Insights by Steve

Insights By Steve -- Stoved Up

Light At The End Of The Tunnel ~Steve McClure (Reno)

Some years ago I was on a cattle ranch in Nebraska and on this particular day the foreman, Jeff, was showing me the various pastures and how to get to them. This was a relatively small ranch for the area, a mere 3,500 acres, but for me it was huge. I had been issued a horse, Pepper, and I was told he was familiar with the ranch and certainly more so than me. I could tell he was a little herd bound and was most happy trailing Jeff’s horse.

My job that day would be riding fence. Once Jeff showed me the “lay of the land” I would be left on my own and he would attend to his own duties. The ranch was bisected by a railroad line which I learned was heavily used and carried massive amounts of coal from the west to the east. Apparently this part of the track was the steepest railroad grade in the United States. The trains needed helper engines to make the grade and occasionally you could feel as well as hear the dull roar of the engines pulling the coal up that grade. It was really something to see. A half dozen engines pulling a hundred coal cars was quite a sight.

Being hilly country, a lot of the track was on built on huge earth berms which separated one pasture from another. To allow for passage of cattle and horses the railroad company provided culvert pipes at ground level through these berms. They were about 7-8 feet in diameter and except for the “light at the end of the tunnel” they were as dark as a tomb and as I later found out they were just loaded with blown in sagebrush.

Now I’m from Wisconsin but my horse was from Nebraska. I assumed Pepper was familiar with these passages because I was not, at least not leading a horse. We finally arrived at the opening of one and Jeff told me to go first. Now, as is often the case, the boss wants to test your competence with a horse and I thought “here we go again”. Pepper seemed happier with following and I was being asked to lead but you do as you are told. Now it's a round pipe so except for the very bottom the surface is curved. That forced me to lead directly in line with the front of the horse. This meant that if the horse bolted he would run over me. As I entered the 100 foot plus long tunnel I fell into complete darkness and began stumbling over the aforementioned sagebrush. I nearly bolted at that point but I controlled myself and tried to act like I do this every day on my way to work. In addition I could hear the rumble of an approaching train and I did not want to be in that tunnel when it crossed over us.

It seemed like an eternity but we finally reached the other side. When I reached sunshine I turned my horse, grabbed my phone and snapped the picture I have included. Jeff told me that there were times at the end of the day when he was so dog-tired he would ride his horse through the tunnel and just hunch over. Pepper and I crossed that tunnel several times after that with no trouble but I always dismounted and led him (I’m not crazy!).

Every time I go out west I do things that I never have done or thought I could do. There can be many ways to do a certain thing and you can learn a lot by just watching and sometimes by pushing the so-called envelope. Stay safe but don’t close your eyes to a new experience. With some measured risk can come great reward.

~Steve McClure (Reno)

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Insights by Steve -- Forever A Cowboy

Insights by Steve -- Horse Do

Insights by Steve -- McCarty

Insights by Steve -- Horse Do

Forever A Cowboy ~Steve McClure (Reno)

Like many of you I have been morning the loss of our mutual friend, Robb Kaminskis. I first learned of his death early in the morning in a text from Steve Lundean. He simply wrote “Reno, Robb passed away”. That’s all he could say.

I knew Robb as a cowboy and a darn good one at that. Several years ago he and Steve Lundean messaged me to join the two of them for lunch. I had not been feeling well and being full of the sin of pride I kindly deferred not wanting them or anyone else to have to see me in the shape I was in. They protested, of course, but finally relented. I thought the messaging was over but a few minutes later Robb texted me saying “we all love you”. That was Robb.

Last October Steve put on the last cattle clinic of the year and Robb commented on a Facebook post how well it went. He concluded that it could only have been better if the whole “crew” was together and he named both Law (Lawrence Smoller, a good cowboy and friend) as well as myself. What a kind gesture. That was also Robb.

To me, Robb was always a steady, good hearted friend. Whether he was mounted, hauling stock or just sitting down to a meal he was always upbeat and a lot of fun to be around.

Because Steve and Robb were good friends he was simply unable to put “pen to paper” that day so he asked me to write a eulogy to Robb and post it on the company website. It was awhile before l could put my thoughts together as well but here it is;

“It is with great sadness that we post news of the untimely death of our good friend and fellow cowboy, Robb Kaminskis.

Robb was a man of honor and great kindness. He was a person you could confide in as well as count on to tell a story guaranteed to illicit a laugh. He was always there to lend a hand and often spoke of his great love for his family and friends.

I’ve been to his home/ranch and although he had more than enough work of his own he would tirelessly be there to help others with their projects. He was there but never obtrusive. He loved helping at clinics and could always be counted on to lend his gentle hand when needed. He was a top hand.

Our deepest sympathies to his dear wife Sherry, whom he often called the love of his life, as well as his family and friends. We will miss this cowboy and rest easier knowing he will save us a place at the campfire when we all meet again.”

Adiós, Robb. Hasta que nos volvamos a encontrar.

RobbTributwe

~Steve McClure (Reno)

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Insights by Steve -- McCarty

McCarty ~Steve McClure (Reno)

Mecate - (Pronounced "mek-cah-tay") In Spanish, the word "mecate" means "rope" or "cord." A long rope that serves as reins, lead rope, quirt, and more.

I have a particular interest and respect for the Vaquero or Great Basin type of horsemanship. I in no way infer that I am an example of one only that I am a fan of the way they make a horse. The progression from halter, hackamore, snaffIe, two rein and finally the spade bit, making the finished horse, takes time and skill. In addition they employ bosalitos, alamar knots, get down ropes, romel reins and rein chains. I have read that the Californios were able to spend so much time in training because of the mild climate, very large ranches with abundant grazing and an adequate workforce. It is said, jokingly of course, that a Texas cowboy could gather a pasture before a buckaroo (a derivation of Vaquero - don’t ask me!) could get bridled!

For some time I had wanted to try a hackamore setup. Jen had some nice ones but I wanted one of my own. The hack is comprised of two parts, the bosal and the mecate. The bosal is the rawhide braided ring that fits over the horse’s nose and the mecate is a horsehair braided rope that is tied to the back of the bosal above the heel knot and becomes the reins as well as a get down rope.

Now these setups get expensive. The bosal is rawhide braided and the mecate is horsehair. They also come in different sizes and diameters. I was fortunate in that one day Steve Lundean arrived at Sun Fire Stables to trim a horse. He saw me and called me over from the round pen. He went to his truck and hands me a large plastic bag full of hackamores. “Reno, pick one out” he says. Apparently he had ordered a bunch from a friend out west. He would take nothing for it despite my insistence. He’s a good friend, cowboy and a real gentleman.

We both got back to work. Steve trimming and I went back to the round pen. I had left Fire (a real fine buckskin owned by Bart Actenhagen) there and he was immediately nominated to be my first victim. The hack came with a leather hanger so on it went. It is a 5/8” bosal and the same diameter mecate. I adjusted it for Fire and it seemed a good fit. The problem is that if you ask ten people how to fit the hackamore you will get ten different answers. I did what I thought was proper, checked the rein length and tied the get down rope on the saddle.

Now the hackamore is a signaling device. The pressure is applied to the horses lower jaw, nose and cheeks as well as the mecate along the neck. The hack can put quite a bit of pressure on the horse so you soon learn that less is better. Few riders think to look at the horse’s bars or it’s tongue for damage after using a bit but a burn on the hide of a horse’s nose from the bosal gets some attention. It teaches a rider to have a light feel and encourages more use of the riders body to communicate with the horse. In the Vaquero tradition the hackamore is only a transition tool to get to a finished horse.

I really like the hackamore and I highly recommend it. I have learned a lot from it’s use. I use it while moving cattle as well as general riding. Sherwin seems to do better using it although I think he is also a snaffle horse. I don’t work him in anything else. I hope someday to try him in a western bit (half breed).

Out west you often hear the word “mecate” anglicized to “mcCarty”. It so happens that a year or so later Jen asked me to tie up her bosals with mecates. In our conversation I used the term mcCarty and boy did I get it! Well, heck they got buckaroo out of vaquero! I’ll never hear the end of that one.

If you wish to learn how to properly use the the hackamore seek professional help. Like all equine activities it certainly involves a certain amount of risk but it is another way to expand the connection between horse and rider.

Steve McClure (Reno)

~Steve McClure (Reno)

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Horse Geology? ~Steve McClure (Reno)

(Bear with me, I promise I’ll link the two together)

My love of geology was born in the West. It so happens that my particular interest is in bedrock geology. In Wisconsin, we live on the ancient stable craton which is often covered by glacial fill and the bedrock is therefore covered. The West, however, reads like the Rosetta Stone of bedrock history. Even now when I drive out I am still riveted as the continent’s margins and its active geology are continually exposed. As I travel towards its western edge younger and not yet eroded, mountain ranges appear on the horizon and when I first saw Yellowstone in the 50’s the theory of continental drift was not really accepted and the hot spot that forms the Yellowstone caldera was only speculation. Heck they thought the Moon’s craters were volcanic! Dang I’m old!

My love of horses and the West came from my Mother. As a child I begged to ride a horse any chance I got. I’m a city boy but on any trip, near or far, I looked for stables. As a married adult my wife, Pam and I rode whenever we could. Nose to tail trail rides or a straight rental, we didn’t care. We went out West when we could afford it and had some great rides. I never had any formal lessons and I knew this would eventually pose a problem.

On a cruise stop in the Yucatan Pam and I booked a horseback excursion offered by the cruise line. We left on a small bus and traveled endlessly to get to the stable. I was getting a bit uneasy especially when the driver began to to pick up folks along the road, some of whom were carrying live chickens and I’m the dork in the back dressed in shorts and a “worlds best grandpa” T shirt. It also doesn’t help to see uniformed soldiers carrying automatic weapons with razor wire at various intersections along the way.

I sure didn’t know where I was but concentrated on the fact that the Yucatan Peninsula was next to the site of the asteroid impact crater (Chicxulub) that wiped out the dinosaurs sixty million years ago. See that’s that geology thing again.

We finally pulled into a stable, of sorts, and were off loaded. Mercifully the chicken folks went on with the van. There was a fully decked out Vaquero on his trick horse doing various maneuvers in the center of a clearing. That horse was sitting and laying down as well as rearing up all on command. That vaquero had more silver on his rig than the Denver mint. We were met by a number of wranglers who led us to our horses.

All our wranglers looked cowboy enough except that they were all wearing tight black polyester pants and that bothered me. Man it was hot. This was the jungle. What was it, a uniform? I didn’t know that they made pants like that anymore nor, in my opinion, should they.

We got on our horses and finally rode out. We passed through a lot of jungle and a few clearings at both a walk and a trot. We stopped at some ancient ruins and thankfully one of the wranglers spoke English and explained their meanings. I had a suspicion that some of the ruins had been nothing but relocated stones and more were recent recreations of ancient artifacts. It’s was kind of like the “Wonder Spot” at the Wisconsin Dells. What a miracle to just happen have a “gravitational anomaly” conveniently and precisely located on a busy corner at the upper Midwest’s biggest vacation Mecca. But I didn’t care. It was vacation and I was on a horse.

One of the wranglers kept riding abreast of Pam and “in my opinion” was kind of hitting on her. As we approached the end of the ride he asked her if she wanted to canter. Now I know that as a horse sees home after a ride it doesn’t take much to encourage a faster gear. Well she picked up the canter and he and my wife took off. My horse naturally wanted to follow so off we went. My wife did fine but I didn’t know how to ride the canter so I’m grabbing leather and I remember thinking right then that if I get home (which was questionable at that point) I’m going to learn how to ride!

When we arrived at the stable and dismounted the vaqueros quickly whisked Pam into the Cantina to buy her a cerveza. Are you kidding me! I’ve got fourteen vaqueros bent on stealing my wife and I have no idea where I am. I’ll be murdered, buried, (or the reverse which is really bad) and my wife will be … well I didn’t want to think about it. To distract me they kept urging me to watch the damn trick horse. Undeterred I finally demanded to know where she was and we were grudgingly reunited. Everyone was yapping about having some more cerveza but I sure wasn’t going into that cantina. Adding to my concern was a sneaking suspicion that Pam was not totally against the idea of having a few more beers with the boys! Damn, she’s turning on me and now I am totally alone. I’m an American in Mexico and there are monkeys jabbering in the trees. Cruise ship companies don’t care about me. They are registered in, like, Libya! What’s one more missing gringo to Col. Muammar Gaddafi (now deceased)?

Mercifully the van did arrive and squealed to a stop in a cloud of dust. It was all I needed. All the wranglers began to check out the next group of customers getting off. I used this distraction to separate her from her admirers and when the opportunity arose I quickly shoved her aboard. We hunkered down all the way on the trip back to the ship. What a guy will do to catch a ride on a horse! That was definitely my last cruise but not my last ride.

Around the turn of the century (boy that sounds weird) my wife and I sold our house in Milwaukee (Greenfield to be precise) and moved out to Waterford, WI. We were fortunate that my son and his wife also moved to Waterford and ended up about two blocks from us. My daughter-in-law, Liz, mentioned a stable close by on Hwy. 20 just west of town. I jumped at the chance to finally start my lessons. Thus began my long association with Jennifer Gaudes-Raemisch at Sun Fire Stables, my mentor for all things equine.

~Steve McClure (Reno)

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