Cowboys and Heli-Fun in the Rockies
Cowboys and City Slickers
The word “cowboy” dates back to 1725, the English translation of the Spanish “vaquero”, or cow herder. They’re also known as buckaroos, but don’t be calling them cowpokes – that describes the lowly person who prodded cows in cattlecars. According to a 19th century US census, about 15% of all working cowboys were black, and around 15% were Mexican - a fact you don’t see represented much in the movies. Low on the social ladder, cowboys earned a pittance as they participated in huge cattle drives across the emerging western United States, steering the meat to the market. The lifestyle demanded men to be men, whatever their sexual preference. Their duties were many: rounding up, branding, protecting, securing, breaking in, and birthing cows and horses. Cattle herds averaged around 3000 head, rounded up by just 10 cowboys with 3 horses each. It was a tough life in a tough, unforgiving land, and this is where the image of the cowboy was born, the hard men of the west. It is interesting to note that, despite Hollywood, there were few battles with Native Americans. Cattle drives usually paid off chiefs to let the cows cross their land. The cowboys and Indians myth is exactly that – adventurous and romantic fiction written to appeal to urban dwellers hearing the call of the Wild West. By mid-20th century, the introduction of a rail network, ranch fences, and new farming techniques all but ended the need for cattle drives, and the hey-day of the roaming cowboy came to a close. Modern cowboys, like Bill and his son Reid, work hard on the ranch, and display their skills at competitive rodeo shows. The Calgary Stampede, founded in 1912, is the richest and biggest rodeo in the world, a celebration of the traditions and abilities of cowboys, and cowgirls too. Reid competes as a bareback rider, cow milker and wild horse racer, while Bill’s daughter Erin was the 1993 Stampede Queen, winning several titles too. All this to show that if this city slicker was going to earn his new hat, he was with the right folk to do it.
Esrock Changes Hats
The Gonzo Hat. It’s been with me to 53 countries, warped and disfigured, scarred with acid rain and Chernobyl dust. I lost it in Bangkok in an airport taxi, and it found its way home. I forgot it on a bus in Mexico, but managed to retrieve it just as the bus pulled off into the unknown. I left it on a train in Croatia, but made a dashing recovery, exiting the train while it was already in motion. Figuring I could keep it going for another trip around the world, I walked into Vancouver’s only cowboy shop hoping they could breathe some life in the old boy. Buddy takes one look at it and says: ”let it go man, it’s over.” Finding a new travel hat is no easy feat, but with the help of Meghan and Meghan of Diverse Fashion Group, I went with a new white paper crushable fedora. A new look for an old traveller. However, I hadn’t counted on Albertan hospitality. No sooner was off the plane than I was presented with a new hat, albeit one that didn’t fit. Exchanging it at the airport hat shop (like I said, this is Hat Country), I stumble upon another new Gonzo Hat, similar to the old one, also a Baileys pure wool foldable. It’s in black though, and so I am Back in Black, so to speak, ready to get shook all night long, and hit the Highway to Hell. Where before there was one hat, now there are two. Wearing it, you’ll be happy to know, is the same Gonzo idiot. We shall learn in the coming months whether it is the hat that makes the Gonzo, or the Gonzo that makes the hat.
Back at the Ranch
We arrive at Skyline, a modest 120 acre ranch in a valley surrounded by smooth yellow hills, grazed by 300 head of organically fed Angus cows. Pine trees pierce the sky, hence the name Porcupine Hils, and the snow-capped Rockies frame the western horizon. Bill hands me a pair of leather chaps, I choose a smooth, white stallion named Barry, and we mount up for my first adventure, rounding up the cattle. Skyline has been offering ranching vacations for some 30 years, whereby guests can participate in a number of activities, from simple horse riding treks to full-on down and dirty farm jobs. Reed and Erin join us, along with Katie, the happiest dog I’ve ever seen, and we corral the cows forward. Weighing up 1200 lbs, the size of these cows can be intimidating. Bill tells me how a neighbour was beat up pretty good by an over anxious cow, and a stampede would flatten anything in its path. “Do you ride much,” asks Erin, a champion cutting horse rider (cutting horses are trained to round up cattle by turning, stopping and running quicker than normal horses).
“Well, I’ve galloped on the plains of Mongolia, on the Jordanian desert alongside the ancient city of Petra, and in the Slovenian countryside on pure-bred Lipizzaners, but no, not really,” I reply. We both pause to dwell on the absurdity of such a statement.
It takes us a while to film the action, as it always does, and Sean almost loses his $80,000 camera when the horse he’s riding goes for an impromptu gallop. That’s he’s filming on a horse in the first place is pretty nuts, but I haven’t seen him this spooked since that guy threw a cobra at him in Taipei. We’ve travelled to 24 countries together, and conversations often run like this.
“This kind of reminds me when we were driving through that war-torn area in Sri Lanka,” or “That landing was bumpier than the time we landed in Bogota.” I’m sure it intrigues the hell out of eavesdroppers.
