“When the ranch north of Wickenburg Arizona was purchased in the fall
of 1972, the sale contract included three wild steers which the previous owner
had not been successful in rounding up. These were large crossbred animals
which had been on the loose for a few years. They were shy, skittish, and
athletic. They could climb and jump like mountain goats and run like mule deer.
Dad and I went out one day in the spring of 1973 to see if we could locate them
to bring them in. Signs had told us they were in the rough north east
range of the ranch. The north eastern border of the ranch ran the
length of a high mountain ridge until it came to the northern border which was
also a natural border of cliffs, ridges and canyons. Dad was on Bonnie, a
young, quick, surefooted, black Arabian mare inhibiting a number of
characteristics and features similar to thoroughbreds and I was riding on
Clyde, an older, stout, chestnut colored, gelding we had received from Aunt
Mildred and Uncle Bill Anderson. Through the day we traveled up and down slopes
and through and around a seemingly never ending landscape of obstacles including
Silver Cholla, Saguaro, Catclaw, Yucca, Palo Verde trees, Mesquite
thickets, Joshua trees, Ocotillo, Prickly Pear, rock slides, ravines, cliffs
and boulders. As we moved further into the progressively steeper terrain the
forbidding vegetation thinned out but only because it had fewer spots available
to take root a midst the rocks. We rode down one very steep ravine
and near the bottom we came to a drop off and saw the floor of the ravine about
four feet down. Looking at this drop and the steep incline on both sides
of this chasm I felt sure if we dropped to the floor of this gorge we would not
get the horses back out.
I was an otherwise
bold 13 year old at the time but we had only been on the ranch for a few months
and most of my prior riding experience had been primarily on level ground with
almost no rocks in Utah’s Uintah Basin. As I looked down into this hole, I
questioned the wisdom of proceeding into this trap, as it appeared to me and I
inquired, “Are you sure you want to go down there; what if there is no way
out?” Dad told me to go ahead and assured me we would be fine and
wanted me to jump the chestnut down into the bottom but I was happy when Clyde
refused to go. Clyde simply sensed my reluctance and answered my lack of
confidence with his own refusal. Dad then went ahead on Bonnie and she just
hopped almost effortlessly to the bottom and then my horse willingly followed.
We were now at the base of this ravine with no space for a running start to
jump the horses back out so there was nowhere to go but down. We continued on
down the ravine where we came to another drop off and again my heart sank
as we prodded our horses down and continued further into the unknown.
Eventually we came to a place where the only exit from the crevice was down a
steep incline of a shale rock slide. Dad dismounted and tightened up the
cinch to his saddle and seeing I was not following his example, he inquired;
“Don’t you want to tighten your cinch?” His question was also a suggestion but
I was already numb with trepidation and was afraid to get off the horse in this
rugged terrain and at this slope. I simply said “No, I’ll be fine”. Dad made no
reply but finished tightening his saddle and mounted up and proceeded down the
steep mountainside. I followed and was leaning back ‘til I was almost lying on
the rump of my horse to keep upright. I soon noticed the neck of my mount disappearing under the saddle and very soon I knew I was in
trouble as my saddle was about to slide over the horses head. I called out to
Dad for help. As if anticipated, he quickly turned Bonnie sideways on the slope
as Clyde and I slid into them which stopped our decent. I don’t know how Bonnie
managed to keep her footing but she was sure footed and held firm
while I stepped off and adjusted the saddle and tightened the
cinch. This was accomplished while Clyde sat on his rump. With the saddle
secured we continued on down the mountain and I thought about and rehearsed in
my mind the importance of carefully heeding not only the commands but also
Dad’s example and quiet suggestions. I now realize there were many lessons;
taught to us by permitting us to experience things for ourselves as long as we
or someone else was not in serious danger.
It was late in the
day and the sun was going down as we reached easier traveling and started on
our way back home. It seemed like we did a lot in the dark in those days.
The miles we had to travel were still new to us and as I followed along behind
Dad I tried to dodge the obstacles we encountered. I would carefully listen for
and then take whatever action I could to avoid whatever Dad would encounter on
the trail ahead of me. It was scary riding along in the dark thinking of all
the cactus, thorns and Catclaw we had passed earlier in the day. I pulled up to
a stop when I heard a brushing and scraping of something and then Dad exclaimed
“Wow! That nearly took my head off”. Dad had caught the limb of a thorny Ocotillo under his chin and its thorns had sawed their way through the front of
Dad’s neck as his passing drug the spiked branch across his throat. For the
duration of our trip home in the dark I vigilantly tried to avoid all of the
passing obstacles and was largely successful. Dad was left with the bloody torn
flesh, then scabs and finally scars as a reminder of our night ride
together.
Later we were
successful in rounding up those strays by getting them to mingle in with other
cattle we had brought to the range.”
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