Pat & Sharon O'Toole

Bringing in the cows and calves
Home Ranch
photo by Pat O'Toole

We shipped our calves last week. It is the culmination of more than a year’s work. Even as we sort their calves away, the mother cows are already pregnant with next year’s babies. Over the past few weeks, we have been staging for the shipping days. We have brought all the calves in and vaccinated them to protect them on their stressful journey and as they settle into their new homes (farms or feedlots). We have gathered the desert calves from Powder Flat and hauled them to the home ranch. We have separated the heifers from the steers, and held them with their mothers in different pastures. We have done everything that is under our control to minimize problems, and maximize health.

Black Baldy in the sorting alley
photo by Pat O'Toole

Daniel at branding
St. Louis pasture
photo by Tim Findley

Last spring, we saw them into the world. We shed calved the first calf heifers at home. My son stayed in a sheep camp in the Cottonwood pasture, 20 miles from home, to keep an eye on the older cows as they dropped their calves. We gathered them up, in stages, and branded and vaccinated. In mid and late June, we trailed the cows and their calves up to the Forest permits. All summer, we rode and rode and rode, to rotate them onto fresh pasture and to watch for problems. We kept an eye on the bulls, to ensure next year’s calf crop.

In early October, we rode, and backrode, and brought everyone back to the home ranch. Those that we didn’t find mostly showed up with the neighbors’ cows. Fall is a constant round of phone calls: “I’ve got two pairs of yours. I left them in the old corral by the road. Have you seen any heifers? I’m short four.”

Calves ready to go
photo by Sharon O'Toole

Another round of phone calls go back and forth with the buyer. We sell our calves, but retain ownership and feed our lambs to finish. The vet must come and do a health inspection. Trucks must be arranged, the brand inspector must be scheduled, and good weather must be prayed for.

When shipping day arrives, it is a ballet of motion, one hopes. Sometimes, it is more of a crashing around. We bring the mothers and half-grown babies into the sorting alley and dodge the mothers away. The calves are hustled onto the scales. The idea is to maximize their weight and minimize their stress. The mothers put up a cacophony of bawling, although the more experienced among them probably heave a sigh of relief. “I thought they were never going to wean!”

Finally, the trucks are loaded. We admonish the drivers, “Drive carefully” as they head down the road with a year’s worth of plans, sweat, and dreams.

Between the poles
photo by Pat O'Toole

Posted by Sharon O'Toole at 4:36 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Sharon and Chief on Battle Mountain
Carbon County, Wyoming
photo by Pat O'Toole

The dominant feature of the landscape in our river valley is an extinct volcano, Battle Mountain. Its mountain man name was “Bastion Mountain” but it came to its present name after a battle in 1841. It was a multi-day fight between trappers seeking beaver and Indians from several tribes who crossed the Continental Divide to drive them out. From the tales that survive, everybody lost. A large number of the Arapahoes, Cheyenne and others were killed, along with several of the mountain men, whose leader Henry Fraeb died in the fighting. Jim Baker pronounced him “the ugliest dead man I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen a good many.” The horseless trappers walked to Fort Bridger, about 200 miles away, and the Indians retreated to fight another day. I often wonder what their name was for such a massive mountain.

Plata & Pat overlooking the valley
photo by Sharon O'Toole

View of the home ranch from Battle Mountain
photo by Sharon O'Toole

Battle Mountain lies a mile or so northwest of our home ranch, depending on where you start measuring. In all my years, I have been all around it, up and down looking for cattle, and made several forays nearly to the top. But I had never stood on the summit, which is actually a large mesa. The area is famous for its wildlife, particularly the elk herds who hang here to rut and shelter during the fall migration. They like the mountain-top, with its feed, spring water and relative safety from hunters.

Last week, Pat said, “Let’s go to the top of Battle Mountain and look for strays.” Now we did not expect to find that any cows and calves that high, even though it is contiguous to our summer pasture. We know that we could see the world from there, and with the help of binoculars, save ourselves a lot of riding. I was glad to go and finally know that I had been to the top.

We went horseback, and had to lead our horses up through the last rocky embankments that lie just below the sagelands on the summit. When the volcano erupted, about a zillion years ago (I’m sure geologists have an idea when, but I don’t), it left a ring of cliffs around most of the top. A canyon was blown out of the east side, leaving a huge rectangular mass with a V cut out of one side. The sides are covered with a variety of plant life, from sage to pines to aspen groves to Gambol’s oak (its northern-most range, we are told). The key is to wind your way up through the sage areas, and try to minimize the bushwhacking through the brush. It makes sense to follow the many deer and elk paths, except that they can duck under and hop over obstacles that truly obstruct a horse and rider.

When we scrambled to the top, I found a different world than I had expected. The mesa is not evenly connected, but separated into zones by other natural features like rocks and trees. I guess rocks and trees should be expected in such a place! On the slope below the highest point, which actually looks like a pointy summit, we spotted several hundred elk. We could hear their eerie whistles and they milled and courted.

It was getting on toward sunset, and was pretty darned cold, even though snow spotted the ground only unevenly. We found some cattle, some miles to the east, but at least we knew where to look. And we took some photos.

Elk Heaven
photo by Sharon O'Toole

Bibleback & Camelback Mountains
photo by Sharon O'Toole

Posted by Sharon O'Toole at 5:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Our days are filled with trailing toward our winter country, shipping lambs and calves onto the feedlot, sorting the old ewes and the cull cows to sell, and making sure that the mother herds are set for the coming winter. Here are some recent images.

Waiting to load
Badwater Pasture, Carbon County, Wyoming
photo by Sharon O'Toole

Ready to load
photo by Sharon O'Toole

Dan the trucker
photo by Sharon O'Toole

Ed, the brand inspector, with Pat
photo by Sharon O'Toole

Sheep camp at Badwater
photo by Sharon O'Toole

Antonio with lamb
photo by Sharon O'Toole

Replacement ewe lambs unloading
Photo by Pat O'Toole

A good day's work
photo by Sharon O'Toole

Badwater sunset with sheep
photo by Sharon O'Toole

Posted by Sharon O'Toole at 3:33 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Bob Holmes was a “hired man” in the best sense of the word. Bob worked on our ranch from soon after the time he returned from fighting in World War II, until a few years ago when declining health forced him to move to town. Bob was of the “old school,” of a type no longer found in the West. He was a bachelor ranch hand, and if hard work will take a man to heaven, Bob is there now, looking down at all of us still hard at it.

Bob was born in this valley. His folks kept dairy cows, and the kids were up early and late, milking cows. When the war broke out, like so many others, he volunteered. He came home, worked for a neighbor for a short period, then went to work for my father, who had likewise just returned from the war. He was exactly one year younger than my Dad.

Bob Holmes
Fourth of July

He was here when I was born, and for years, I was a little frightened of his grouchy ways. No one could outwork Bob. We have a pasture called the “Mouse Pasture”, because, my father said, “Not even a mouse could escape Bob’s tight fence.”

As far as anyone knows, Bob’s one experiment with romance was the time he ran off with the ranch cook. They took off for Mexico. A few months later, Bob showed up at the breakfast table. No one asked any questions and he didn’t offer any answers. Dad said the only insight Bob ever proffered came years later when they were out feeding cattle off the hayrack. Bob said, “You know, the whole time we were in Mexico, Madeline never wore any underwear.”

He fed cattle in the winter and drove the baler in the summer. Generations of rakers lived in fear of Bob’s wrath if they did not meet his exacting standards of how a windrow should be formed. He got along best with Katie, a young Englishwoman who raked for a couple of summers. When I asked her secret, she said, “I cried.” This melted Bob’s heart enough for him to teach her how to be a perfect raker.

Bob always said that everyone gets “one good dog, one good horse, and one good team.” The dog was Stubby, the horse was Cody, and the team was Fran and Chub. They’ve all gone to the Lord, where they’re now joined by one good man.

Sheep Mountain
Carbon County, Wyoming
photo by Pat O'Toole

Posted by Sharon O'Toole at 12:33 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Ephemeral waterfall at Lower Powder Spring
Sweetwater County, Wyoming
photo by Pat O'Toole

Here’s an unusual moment when an infrequent waterfall helps engorge Lower Powder Spring. The spring is a pivotal water source that drew creators of 10,000-year-old petroglyphs, provided a crucial link on the Cherokee Trail, and was homesteaded by Matt Rash, one of Butch Cassidy’s Wild Bunch (also known as the Powder Springs gang). It is an important water source for our cattle and sheep operation, as well as abundant wildlife. This water is bisected by the Colorado-Wyoming state line, and is near the site of the Doc Chivington (nephew to the infamous Colonel) homestead, where still stands a stone foundation. Chivington spend years in this remote location, hired by Colorado cattlemen to keep Wyoming sheep from crossing the “dead line”.

text by Pat O'Toole

Pat & George at new Lower Powder Spring reservoir
photo by Sharon O'Toole

Posted by Sharon O'Toole at 3:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)