I had been dreaming of moving to Montana all of my life. When I suddenly landed a position in north central Montana, I felt as if I had hit the job lottery. Coming from the suburbs of Chicago, it was going to be a huge lifestyle change for my family. We lived on the very fringe of the suburbs; in fact we lived in the very western-most city. The next town was five miles west, and there was nothing but corn between us. I would venture out first to start my job and also look for a house; back home the packing would begin.
Chapter 1: Big Sky Country
In Illinois, I was used to having my 13 mile drive home from work take me almost an hour and a half, and I had to deal with so many rude drivers. Now, just weeks later, I smiled ear to ear as I crossed into Montana. Towns can be far and few between in eastern Montana, as I soon found out. It can be 50 to 80 miles or more from one little town to the next. I was just enjoying all of the openness when a truck came towards me in the other lane, and the driver flipped me off as he went by! Why the heck did he do that? Out here, in the middle of nowhere, what could I have possibly done to make him mad? In about 15 minutes it happened again! No way am I doing anything to make them mad. A short time later, as a third truck approaches me, I get ready. As we approach… I see the rancher raise his hand from the steering wheel… and wave to me! Shame on my big city, rush hour traffic ways, and for not thinking these fine folks were just waving to me. Now I felt ashamed for not having waved back at any of them. From there on, I made it to point to wave right back, and sometimes I was even the initiator. This was going to be nothing like the suburbs of Chicago, and was I ever glad to be here.
I had been dreaming of moving to Montana all of my life.
“Big Sky Country” comes from the fact that you can most always see from horizon to horizon, east to west, or north to south. Heck, at times you can see the next mountain range 100 miles away. You never had a view like this back east. In no time at all, I loved living in Montana, and the people were just wonderful. If you were ever stopped by the side of a two-lane highway, for whatever reason, it was almost guaranteed folks coming or going by would stop, roll down their window and ask if you needed help. I quickly found a nearly new home with a 30 x 40”...
shop on a nice piece of land for about one third what a similar sized house would cost me in suburbia.
Chapter 2:What Good is it Doing There?
“No, I did not have a gun.”
Even though I bought a home and moved my family out, as nice as the people were, I was, for a long time, considered an easterner and not a Montanan. Slowly though, with my crew cab 4WD truck and asking about a good place to cut firewood, I slowly became accepted. That I desired to become an avid hunter was a plus, and I soon made more and more friends by reloading ammunition for their rifles in the fall. In Illinois, you did not talk about owning guns; much less ever speak of hunting. Out west, it was 180 degrees from that. Not only did nearly everyone hunt, including most women and all kids, but in my small town, virtually every truck had a loaded rifle up in the back window. For the longest time, in the beginning, I did not talk a lot about guns and kept them hidden away at home.
I knew I was on my way to being accepted as a Montanan when Frank, a manager at work, invited me over to his ranch one afternoon. It was about a half hour drive on the other side of a little mountain range. His “driveway” was a two tire-track path about two miles long, winding back to this home and barn. Halfway there, I stopped for a moment, because a coyote was trotting right across the road in front of me. Excitedly, when I got to his house, I immediately told him about what had happened. Being a cattle rancher, with lots of young calves on his ranch at the time, he was keenly interested in what I did.
Many specific tasks are part of the branding, so I’ll try to remember as best I can.
“So, did you shoot him?” he quickly asked.
“No, I did not have a gun.”
“Why not? Where was your rifle?” He seemed a little upset.
“Back home, behind the couch, against the wall.” I sheepishly replied.
“Well what the heck good is it doing back there? Coyotes can kill calves when they are young. A rifle doesn’t do much good behind a couch!”
From that time forward I always carried a rifle in my truck, and a Glock 10mm was also always handy.
...
Chapter 3: Branding Invite
It took one full year to regain Frank’s confidence that I just might make a Montanan. That following June, things changed for the better when I was invited over to help out with the spring branding. I came to learn that it is far more than just a lot of work. It is just as much a social event when many others come around to help with the task, but also to catch up after spending so much time at home during the cold and snowy winter. The men come to work, and the women all contribute with great plates of food. Being a “city boy,” I thought it best to take the toughest job- holding the rear legs- to immediately show I was not afraid to work hard.
You had to get them lying on their right side
Many specific tasks are part of the branding, so I’ll try to remember as best I can. I actually was so focused on what I was doing, I was only vaguely aware of the other tasks. Most all of the calves were three or four months old, weighing perhaps a hundred plus lbs. I had to get them lying on their right side since the brands went on the left hip. As the rear leg man, I did most of the lifting/tipping as follows.
The 100 plus calves were corralled into a 100 x 200 foot main pen, but within that was a much smaller sub-pen, maybe 30 x 30 feet. A couple dozen or so would get channeled over to the sub-pen. I would approach them broadside and only go for the ones facing to the left. As they were packed together pretty tight, I would get right up next to the chosen one, bending at the waist, actually lean on it, and reach over its back. Then reaching around under its belly, I grabbed the left side front/rear legs near me, and stand back up at the waist, actually flipping the calf onto its right side in one quick motion.
If things went well, I was still holding onto the left side legs while the calf was lying on its right side. At least two other men jumped in at that point. One grabbed both front legs, crossing them and spreading them apart- from the back side, one kneels on the left shoulder and neck just below the head. I would grab the lowest joint of the back legs, also crossing them and spreading them apart as far as I could. The lower right leg went back; the left leg on the top was held far forward. The power of these 100 ~ 130 lb. calves was incredible. It fully took three 200 lb. men to keep them...
restrained while the processes began. Initially, I underestimated their strength and was pummeled repeatedly by their back legs to my forearms when they broke free of my grip. It was like a high speed piston with hooves being driven into my arms. After that happening a half dozen times, I knew that only a death grip on the back legs would spare me from further beatings.
This procedure was repeated over a hundred times, and took around 4 hours, with two teams branding.
Up front, a fourth man tagged one ear and also injected a medicine/vaccine pellet just under the skin. Back at my end, the real fun was about to begin. If male, a fifth man a cut the scrotum with a sharp knife, pushed one testicle out at a time, then cut if free. The calves weren’t too keen on that. Then the branding began. The ranch required two separate brands to make the registered symbols on the left hindquarter. My face was barely a foot away when the first brand was pressed to the hide. BBBBRRRRRAAAAAWWWWW… the calf would squeal, while a cloud of burned hair and hide smoke mushroomed into my face- the smell was horrible! Then, as quickly as possible, the second brand was pressed next to the first. The same cries went out, and the mushroom cloud arose again. I could see the muscle around the brandings spasm erratically, which is very understandable. Simultaneously, all three holders would let go, and the calf would trot off across the pen to its mom, waiting and bawling to her calf.
It truly looked like a scene out of a movie, perhaps even of a barn raising.
This procedure was repeated over a hundred times and took around four hours with two teams branding. After a while, all of the steps took on a cadence which helped to make it all very repeatable with hardly ever a word being said between the five man crew. I felt that after a dozen or so were processed, each man was very comfortable with his role. A BIG surprise came when a few calves came through that had been born in late December. They were close to 200 lbs.! It took six big men to hold these beasts down, and when the branding iron struck hide for the first time on one of these monsters, it was as almost like trying to hold a bucking bronco to the ground.
When the last calf was handled, we all headed up to the open garage. There, all of the wives had brought...
a wonderful assortment of food plates, and a huge pile of freshly grilled steaks were ready to be consumed. It truly looked like a scene out of a movie, perhaps even, of a barn raising. It felt good to feel like a part of the ranching community, and perhaps that I might now be considered a Montanan.
I enjoyed myself immensely. My forearms took a real beating, and I smelled like burned hair for days even after repeated and extended showers. Frank must have accepted me as no longer being “an eastern city boy,” because the next year, I was also invited out for the spring branding.
Chapter 4: Friendly Law Enforcement
I was driving from town one afternoon, running way late and headed home for dinner. It was a 55 mile trip with no traffic lights or even stop signs the entire way. There weren’t even any intersections the entire trip. As I crested a hill in my crew cab 4WD pickup at around 85 mph, I saw a county sheriff’s marked car coming towards me in the other lane. I didn’t even wait for him to turn around and turn on his lights, but immediately pulled over onto the shoulder and lowered my window. I had been living in Montana for only about a year. He slowed and pulled over on the shoulder directly across the road from me.
It did not take me very long to fall in love with Montana, and especially her people.
“Sorry I was going a little fast there.” I humbly said.
“Yeah. What were ya doin’… about 80, 85?” he queried.
“I suppose I was. I got tied up too long in town with chores.”
I got out, walked across the highway, and started just talking about this and that. One thing led to another, and I asked him what he was allowed to carry. Talks went from handguns to rifles when he soon made me an offer.
“I’ve got a real nice HK-91, .308 I also carry just in case.” He said.
“That’s really a great rifle. My brother had one when we lived in Illinois. They are real accurate and well built.”
“Would you like to see it?” he asked.
“You bet!”
So the officer got out of his squad car and headed for the back. He then popped open the trunk to reveal a large black duffle bag. As he unzipped it, there laid a new HK-91 assault rifle on top of around 15 loaded magazines.
“Ain’t she a beauty!” he proclaims. “How’d...
you like to shoot it?”
We were about 30 miles out of town. There were no houses within 10 miles or more, and they were all ranch homes, well off the two-lane highway. Since we stopped, no cars have passed by or expected to, perhaps even for the rest of the evening.
“Boy am I ever late… my wife is gonna be pretty upset with me! I really need to get going.”
“Sure that would be great!” I eagerly exclaim.
He took the rifle out, grabbed a magazine and slapped it into the gun, then handed it to me.
“You know how it works. Why don’t you take some shots at that rock?”
So I took aim at a rock, maybe 150 yards off the highway, and fired off three quick shots, hitting the rock every time, then pause.
““Heck,” he says, “Go ahead and empty it!”
So I quickly ripped off the last seventeen rounds, pounding the rock pretty regularly, then handed the smoking, empty assault rifle back to him.
“That was great- it’s a heluva gun!” I proudly proclaim to him. Then I glanced at my watch and say, “Boy am I ever late… my wife is gonna be pretty upset with me! I really need to get going.”
“Yep, you don’t want to keep the little lady waiting on ya. Drive a little slower if you can.”
“I sure will… and thanks for letting me shoot your HK!” I shook his hand, walked across the highway, got into my truck, and gave him a wave as I pulled away. He gave me a big wave back.
It did not take me very long to fall in love with Montana and, especially, her people. I feel blessed to have lived there for six wonderful years and experienced genuine goodness in all the people I've met and worked with.
Chapter 5: Coyote On A Mission
No coyote in sight anywhere!
It was 2 p.m. on a clear sunny day with very light traffic. I was driving westbound on the interstate at around 80 mph, heading from Billings to Great Falls. The median between the east and westbound lanes was at least 75 yards wide with low grass filling the separation. Annoyingly, the afternoon sun was shining right into my eyes just below the sun visor I had flipped to the side for some protection. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a large coyote running at top speed across the eastbound lanes and the median,...
heading straight for my new gold GMC pickup. He seemed to be on a mission and was also headed straight for me!
I braked as much as I could, and then things went into slow motion. Looking down just under my left side view mirror, I watched as he flat out ran into my door face first! It sounded like someone threw a ten pound bag of potatoes against my driver’s side door with all their might. I quickly looked in the rear view mirror and saw him tumbling and rolling behind my truck..
Figuring he was either dead, or severely injured, I quickly stopped and got out to confirm what exactly happened, also grabbing my tire iron just in case. As I closed my door, I saw a new, good sized dent in it, coyote high, and also noted that the paint was off down to the primer where his front teeth must have struck. Walking back to about where he hit me, I saw no blood anywhere on the road. I looked to the shoulder, then down to the nicely mowed grass beyond that and scanned around in the distance. No coyote in sight anywhere! How he ever took a hit like that and kept on running was truly amazing to me. He obviously had somewhere really important to go!