Badluck Way: A Year on the Ragged Edge of the West by Andrews Bryce

Author:Andrews, Bryce [Andrews, Bryce]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Atria Books
Published: 2014-01-07T00:00:00+00:00

As July ripened, each pasture move brought us closer to the mountains. The grass matured and we followed it into the high country, moving our animals from the lowest lands along the river to the flat, open benches at the center of the ranch, and finally on toward the rolling hills at the base of the Madison Range.

James and I preceded the herds. We checked fences, set out salt and minerals in tubs made from old tires, and activated water lines and tanks that had lain dormant through the long months of winter. Crisscrossing the upper pastures, we rode four-wheelers in open country and we explored on horseback all the timbered nooks and crannies of Squaw Creek. When we passed bunches of cattle on our rounds, James showed me how to look for the most subtle signs of disease or lameness. From the way he studied a drooping ear or listless eye, James revealed how seriously he took the responsibility of keeping them from harm.

As we worked, we looked for wolves and found their sign with disconcerting regularity. One place, a pasture gate that wasn’t far below the mouth of Bad Luck Canyon, nearly always held tracks and excrement in various stages of decay. Although wolf shit has a heinous stink and can carry a nasty parasite called Echinococcus, I always picked apart the fresher piles with a stick to make sure the hair inside belonged to elk instead of cattle.

Every day in early July led me on some type of great or little expedition. Each morning I set out with a long list of tasks that were scattered across the ranch: I might begin by setting out salt for the steers, roll east to check fence at the base of the mountains, swing north to fix a broken gate, then finish up by cleaning leaves and detritus from the spring box on Bad Luck Creek. On the way home, I would always loop back through some little hollow or drainage that I’d never seen before.

I made huge circles across the ranch, and surprised a great variety of animals with my presence. On the North End, small bunches of antelope broke and ran across the empty expanse of the Flats, trailing wisps of dust until they disappeared into some gentle swale or across the horizon. Deer leaped from grassy hides and took off running with the white flags of their tails held high. On more than a couple of tense occasions, I jumped moose in the willow thickets along the creeks. Their massive heads and dark, hulking shoulders were visible for a moment before receding into the brush. Hawks and eagles overflew my circumambulations. Jackrabbits tore pell-mell through the sage. Blue grouse burst from dark patches of timber, raising a racket loud enough to make my heart skip.

As I ranged higher and higher, I began to see more elk, both alive and dead. The vast herds of the early season had been scattered by the summer, strewn across the foothills below the Lee Metcalf Wilderness.

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