Soapweed
Well-known member
A WET CHILLY UNFORGETTABLE NIGHT
I think it was during May of 1964 when Dad and I had a wet chilly unforgettable night. About a week before, we had trailed our cattle down to the Fuscher pasture for the summer. This particular day Louie Mason had driven out to our main place, the Green Valley Hereford Ranch, and loaded eight or nine bulls on his straight truck. (We usually summered 200 cow/calf pairs and 35 replacement heifers down south.) Dad and I went at the same time as Louie, but were in our 1963 tan-colored Ford 4x4 pickup. On our trip down, when we arrived at the Lions Bridge on the Niobrara River, men of the Cherry County Road Department were just finishing their day of work. The bridge had been torn out, as a new bridge was going to be installed. Louie turned his truck around and went back to Highway 20. He went west to the Gordon Airport, then south, and back east across the Lavaca Bridge to get to our summer pasture, where there was a loading chute to use in unloading the bulls. The county road men thought we could ford the Niobrara as long as we drove in the right spot. Dad and I made it across alright, and went on down to the pasture.
We checked windmills, and caught a horse to haul home. Buck was a sorrel gelding that belonged to John Fairhead, who was my age and Dad's cousin Joy Fairhead's son. John had helped us trail the cattle south a couple days previous but there was not enough room at the time to haul his horse back home. When Louie arrived with the truck, all we had to do was open the end-gate, let out the bulls, turn them out of the corral into the pasture with the cows, and head for home. Louie once again took the long way back to Merriman, but Dad and I decided if the pickup could ford the river once, it could sure do it again. By this time the sun had gone down, and it was dark, with a hard rain coming down. Smack dab right out in the middle of the Niobrara, the pickup hit a hole, and we were darn sure stuck.
The only logical thing to do was to try to unload John's horse off the pickup and ride for help. That took some doing, as the murky dark swirling water looked like the middle of the Pacific Ocean to Buck. It was finally a case of Dad and me both getting in front of the horse, and pushing him backwards into the river. Dad didn't want to haul me all over the neighborhood in the dark, so my choice was to stick with the pickup or ride with him double to the south bank of the river, and stand around in the rain until he returned. Like a dedicated sea captain, I elected to stay with my ship. By then it was raining even harder, and I figured at least there would be a roof over my head. Dad was gone quite a long time. It was dark as pitch, and as he rode, he couldn't find a gate into Bill Cobb's lane, which would have been the closest link to help. He trotted on down the road to the Pioneer School, and then rode west for another mile or so until he came to Terry and Susie Spangler's house. His idea was to borrow a telephone and call a wrecker from Gordon to come pull us out. Terry was adventurous and would not hear of such a plan. Ralph Kilcoin happened to be visiting Terry, and he had a pair of chest waders. They brought Terry Spangler's four-wheel-drive pickup, and just to be on the safe side, they also recruited Dwain Downing to bring his four-wheel-drive International Scout.
By the time the rescue crew had arrived, I was quite ready to be rescued. When Dad first rode off in the dark, I started out sitting on the seat of the pickup with my feet also on the seat, as water was up over the floorboards. The pickup was constantly settling however, and soon the water was up over the seat on the upriver side. I moved my position to sit on the window ledge and put my feet on the seat, even though it was raining hard. The pickup kept settling deeper, and soon I was sitting on the roof of the pickup with my feet on the window ledge. This was my position when the rescuers arrived.
Ralph was dispatched in his waders to bring out the end of the chain. He hooked it to the bumper of the pickup and sat in the driver's seat to steer, as the pullers tightened the chain. They had good luck, and soon the pickup was almost out of the river. For some reason, the other pickup couldn't get enough traction to bring the water-logged pickup on out of the river. Even with the Scout also hooked on, the stuck pickup wouldn't pull out. No one thought there was any chance Dad's pickup would start, as everything under the hood was soaked. Amazingly enough, our pickup started right up and came out the last fifteen feet with its own power. The time by now was about 11:30 p.m. As we had been pulled out backwards, we were still on the wrong side of the Niobrara River to get home. Besides, we needed to go back by the Spangler place to pick up the horse, Buck. Terry's wife, Susie, had sandwiches all ready for us, as she suspicioned that Dad and I hadn't had any supper. Dad used Spangler's phone to call Mom and tell her the reason for our delay.
When we were ready to leave Spanglers' and find a suitable bank to reload the horse, the pickup decided it was cold, wet, and tired, and really not in any mood to start. Terry and Ralph jumped back into Terry's pickup and pulled us to get the pickup running. We went four or five miles before our outfit finally roared back to life. Then we still had to drive back to Spanglers to load the horse. Dad and I had a cold 60 mile ride home on a wet seat that was just like a sponge. We were sure thankful for nice neighbors like Spanglers, Kilcoins, and Downings who were ready and cheerfully willing to help their fellow man. The Sandhills are full of such great people, which makes this a wonderful area in which to live.
I think it was during May of 1964 when Dad and I had a wet chilly unforgettable night. About a week before, we had trailed our cattle down to the Fuscher pasture for the summer. This particular day Louie Mason had driven out to our main place, the Green Valley Hereford Ranch, and loaded eight or nine bulls on his straight truck. (We usually summered 200 cow/calf pairs and 35 replacement heifers down south.) Dad and I went at the same time as Louie, but were in our 1963 tan-colored Ford 4x4 pickup. On our trip down, when we arrived at the Lions Bridge on the Niobrara River, men of the Cherry County Road Department were just finishing their day of work. The bridge had been torn out, as a new bridge was going to be installed. Louie turned his truck around and went back to Highway 20. He went west to the Gordon Airport, then south, and back east across the Lavaca Bridge to get to our summer pasture, where there was a loading chute to use in unloading the bulls. The county road men thought we could ford the Niobrara as long as we drove in the right spot. Dad and I made it across alright, and went on down to the pasture.
We checked windmills, and caught a horse to haul home. Buck was a sorrel gelding that belonged to John Fairhead, who was my age and Dad's cousin Joy Fairhead's son. John had helped us trail the cattle south a couple days previous but there was not enough room at the time to haul his horse back home. When Louie arrived with the truck, all we had to do was open the end-gate, let out the bulls, turn them out of the corral into the pasture with the cows, and head for home. Louie once again took the long way back to Merriman, but Dad and I decided if the pickup could ford the river once, it could sure do it again. By this time the sun had gone down, and it was dark, with a hard rain coming down. Smack dab right out in the middle of the Niobrara, the pickup hit a hole, and we were darn sure stuck.
The only logical thing to do was to try to unload John's horse off the pickup and ride for help. That took some doing, as the murky dark swirling water looked like the middle of the Pacific Ocean to Buck. It was finally a case of Dad and me both getting in front of the horse, and pushing him backwards into the river. Dad didn't want to haul me all over the neighborhood in the dark, so my choice was to stick with the pickup or ride with him double to the south bank of the river, and stand around in the rain until he returned. Like a dedicated sea captain, I elected to stay with my ship. By then it was raining even harder, and I figured at least there would be a roof over my head. Dad was gone quite a long time. It was dark as pitch, and as he rode, he couldn't find a gate into Bill Cobb's lane, which would have been the closest link to help. He trotted on down the road to the Pioneer School, and then rode west for another mile or so until he came to Terry and Susie Spangler's house. His idea was to borrow a telephone and call a wrecker from Gordon to come pull us out. Terry was adventurous and would not hear of such a plan. Ralph Kilcoin happened to be visiting Terry, and he had a pair of chest waders. They brought Terry Spangler's four-wheel-drive pickup, and just to be on the safe side, they also recruited Dwain Downing to bring his four-wheel-drive International Scout.
By the time the rescue crew had arrived, I was quite ready to be rescued. When Dad first rode off in the dark, I started out sitting on the seat of the pickup with my feet also on the seat, as water was up over the floorboards. The pickup was constantly settling however, and soon the water was up over the seat on the upriver side. I moved my position to sit on the window ledge and put my feet on the seat, even though it was raining hard. The pickup kept settling deeper, and soon I was sitting on the roof of the pickup with my feet on the window ledge. This was my position when the rescuers arrived.
Ralph was dispatched in his waders to bring out the end of the chain. He hooked it to the bumper of the pickup and sat in the driver's seat to steer, as the pullers tightened the chain. They had good luck, and soon the pickup was almost out of the river. For some reason, the other pickup couldn't get enough traction to bring the water-logged pickup on out of the river. Even with the Scout also hooked on, the stuck pickup wouldn't pull out. No one thought there was any chance Dad's pickup would start, as everything under the hood was soaked. Amazingly enough, our pickup started right up and came out the last fifteen feet with its own power. The time by now was about 11:30 p.m. As we had been pulled out backwards, we were still on the wrong side of the Niobrara River to get home. Besides, we needed to go back by the Spangler place to pick up the horse, Buck. Terry's wife, Susie, had sandwiches all ready for us, as she suspicioned that Dad and I hadn't had any supper. Dad used Spangler's phone to call Mom and tell her the reason for our delay.
When we were ready to leave Spanglers' and find a suitable bank to reload the horse, the pickup decided it was cold, wet, and tired, and really not in any mood to start. Terry and Ralph jumped back into Terry's pickup and pulled us to get the pickup running. We went four or five miles before our outfit finally roared back to life. Then we still had to drive back to Spanglers to load the horse. Dad and I had a cold 60 mile ride home on a wet seat that was just like a sponge. We were sure thankful for nice neighbors like Spanglers, Kilcoins, and Downings who were ready and cheerfully willing to help their fellow man. The Sandhills are full of such great people, which makes this a wonderful area in which to live.