Spilyay tymoo., September 21, 1979, Page 6, Image 6

Page 6
September 21,1979
September 21,1979
Weekend Cowboys
The plaintive “moo’s” can be heard
.even before the moving brown mass
slips into sight. Puffs of dust rise from
the h orizon and anim al shapes
gradually ■ appear. Longer—legged
animals with riders hug the edges of the
herd, occasionally darting out after
strays.
A temporary marriage of cattle,
horses and men moves as one, closing
the gap between freedom and the corral.
An open gate funnels the suspicious
cattle into captivity, and the horsemen
dismount to check for brands on foot.
The women look up from their
outdoor kitchen and see striding out of
the dust—a couple of councilmen, a
Bureau of Indian Affairs grounds­
keeper, a race car driver, a construction
contractor. All cowboys for the
weekend, all equipped with other hats
for the rest of the week.
North End cattlemen take their
business seriously. It’s strenous, dirty
work that can’t always be confined to
weekends and holidays. There are herds
to move to seasonal ranges, calves to cut
and brand, fences to repair, stock to
take to market, alfalfa to be grown. It is
a vear-round responsibility.
But raising cattle is not the sole means
of livelihood for any of the dozen or so
North End stock owners. With about
350 head among them, ranching is not
big business. They’re lucky if they break
even, and when all the hours of labor are
counted, they have only marginal
operations.
Then why do they do it? For Gene
Greene, it’s a “hobby,” no doubt a
welcome respite from the stresses of
Tribal Council and the N atural
Resources department. Greene married
in to th e la r g e c a ttle - o w n in g
Queahpama family, having grown up
with cattle of his own, and now shares
his hobby with numerous relatives.
For the Calicas, farming and raising
cattle are a “family tradition” that no
one is about to give up, even though the
scope of their "operation has diminished
in recent years.
For others there is the excuse to be
outdoors in the fresh air, the machismo
of cow-punching, an obligation to a
grandparent or an heir, a status symbol,
or a part-time job. N orth End
cattleowners are a varied lot, from
young, vigorous men to elderly women.
But they are joined together by a
common range, a scarcity of fences and
the cattle’s unwillingness to congregate
according to brand.
This “undeclared association”
of
stock owners, as Greene describes it,
may well appear dormant for much of
the year. Some of the routine aspects of
cattle-raising are solitary. Mowing and
baling hay, feeding winterbound stock,
pushing a wandering herd back into the
summer range, repairing fences—these
are behind-the- scenes chores that
owners perform through-out the year to
varying degrees. And “everybody has
their own system,” says Greene.
But when spring or fall rolls around,
the c a ttle business becom es a
community event like no other. Ride
bosses Larry Calica and Levi Keo know
from observing the cattle and talking
casually with the owners when the right
time is. Notices are posted and the
community of cowboys comes alive,
ready to launch a series of cooperative
weekend campaigns.
It is round-up timie.
It is the weekend cowboy’s moment
of glory. The glamour and romance of
running cattle, however buried in dust
and blood, finally surfaces, when life
seems to imitate television or the rodeo.
It is a time to sharpen riding and roping
skills, to teach the youngsters a trick or
two. Putting aside the concerns of
everyday life, they enter a simple
outdoor world of man, beast and
sagebrush.
North Enders forego some of the
modern amenities of big ranches, like
m o to rc y c le s , c a lf ta b le s , a n d
antiseptics, in favor of time-honored
tradition. Combing the sage and timber
on horseback, they whoop and holler
the cattle into ancient corrals at Log
Springs, Red Lake or Hennon Flat and
stage an old-time rodeo of sorts.
Selecting out a bull calf, an owner
dispatches two riders to rope its neck
and heels and stretch him out between
taut ropes and straining horses. Then
despite the calfs squealing and the
mother’s bellowing, any number of
operations can be performed on the
captive animal.
If it has horns, clip them off. If it’s
slick, burn a brand into its side. If its
ears are intact, carve notches into them
and pierce them with a plastic tag. And
if it is still a bull, make sure it’s a steer
with deft swipes of a pocket knife.
Then to add insult to injury, practice
tying the fatigued calf, and to make sure
the animal has been utilized fully, seat a
screaming boy on its back and let it
prance back to its mother, dropping the
fledgling rodeo star into the dust and
manure.
When the branding fire is going, the
leftover male organs make tasty treats
for the hungry cowboys. But the women
know that their men can’t survive on the
morsels alone, so they spread out a table
of hot food and cold drinks and coax
the sweating cattlemen from the corral.
Resisting the urge for a nap, they’re
back at their work in moments, taking
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North End ro ind-ups bring them together
advantage of every daylight hour. But
the women linger around the food and
visit, and the kids go off and kick up
their heels, until it’s time to share their
fathers’ seriousness about the work at
hand. It is, after all, a family time—the
gathering of brothers, sisters, cousins—
and there is time for stories, memories
and teasing.
Laughing mixes with reprimands;
dust, olood and sweat mingle on the
skin and clothes; burning flesh and
manure fill the nostrils; and the cattle
never stop protesting. By the time the
sunlight wanes, muscles are sore, lungs
are full, and the dirt is crusted on in a
permanent veneer. Bed is looking
awfully good, and there is another day
just like this one ahead.
By Monday, ready or not, the
weekend cowboys are facing desks, a
council table, and lawn mowers. But for
at least one the weekend spills over into
the week. A handful of culled cattle
must be taken to market and a new bull
must be hauled in to increase
productivity. It is a business, remember,
and not just weekend recreation. But
the dollar return is slim and the means
looms much larger than the end.
They say that if you inherit cattle you
might make it; if you buy into the
business, forget it. But money or not.
the hobby and tradition ot cattle-raising
persists—on the weekends—in the
North End.
North End Ride Boss Levi Keo told his “dogies” to “git along” one fine spring day
on a cattle ride in the Log Springs area (left). Mt. Hood provides a spectacular
backdrop for reservation cattlemen, but appreciation of the scenery can be lost to
hard work. Once in the corral the romance of the ride is over and the serious
rodeoing really begins. Tom Begay, Gordon Scott, Jody Calica and Spencer Keo
used a bit of “overkill” on a calf (top center). Larry Calica applied his family’s brand
to a calfs shoulder (bottom center). Fred Wallulatum cut notches in an ear (top
right) and Patrick Mitchell turned a bull calf into a steer with quick flashes of a
knife blade. All weekend cowboys, the North End cattlemen have different reasons
for pursuing break-even operations, but they are an exercise in cooperation at
round-up time.
(Photos taken during spring and fall round-ups during the past two years)
Story and Photos by Cynthia Stowell