyard riding Patches at the end of the cattle drive at Dryhead Ranch (c) Jane Wynyard
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