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Day 2: Hittin' the trail by Samantha Shankle, Outpost Staff
I woke early in the morning cuddling securely to my comfy sleeping bag. The cold and the excitement of breaking trail drove me out of the tent. I had arrived late the day before and had not yet met my horse, Pete. Doug told me it used to be wild and I wondered if it still had those "wild instincts." Other guests opted to bring their own horses. After a hardy breakfast any cowboy would be jealous of: eggs, sausage, biscuits and gravy, we hit the trail blazin, 45 guests, 20 or so ranch hands, and 300 head of mooing cattle. The ranch hands had us stand off to the side, warning us that the cattle might break and run since they had been penned for so long. You could just feel the excitement in the air. The horses were shying and pawing the ground and everyone looked at each other in anticipation, wondering if the power of 1200 hooves would trample the group of inexperienced gringos. The gate swung open, the ranch hands stirring the cattle inside to start the movement. Slowly they trotted out, plodding along in a uniform line like soldiers. No excitement, no stampede like in City slickers, just a group of well-behaved bovine. The guests all giggled to each other and took their place in line. The ranch hands had divided us into sections of six. (One section took the front of the herd, called point, two sections on either side, and one section brought up the rear.) Every few minutes a cow would dart off to the side, requiring one of the guests to steadily curve around the intended path of the cow to herd it back into line. I soon found that it wasn't really necessary to keep an eye on the cattle at all times and dropped off to the side to enjoy the scenery. Traveling through shrubs and brush, the dust began to accumulate in every inch of my body. We broke for a short lunch and then kept movin', but five hours later I was dreaming of a hot shower and a cold glass of water. The camp in the distance looked like a mirage from the heat of the afternoon sun penetrating the soil. We crawled in and watered the horses, and bow-leggedly found the bar. I looked around frantically for the showers, and was informed there were none. Someone pointed at a bucket and told me to swab off. This was not going to work. The quest for water finally drove me and three other women to the last oasis in the campsite- the cattle troughs. Giggling, we took all of our dusty clothes off and splashed into the nearest water bin. Cows nonchalantly took an occasional sip of water. I kept looking at the cow slobber dribbling into my bath.
Dinner was served around a roaring campfire, everyone bonding together after their first day on the trail. Some opted to stay up a little later, and tell stories of their real life behind the cowboy. Cecil, an 80-year-old cowboy, was on his fifth year as a guest in the cattle drive. A couple from Kansas took the trip so they could get married on a cattle drive. Yet the most entertaining were the brothers Will and Joel from New York. Pick two people that were the least likely to survive in the desert and it would be those two. I heard a rumor that Joel tried to bring his cell phone on last year's drive and they had to confiscate it. Joel comes back every year. He says it's his release from being in New York all year long. He and Will were even entertaining the idea of buying a piece of property near the Reno area and raising horses. I listened to the tales for as long as possible, but soon found the bed roll calling, I found happiness in horse dreams immediately after hitting the ground.
copyright 02/26/98Nevada Outpost
http://www.jour.unr.edu/outpost
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